Bones and Bagger (Waldlust Series Book 1) (22 page)

The Seven would kill as many as it took to clean the mess. But then, it’s not some kind of superhero council working to serve mankind we’re talking about. They care about survival.  And survival means getting rid of the blabbers—vampires or not. They might even liquidate an additional level below my friends.  Take out everyone my bagger gang texted in the last week.  That’s how The Seven thinks.  It’s how they operate.   

I wasn’t sure Bernard believed any of what happened in the Aachen Cathedral.  He listened courteously though, which meant both of my eyes remained in their accustomed spot throughout my talk. Also on the plus side, Bernard bought everything I said about Sarah Arias. 

The face-to-face encounter with my nicotine-addicted heavenly hottie made him predisposed to accept that much. Maybe it meant my angel friend represented a kind of insurance policy for me.  The wildcard Bernard and buddies would need to consider before committing to my final disposition.  A fancy way of saying my murder, dismemberment, and sautéing in a tablespoon of olive oil over medium heat.

Story completed, I drained half the beer in one gulp.  I didn’t leave a will—well, not in Germany—so no need to hold back the beer consumption in favor of thirsty German heirs.  Whatever beer I left behind would end up property of the German state.  Or in Frau What’s-It downstairs.  It is the way things are done.

I expected one of two reactions out of Bernard.  Either he’d think me crazy and terminate me immediately, or he’d have a big laugh at my baroque joke and terminate me afterward. 

I didn’t expect what came.

Chapter 30

“Hard day, mate,” Bernard said.

“What?”

“Just saying, sounds like quite a bad day,” he said.

Bernard sat back in the desk chair and rubbed his temples.  He looked tired.  Not just tired from lack of sleep, I doubted any of The Seven
needed
sleep—but tired in a way thousands of years can erode a soul meant to spend a fraction of that time on earth.  I began to feel sorry for the cute little pygmy dude.

Bernard opened his eyes and said, “The Seven’s authorized me to clean up any mess I encounter.”

I stopped feeling sorry for the murderous little pygmy dude.

He read the look on my face and said, “It may not end up how you think.”  He paused for a second and I could almost see the wheels turning in his mind.  “But then,” he said, “I’m not making any promises. Tell me once more about the dry bones.”

I went through it again.  How I wheedled help out of Sarah Arias and Ezekiel 37.  Bernard did a quick read through that chapter of the Bible.

“The valley of dry bones,” he said, but not to me or to Helmet.  More like he was tasting the words in his brain.

“And how did Soyla react?” he said.

I thought about that.  Dry bones.  I mentioned dry bones and she acted like we were speaking the same secret language.  That’s what I told Bernard.

“Interesting,” he said.  And then, “Come here and have a look.”

I did.  Same sites up as before.  I’d expected him to hit the link with all the answers.  Instead, he pointed at the photo of Charlemagne’s gold and silver casket.  The one Fredrick II commissioned for the centuries-dead emperor.

“Thousand years dead?” he said.

It sounded like a question but came across more like an answer.  Yes, Chuck died more like twelve hundred years prior but who’s going to hold a couple of hundred years against the most powerful entity in the room.

“So?” I said.

Bernard smiled and spoke.

“Dry bones,” and then matched the level of my bottle with his own long gulp. 

I half expected him to put the beer back down, belch, fart, and then tumble drunk out of the chair.  You’d think a body that small couldn’t process alcohol. No such luck. The little sot.

My mental tumblers locked into place.  How could I be so blind?  I wanted to blame it on concern for my friends compounded by the tussles with No Face.  Who could think under that kind of pressure?  Well, Sarah Arias had so much as told me.  Helmet had it all figured out.  Didn’t he put dozens of Charlemagne sites up for me to read?  Even the casket.  I glanced over at him.

He nodded and mouthed, “Idiot.”  Thanks, Helmet.  Motivation like that tastes sweeter than honey.  But I had to admit it
did
look obvious.  I wanted to kick myself for the hours I’d wasted running in circles like Karl does when he’s looking for the right spot on the floor to drop a load.

“So you think,” I said, “that everyone wants me to bring them old Chucky’s bones?”

Bernard had returned to scanning the historical sites.  Maybe he was considering the merits of chowing down on someone as edible as me versus the potential he’d pick up some of my dullness.

“It would appear so,” he said, “wouldn’t it.”

Simple.  Break into the Aachen Cathedral, pry open the gold and silver casket, retrieve Chucky’s dry bones, and bring them…where?  Maybe not so simple.

Let’s say I could get through security and into the cathedral.  Let’s say I could access the vault that protected the casket.  Now let’s say I could open it and grab Chucky.  Which one of the two mafia families get the bag?  No Face, who’d promised to release my bagger friends, or Soyla, who’d promised not to do in Sparky.

And while questions flew around my brain like anti-clue birds, why did I think Bernard would let me attempt any of it?  The theft of Charlemagne’s bones would certainly make the front page of every newspaper in the world.  With my luck they’d even beat the news out on drums so the rest of The Seven could enjoy it while they slow roasted some European.  If threats to vampire secrecy represented Bernard’s mess to clean, then he’d need every variety of television miracle device and a thousand more industrious pygmies to make the floor shine after that kind of spill.

My night consisted of a series of thumbs up, thumbs down moments.  The notion that Gaius Teutoberg—that’s me in the third person—would attempt something so reckless to the vampire world might represent the final thumbs down. 

Nobody ever appears as vulnerable as when they’re seated. More so if they’re seated on the toilet, but I’d trade that advantage for the peace of mind knowing Bernard wasn’t doing his thing in my favorite desk chair.

“Easy, big boy,” said Bernard.

His mind waited at the destination as mine pulled into the depot.  Remember how I said if a long-distance footrace represented vampire power, I’d be in the second pack trailing far behind The Seven?  Looks like the same metaphor fit as far as brain power.  Only putting me in that second brainy pack was just my ego talking.

“Truce,” said Bernard.  “For one hour we’re discussing.”

“After that?”

Bernard kept reading the site in front of him as he replied.

“After can be elusive,” he said, “and too far ahead to predict.”

What the heck did that mean?  I did understand the truce part, maybe he wasn’t hungry yet.

“OK,” I said.  “Truce for one hour.”

“Good,” said Bernard.  “Now let’s work through all the players in this tragedy one more time.”

Tragedy, he’d called it.  Tragedy for me, all right. I was happily rolling a cart loaded with fat pills for Super Rumble when it all descended on me like droppings from a flock of geese.  And tragedy for my friends. Sister Christian, J-Rod, Watanabe, and the Prince, that is.  I still considered Sparky a friend, but the word tragedy didn’t seem to fit him.  Consequence was more like it.  Because if I
could
save my buddy Sparky from Soyla and whatever hideous death she planned for him, I’d absolutely kill him.

Bernard and I went through the whole thing again. After all was over and he returned to his mud hut, he might consider changing the channel away from police dramas. The way he grilled me? Only the two-way mirror and hand recorder were missing.  When I’d finished the third iteration of the interrogation, I checked the time.  Twenty-seven minutes until the truce ended.

“Why do you think they want Charlemagne’s bones?” Bernard asked.

I was so focused on action—do something, even if it’s wrong—that I hadn’t stopped to consider the why part.  I guess Bernard figured as much because he offered some advice.

“It’s wise to know your enemy.”

Sun Tzu with a bone in his nose.

“Not important,” I said.  “What IS important is I get my friends back.”

My response sounded truculent to my own ears.  Bernard stood and walked around the room.  He stopped in front of Helmet and looked him over like a museum display.  I had to hand it to Helmet.  He stared the little guy in the eyes.  Well, maybe not eyes, top of head would be more accurate, but you get the idea.  No back-down in Helmet.  Probably what got him shot.

“Crucial importance, really,” said Bernard. 

Now he was looking out the window.  I kind of hoped Herr Doktor would gaze up and see the little pygmy staring out on the third floor.

“Allow me to demonstrate,” he said.  “What benefit would Soyla’s employers gain from possessing the bones of any dead human?”

I thought for a second and said, “I don’t know.”

“Answer the same question but substitute Soyla with your demons.”

“I don’t know.

“Now throw angels into the equation,” Bernard said.  “Why would they care to get involved?”

He answered for me. “I don’t know. Right?”

“Yes,” I said, and I sat down at the desk chair because if this truce were going to last I wanted to prevent Bernard from toileting all over it.  Karl was bad enough without a pygmy assist.

“What value is there in Charlemagne’s dry bones?” Bernard asked.

I stopped with the “I don’t knows” as I figured they were pretty much assumed.

“You can’t sell them,” he said.

“Maybe it’s like a painting,” I said.

“A painting?”

“Yes,” I said.  “People steal valuable paintings all the time. They always find a buyer.”

It made sense.  Always somebody out there who wanted to own something fabulous.  They didn’t care whether anyone else knew they owned the thing or not.  Short-sighted when you think about it.  People never really own things but are just the caretakers.  What’s created by man’s hands outlives the man who created it.

“True,” said Bernard.  “But then consider demon involvement.”

I did, and I picked up on Bernard’s bread crumbs.

“I assume demons don’t care about possessing things,” I said.

“You assume correctly.”

I glanced over to Helmet.  He’d leaned up against the windowsill and had his legs crossed in that relaxed pose that said he was following all of this.  Bernard sat down on the sofa.  Karl heard the springs squeak at the child level and opened one eye.  Seeing a likely victim the little dog jumped up into Bernard’s lap.

It surprised Bernard.  He picked Karl up and placed him a tiny arm’s length away on the sofa.  Karl wasn’t having it.  Ghost dog did the belly-crawl thing and stopped with his cold body pressed up against Bernard’s leg.

“And what about Sarah Arias?” he said.  “Why would she care one way or the other about who possesses a relic of Charlemagne?”

Relic did sound much nicer than moldering in the grave.  Bernard had a point.  I’m not a Bible scholar but I took a stab.  Keep in mind though, I’m the one who thought Ezekiel 37 referred to a rock band.

“Her side doesn’t care,” I said.

“Doesn’t care?” said Bernard.  “What leads you to think they don’t care?”

“I hung out with a few of the Hebrews in the old days,” I said.  “They took care of the dead in terms of burial and that sort of thing just like we do.”

“Like we do?”

Awkward.  Maybe cannibals just gather up the leftovers to make stew the next day or something.

“We, as in Europeans,” I said.

As I recalled those bearded gents from two thousand years ago, I knew I’d omitted a fact or two.

“The Hebrew boys did have some stories about guys that were taken up to heaven before they died,” I said.  “And a couple of times they mentioned bones specifically.”

Bernard seemed interested in that last statement.

“Did they?” he said.

“Yes,” I responded.  “But I think those were the bones of what they called their prophets and patriarchs, not European kings.”

“I see,” said Bernard.

He’d made his point about knowing the enemy.  He called Soyla and the demons my enemies and he was right to do so.  Each of them wanted to manipulate me into doing their grunt work under threat of taking something precious from me.  And if I went blindly forward without a clue as to the why part, then I might leave a crucial weapon in the scabbard.  Perhaps my only weapon.

“So what do we have?” said Bernard, and I got the feeling this was a test for what happened after the truce expired…five minutes later.

“The motivation is still missing,” I said.

But that wasn’t completely true, was it?  I changed my wording.

“Most of the motivation is missing,” I said.  “We can assume Soyla’s people are motivated by money.  Not one hundred percent sure,” I added.  “But money drives people to these sorts of things.”

Bernard nodded.  So did Helmet.  Karl raised his head to reposition it on top of Bernard’s thigh.

“Sarah Arias and No Face?” I said.  “Money doesn’t drive them.”

“It would seem so,” said Bernard.

“Right, wrong.  Holy, unholy. Light, Darkness.  That’s what motivates them,” I said. 

And discount cartons of cigarettes
.

Another nod from Bernard.  He asked, “So how does that impact our strategy?”

Did I hear that right? The little guy said, “Our strategy.”  Call me an optimist, but it sounded like the truce would extend.  And that he’d joined the good team.  Well, he’d joined me, anyway.

“It tells me that we first need to battle the Soyla faction,” I said.  “Treachery is the currency of demons.” 

And of cannibal pygmies too
.  I managed to keep the brain/mouth interrupt switch engaged.  Bernard picked up the trail.

“Yes,” he said.  “Quite.” 

He also picked up the beer bottle, brought it to his lips, and then set it back down before drinking.

“The demons will be most patient,” he said.  “And they already expect you’ll need to do some dealing with Soyla’s people.  How did they put it?”

“They said to bring them what they want,” I said.

“Not spectacular grammar, is it?” Bernard said.  “But it points to an expectation on their part that you’ll be tied up with Soyla’s faction before your ultimate delivery to them.”