The Peregrine Omnibus, Volume Two (4 page)

“You look a little green around the gills, my good landlubber,” the captain teased.

Pasarin’s nostrils flared in anger. “You were an incompetent captain in life and you’re no better to me now.”

Van der Decken waved off the insult, placing one hand on the hilt of his sword. “Send me to finish him, if that’s your will. I’m just anxious for you to keep your side of the bargain and free my crew.”

“There
is
no damned bargain!” Pasarin exploded. “
I
did the blood sacrifice that brought you forth from the ship—you’re bound to
my
will! I will choose whether or not to free your crewmates and you have
no
say in the matter!”

“That may well be, sir, but you have seen what happens when you do not parlay with me. I may not give your little jobs their full due.”

Pasarin moved to the bed, picking up his walking stick. The wolf’s head gleamed in the light. “You’re like a rotten child, Hendrik. Sometimes you need to be reminded who wields the rod.”

Van der Decken started to speak, ready to back down and recognize his master’s power, but it was too late. Pasarin pointed the head of his walking stick at the ghost, the eyes of the wolf beginning to glow a bright green. Van der Decken felt his spirit begin to fray apart, drifting back into the watery abyss that had been his private hell for so long…

“Stop!” he managed to shout out from between clenched teeth. “I’ll do whatever you command! Just leave me be!”

Pasarin allowed the torture to continue for a few moments before lowering the walking stick. The captain was on his knees, his ectoplasmic body looking battered and torn. “I should just destroy you,” Pasarin whispered. “You’re too much trouble.”

“I can kill ’im for you,” the pirate whispered, his eyes looking watery and unfocused. “Just give me another chance and I’ll run him through…”

“Yes. You will get another chance. But not without more ammunition. Speaking at the Douglass House gave me the opportunity to look through some of the League’s belongings. Most of their so-called artifacts are worthless trinkets or forgeries. But they had one thing that might work for us.”

The sea captain stood up, regaining his strength. “Tell me what it is—and you’ll have it!”

“I want you to bring me the Vladios Talisman,” Pasarin declared. “And with it, we’re going to kill Max Davies once and for all.”

* * *

Theodore Hadleigh was feeling especially proud as he ambled through the League’s archives. Today had been arguably the most successful event in the group’s history, and even the little scuffle at the end would do nothing other than make sure the coverage ended up on the front page of the papers.

For far too long the residents of Atlanta had scoffed at the League and its members, considering them eccentrics at best and lunatics at worst. Hadleigh had even suffered scorn from his own family, who thought he was wasting the family fortune on expeditions to find proof of the Yeti or other similar things.

“But after today, they’ll see,” he whispered to himself. “They’ll all see. We’re doing important work.”

Hadleigh rounded a corner, stepping into his favorite room in the archives: the antiquities collection, where the members stored the finds of their various trips and investigations. Hadleigh meant to spend a few moments looking at the Vladios Talisman, the greatest treasure that he’d ever discovered.

The talisman was a circular piece of gold-colored metal that hung on a slender chain. The talisman was painted with several runic symbols that had been successfully translated, though the woman who had sold it to Hadleigh had assured him that it was in the language of the Shambling Ones, extradimensional entities who could somehow tap into the fundamental energies of life and death.

Hadleigh came to a sudden stop when he realized that he was not alone: the glass case that normally contained the talisman had been shattered, shards of glass laying across the floor. A man was standing in front of the case, holding the talisman, and for a moment Hadleigh could scarcely believe his eyes. The man looked like he had crawled from between the pages of a dime-store pirate novel, though his features were marred by hideous sores and pockmarks.

The pirate looked at Hadleigh’s shocked expression and laughed aloud. “Well now. Looks like we have a volunteer to help me test this trinket.”

“Who are you?” Hadleigh stammered, trying to look as fearsome as his stooped body would allow. “This is a private club! You’re breaking the law!”

“Won’t be the first time… nor the last,” Van der Decken replied. He held up the talisman and Hadleigh saw the ancient relic begin to glow brightly, forcing the old man to shield his eyes with an upraised arm.

When the glare died down, the old man squinted, trying to get his eyes to return to normal. Through the haze, he thought he saw more figures now, joining the man in pirate garb. There were four… creatures… moving towards him, and Hadleigh backed away quickly. They were all nude and male in gender, their skin looking bloated and blue-tinged. Their eyes were vacant and their lower jaws hung slackly open. From their throats emerged sounds of deep guttural moaning.

“Tear him limb from limb, my boys!” the captain shouted, terrible glee lacing his words. “And feel free to feast upon his beating heart!”

Hadleigh turned to flee, but his feet lost their grip on the floor and he tumbled down. Pain flared through his left side and Hadleigh realized that his hip had shattered upon impact. He rolled onto his back as the four zombies approached slowly, a horrible hunger making their moans ever louder.

“No! Please!” Hadleigh begged, raising his hands in supplication. The zombies gave no sign of pause, however, and within seconds his voice had given way to screams of panic.

Captain van der Decken watched them at work and nodded. Though he was loath to admit it, Pasarin was right: he was going to need help against this Davies fellow and his magic knife. It looked like these zombies might be exactly what the situation required: some good cannon fodder to weaken Davies until van der Decken could deliver the coup de grace.

“Eat up, my boys,” the sea captain mumbled. “But save some room for the main course.”

CHAPTER VII

The Pasarin Connection

2:25 A.M.

Richard Nova carefully inserted the pin through the butterfly’s back, affixing it to the small piece of wood upon which it would be mounted. Nova’s collection of flora and fauna was the envy of many natural museums, with some of his findings being extremely rare. Some of them were so unique that the local Giffen League wanted to hold some of them in their archives, but Nova had little regard for them and their pretentious ways.

Nova’s home was filled with bits of oddity, making it a modern day cabinet of curiosities. Nova was the proud owner of a set of scrolls dating back to the time of Cleopatra, a section of giant squid that had washed up on the shores of Massachusetts, and a life-size iron maiden device.

But none of those treasures were as odd as Nova himself. He stood over six feet tall, with a thin frame that belied the great strength he possessed. His skin was so white that he was often mistaken for an albino. His eyes were extremely sensitive to light, leading him to wear dark sunglasses even at night. His hair was cropped short and was a dark black in color, coming to a widow’s peak in the front. He wore finely tailored suits, always black, and had the air about of him of a good-natured undertaker. For these reasons and more, he was sometimes dubbed “The White Ghost.”

Nova’s family was full of eccentrics and outright madmen, with his father becoming obsessed with exploration and adventure. The Nova Alliance, a famed club for men who loved danger, had been founded by Henry Nova several decades ago and now had branches in three cities. Richard himself was a member in name only, preferring to keep his exploits known to only a few, but there was no doubting that he, like his father, was drawn to the sorts of things that might have given other men reason to tremble.

Mr. Nova, as most men and women addressed him, was a troubleshooter by trade. His phone number was known only to certain people, who tended to come into contact with those in great danger. They would, in turn, pass the information along to Mr. Nova, who would sometimes set aside his own affairs to make sure that innocent people were safe.

Over the sounds of Mozart, drifting up from the phonograph near his work table, Nova thought he heard a rapid sort of pounding on his front door. Nova glanced over at the clock, noting the hour, and straightened up with a grimace. His back creaked a bit and Nova felt suddenly much older than thirty-two.

He descended the stairs, carefully peering out through the peephole to see who was knocking at his door. When he saw the masked visage of the Peregrine, a soft smile touched his lips and he unbolted the lock immediately.

“Peregrine,” he said, moving aside so the vigilante could enter. “A rare pleasure. I don’t believe you’ve ever visited in person before.”

Max stepped inside, his eyes scanning the furnishings . “Sorry about the late hour,” he said, turning to face Nova. “Normally you’re right—I would have just given you a phone call. But this is too important and I’ve exhausted all the traditional resources.”

“Ah. You need information and the good sheriff’s been unable to give you what you need?”

“Exactly.”

Nova moved into the study, the Peregrine following closely. He knelt in front of the fireplace and began taking steps to get it lit. “Can I interest you in some tea?”

“No thanks. I need information on a man named Fernando Pasarin.”

Nova stood up and smoothed down the legs of his slacks. He rarely received company and so he was disappointed that the Peregrine was apparently so adamant about avoiding small talk. But then again, Max was not known for being a social butterfly—at least not when he was wearing the mask. “The Pasarin family are known to me. They’ve been involved in ship salvage since the late eighteenth century. Gotten quite wealthy off their finds, in fact. Fernando took over the company after his father’s death on a salvage mission about five years ago.”

Max nodded. He knew all of that already. “There’s a connection between him and me. He hates me… I can see it in his eyes.”

Nova pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I may be able to give you more detail on his life. Have a seat. I’ll return in a moment.”

The Peregrine sat down, wincing a bit as he did so. His neck was still bandaged, though he was trying to hide it by keeping the high-necked collar of his coat pulled close. He hated to leave Evelyn at home, given that Pasarin had sent an assassin there just the night before, but McKenzie had posted a watch detail on the house and Evelyn was equipped with an instant messaging device of Max’s own device: if she were in danger, he’d know about it within seconds.

Nova returned a few moments later, holding a thick leather tome in his hands. He sat down near Max and began flipping through the pages, which Max could see were blank.

“What… are you doing?” Max finally asked, unable to hide the skepticism from his voice. He’d called upon Nova’s services in the past, paying him for information on a wide variety of topics, but he’d never seen this blank book before.

“This is one of the Books of Fate,” Nova replied, stopping near the final third of the book’s pages. “There are about a half dozen of them in existence, though I only know the whereabouts of this one and one that’s in the possession of Ascott Keane, the well-known detective.” Max nodded in response—he was close friends with Keane and had worked with the man on numerous occasions. “The paper is charged with psychic energy. You focus your question on it and the pages ‘write’ the answers for you.”

“Can you ask it
anything
?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t always answer… at least not as thoroughly as you might desire. The books were supposedly a gift from Destiny himself to some of his most devoted followers. Since they’re all dead now, the rest of us are just interlopers, using gifts meant for someone else. Hence, the books don’t always function as they were meant to.”

“No wonder you’re able to answer just about any question I’ve ever sent your way,” Max said with wonder.

“Actually, I rarely call upon the book’s powers. It’s said that repeated usage will gain Destiny’s attention, and that he’ll come seeking his gift’s return.”

Max found himself breaking into a grin. When he saw Nova’s look of consternation, he held up a hand to soothe his friend’s feelings. “I’m not laughing at you—it’s just that earlier today my wife and I were talking about how bizarre our lives had become. I wonder what she’d say if she knew you and I were talking about Destiny and his gifts…”

Nova glanced back down to the pages, which were rapidly filling with writing. “Well, it looks as if the gods have decided to answer our questions for today.”

Max leaned forward with interest, curious to know how he’d made an enemy of a man he thought he barely knew. There was no doubt that he’d made many foes in his lifetime, but for most of them there were clear reasons why they would hate him.

“Pasarin’s father had many enemies of his own, rivals in the field of stealing from the past. He hired a man named Ted Grossett to deal with some of them, a killer known to the world as—”

“Death’s Head,” Max finished for him, staring off into space.

“You’ve heard of him, obviously,” Nova said.

“He… he was the man who killed my father. Gunned him down in front of my eyes when I was eight years old. I finally tracked him down back in ’32… he was old and near death. I let him live after finding out that he’d repented.”

“Well, apparently Mr. Grossett had an affair with Mrs. Pasarin, and a child was born out of that adulterous episode.”

Max shook his head in confusion. “So Fernando Pasarin is actually Grossett’s son? But why would he hate me so? I didn’t kill Grossett.”

“No, but you did inspire him.” Nova turned the page and continued. “After you met with Death’s Head, the former killer spent the last years of his life telling anyone who would listen that he’d helped give birth to a hero, a man who righted the wrongs of the world and prevented monsters like him from getting away with their crimes. Pasarin, who had uncovered the truth about his heritage and who sought a relationship with Grossett as a result, grew to hate you. His father never spoke of him with the same respect that he held for you.”