The Peregrine Omnibus, Volume Two, Page 2

  “Be careful when it comes to dealing with married women,” a voice warned from the shadows. “Their husbands sometimes come bearing swords and guns.”

  Pasarin glanced over into the darkness, seeing the silhouette of a man moving forward. The fellow was dressed like something out of Treasure Island, though nothing in Robert Louis Stevenson’s classic quite compared to the horror of seeing a buccaneer covered in dripping sores and bearing the odor of rotting flesh. “Captain,” Pasarin purred, taking another sip of the wine. “Would you like a glass?”

  “Aye, that I would… but I can’t taste it, so it would be quite the waste.” Captain van der Decken sat down in a nearby chair, water dripping from his boots. His hair was matted and dirty. “Mark my words: stay away from the married wenches. Find yourself a nice whore and get your satisfaction that way.”

  “I appreciate the interest in my love life, but I can handle that side of things without you.”

  The captain grinned, revealing blackened and yellowed teeth. “I’ll bet you can, a handsome devil like you… Such nice unmarked skin. Not a pockmark on you.”

  Pasarin found that his wine was not tasting quite so delicious anymore. “Why are you here, Captain?”

  “To remind you of your end of the bargain!” the pirate said, leaning forward to jab at the air with a finger. “I want the rest of me crew up and about… I want my ship to sail the seas!”

  “Your men were granted continued existence by a demon. When your time was up, the ship sank into the depths of the sea and your men went to hell.” Pasarin crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the undead seafarer with thinly-disguised disgust. “I found your ship and I revived you by giving up a blood sacrifice… but to bring the rest of your crew back, that’s not quite so easy. It takes time and planning.”

  “Don’t play games with me!” van der Decken exploded. “You’re a swift one, with your pretty words, but I know what you are. You’re a power hungry little killer. You sought us out on purpose. You knew how to bring me back to this world, but I won’t be a hired hand for you, no ways, no how. You give me back my ship or I’ll do nothing else for you!”

  “You don’t have the power to refuse me,” Pasarin pointed out. “You’re bound to serve me, remember? And I do have work for you tonight, so it’s good that you decided to crawl out from the rock you live under. Do a good job and I’ll continue researching what it’ll take to get your ship up and running again.”

  “You’re playing me for a fool, aren’t you?” The seaman rose from his seat and took two quick steps towards Pasarin, coming nose-to-nose with him. “But you’re right about one thing: I can’t do a thing about it. Not yet. But someday this spell of yours will weaken and when it does, you’ll be begging for mercy. Oh, yes you will.”

  “The only mercy I’m asking for is from your stench,” Pasarin answered with a sneer. “I want you to kill a man for me. His name is Max Davies.”

  “The husband of that little trollop? Didn’t know you fancied her so much.”

  Pasarin turned away from him, moving to look out the window. He saw Atlanta lit up in all its nocturnal glory. “Actually, my desire to see Max Davies dead has little to do with his wife. Certainly, I’d love to give her a shoulder to cry upon… she’d be a lovely distraction for me until I tired of her. But that’s mere coincidence. No, I want Max Davies dead for quite different reasons.”

  Van der Decken drew his sword and the hunger for violence was palpable in his voice. “Then tell me where to find the lad, and I’ll slice him from head to toe.”

  Pasarin laughed softly. “Two things before I tell you where to go, my good captain.”

  “Yes?”

  “One: Don’t harm his wife, not if it can be helped. And two… make sure that Mr. Davies suffers.”

  CHAPTER IV

  Attacked in the Peregrine’s Nest!

  Max yawned as he worked in his lab, a workshop hidden in the storm cellar beneath his home, a former plantation estate that rested just outside Atlanta. The Peregrine’s Nest, as he had dubbed it in a moment of unusual jocularity, provided him a place of his own, where he could work in private on the many inventions that had saved his life again and again.

  He thought about his wife and son, both sleeping in the house above, and yearned to join them. But something kept eating at him, preventing him from relaxing enough to consider sleep an option.

  It had been several months since his mental powers had been lost in a battle with the master criminal Doctor Satan, an event that had in many ways liberated him. He was now the Peregrine because he chose to be; there were no visions forcing him to take up arms. Those visions had originally been sent from beyond the grave by his father, Warren Davies, but since the loss of his mental abilities, his father’s visitations had ceased entirely, which both pleased and pained Max.

  Max stared down at his handiwork—a small handheld device that would deliver a powerful electric shock when applied to the flesh of an enemy—and realized that he was too tired to adequately finish the project.

  He set the device aside and started to head towards the door that led outside, but something stopped him in his tracks. Through the small crack where the door met the wall, Max could see a shadow moving past. A half second later, the door to the Nest rattled ever so slightly as someone tested to see if it was locked.

  Max looked around, trying to decide with which weapon he should arm himself. His pistols were specially modified, allowing him to fire nearly a hundred rounds without reloading, but for some reason his eyes were drawn to the Knife of Elohim that rested on a tabletop. The blade glowed with a soft yellow light and had once, according to legend, been dipped in the blood of Christ, giving it unearthly powers against the forces of evil.

  Clutching the knife in hand, Max took a position near the door. He was curious to see if the intruder would walk away, in hopes of getting inside the main house. If it was a simple thief, they were in for quite a shock.

  To his surprise, the stranger didn’t walk away. Instead, they rammed a rapier clean through the wooden door, drawing it back before beginning to hack away at it. Max backed away as the door splintered to pieces, allowing a foul-smelling man dressed like a seventeenth-century pirate to lumber down the stairs, sword in hand. The man’s face was pocked with a number of weeping sores and his beard was matted with blood, grime, and sweat.

  The Peregrine jumped back as the pirate leaped into the room, spittle flying from his lips. “It’s the last night of your life, bucko!” Van der Decken proclaimed, taking a mighty swipe with his blade. The Peregrine ducked under it and the sword momentarily embedded itself in the wood over his head.

  Van der Decken yanked it free with a growl and continued his violent assault, stabbing at the air, each time growing closer and closer to hitting his target. There was no doubt in Max’s mind that this man was fighting not to wound, but to kill.

  The Peregrine responded in kind, wielding the Knife of Elohim with consummate skill. He drove the blade deep into his attacker’s shoulder, but was shocked to see not blood but rather brackish seawater flow from the wound.

  Van der Decken laughed heartily at the look of shock on his foe’s face. “I’m not as easy to dispatch as you’d thought I’d be, eh?” The pirate stepped back, twirling the blade and behaving like a cat toying with a captured mouse. “I don’t see why he fears you so much but he does… Oh yes, I could see it in his eyes. Kill Davies, he says, but he’s really telling me to kill this thing that terrifies him so.”

  The Peregrine moved towards a nearby work bench, hoping to put it between himself and the intruder. He hoped to occupy the man long enough to find a weakness that could be exploited—and victory was essential, since Evelyn was sound asleep in the house above.

  “Mind telling me why you’re trying to murder me?” Max inquired, successfully gaining some space from his opponent. The sea captain followed him slowly, a malicious grin on his pockmarked face. With every step, the man’s boots squished on the floor,
water trailing from the leather.

  “No harm in answering a few questions from a dying man,” van der Decken laughed. “My name be Hendrik van der Decken, captain of The Lucky Seven,” the man stated, pausing a moment to take a stately bow and to briefly remove his hat. “I am currently in service to a most dreadful lord, and it is he that has sentenced you to your fate. I am but a humble servant.” The pirated suddenly leaped up onto the workbench separating him from Max, kicking a chemistry set to the floor, where the glass shattered, spilling a pinkish fluid across the wood. “So nothing personal, mate.”

  The Peregrine cried out as the captain stabbed downwards with his sword, catching Max on the side of the neck. Blood spurted, red and hot, against the wall. The Peregrine felt certain it wasn’t a fatal strike, but because of where it hit, the blood was going to flow fast and free.

  Max grunted as the man threw himself off the table, landing hard atop the Peregrine. They fell against the wall, where van der Decken slammed his forehead against Max’s.

  “You can’t win in this fight,” van der Decken hissed. “I can’t be harmed like a normal man.”

  Max glanced down at the mystic blade he wielded. It had barely hurt the sea captain the first time it had found home, but the Peregrine wondered if the blow would have been more successful if it had found the villain’s heart…

  The Peregrine drove the dagger straight into the captain’s chest, piercing the flesh and bone that would have been covering his heart. The blade, once dipped in the blood of Christ, embedded itself deep in the pulsating tissue. Water and a greenish-black fluid oozed from the wound, and van der Decken howled in a manner that he hadn’t since he was a living man.

  The captain shoved Max away, one hand clutched over the seeping wound. His features were twisted in an expression of agony, and he gazed at Max through narrowed eyes. “That wasn’t a very nice thing you did,” the pirate hissed. “You hurt me. I didn’t think I could be hurt like that anymore…”

  The Peregrine held up his blade, which was glowing brighter now. Having come into contact with evil flesh, its powers were renewed. “I can destroy you with this, no matter what you are. It’s not an ordinary weapon.”

  Van der Decken studied him for a moment before backing away. “Aye. That I can see. There’s more to you than first meets the eye.”

  “Tell me who you work for,” Max said, refusing to be baited into losing his train of questioning. He feinted another attack and was pleased to see that the sea captain flinched in response.

  “Why not? I’ve no love for him, and it might be amusing to see him squirm a bit… His name is Fernando Pasarin.”

  Max fought to keep the surprise off his face. Evelyn had mentioned Pasarin’s name in conjunction with the speech she wanted them to attend tomorrow. All of a sudden, the seemingly innocent conversation between Evelyn and Pasarin took on new meaning. It was then that he recognized van der Decken’s name, as well, for Evelyn had briefly summarized the findings that Pasarin had shared with her.

  “Why would he want me dead?” Max pressed, hoping for more information.

  “I don’t have any idea,” van der Decken admitted, moving towards the shattered remains of the door. Max made no move to follow him, for his head was beginning to ache terribly and the loss of blood from his neck wound was making him dizzy. “But,” the sea captain continued, backing up the stairs that led to the outside air, “if I were you, I’d keep watching my back… because you haven’t seen the last of him… or of me.”

  Max saw the figure dissipate into thin air, leaving behind only a thin trail of ethereal smoke. The Peregrine quickly moved towards a table and grabbed a cloth, which he pressed against the wound.

  “Mr. Davies? You okay?”

  Max turned to see Josh, the burly farmhand who worked the fields for him, peering into the Peregrine’s Nest. Normally, he kept details about his vigilante career away from Josh and his housekeeper Nettie, but Max knew they both suspected more than they would ever admit. “I’m okay,” Max said, though he knew how he must have looked, blood pouring from his neck. “Help me upstairs, would you?”

  Josh practically carried his employer, effortlessly lifting the smaller man in his massive arms. “What happened down here?” Josh wanted to know, looking around to see if there was any trace of Max’s attackers.

  “It was an opening salvo,” Max said under his breath, growing ever more dizzy. “I think somebody just declared war on me.”

  CHAPTER V

  Pasarin’s Speech

  The Next Day - The Douglass House, Downtown Atlanta

  Max wore a small bandage on his neck as he moved through the crowd towards a couple of reserved seats for Evelyn and himself. The bandage’s presence attracted a few comments, but Max had been able to laugh them off with several witty comments about his ineptness in doing chores around the house.

  At his side, Evelyn clung to his arm. They were both dressed well, though neither was ostentatious enough to flaunt their wealth. Max’s fortune was frequently tapped by his war on crime, but his business holdings retained enough financial power to keep them agreeably affluent.

  “I can’t believe you actually brought us to this,” Evelyn whispered, casting a sparkling smile at one of their friends across the room. It was a university professor who sometimes attended parties at their home, but no one that she felt required a personal hello. “The man sent an undead pirate to kill you. That pretty much rules out going to his public appearances in the future, I’d think.”

  “He made a point of telling you where he’d be,” Max answered. “I want to know how he reacts to finding out I’m still alive.”

  Evelyn pursed her lips, well aware that Max didn’t want her with him at all. Normally, he wasn’t quite so protective, but with her pregnancy, he was worried that she might end up in the middle of a potential firefight. She’d steadfastly ignored his attempts to talk her into staying at home, however, and he’d eventually given up the argument.

  They took their seats amid the gathering, which was made up primarily of academics and a few members of the media who were there to gawk at all the talk of ghost ships and buried treasure.

  The Douglass House was a late nineteenth-century home that now served as the meeting place for the Giffen League, a conversational group dedicated to topics typically outside the norm: mediums, clairvoyance, and the like. The fact that they were playing host to the event would normally have been enough to turn off any serious academics, but Fernando Pasarin was well known in the field of ship reclamation and so the event had transcended the normal group of League members.

  The speech was being held in a large circular room with a high ceiling. The walls were decorated with stately-looking portraits of the group’s members, all of whom were dressed and posed like members of the Victorian upper crust. It was the way they wanted to appear, of course, and was sadly different from the disheveled and irksome expressions they wore in real life—remnants of years of being scoffed at, Max mused.

  A podium stood at the end of the room, where Pasarin would be addressing the group. Behind it lay another area, which was hidden behind a dark curtain. Max caught movement behind it and wondered if Pasarin was aware of his presence yet.

  He was… and he was not at all pleased.

  * * *

  Pasarin stood behind the curtain, resting his weight on the walking cane he nearly always carried with him. He had his eyes closed, his lips moving nearly silently. He was not speaking to any of the League members who buzzed about him, their excitement an almost palpable thing. For them, this was a major coup, bringing in more audience members than a year’s worth of normal meetings.

  For Pasarin, however, today was a day of annoyances. “You should have told me you’d failed,” he whispered under his breath.

  From slightly beyond the mortal veil came van der Decken’s reply, tinged with amusement. “It’s painful not to get what you think is fair, isn’t it?” the pirate teased. “My men and I only sought safe haven
from the stormy seas… a place to die like men, with dignity. But we were turned away, again and again.”

  “I really don’t give a damn about your problems,” Pasarin said, raising his voice slightly. “You’re long dead, and your crew was cursed not just by chance, but by fate—all of you disturbed a temple belonging to Mother Hydra and Father Dagon, lords of the Deep Ones. For your crimes, you were given a pox that ate you from the inside out, so everyone was right to turn you away. You were all monsters, even before you came down with the plague.”

  The sea captain did not reply at first, seething as he was at his master’s words. “And what does that make you, Mr. Pasarin, to be a man who reawakens monsters and sends them to do your bidding? If we are monsters, then what are you?”

  Pasarin grunted and opened his eyes, dismissing the man from his thoughts. He knew that this entire affair was a dangerous game and any mistake, no matter how slight, could ruin his life forever. He couldn’t afford to let van der Decken goad him into recklessness.

  “Mr. Pasarin? It’s time to begin.”

  Pasarin glanced over at Theodore Hadleigh, the League’s current president. He was an aged man, with stooped shoulders and an unkempt white beard.

  Pasarin masked his inner turmoil, smiling at his host. “Then let’s not keep them waiting, shall we?”

  * * *

  Max sat through the speech, nearly forgetting why he was there. Pasarin was a consummate speaker and he managed to enthrall his audience with a variety of tales, mostly focusing on deep-sea excursions that had turned up a fortune in buried treasure. The allure and romance of the sea was evident in every word, and Pasarin made steady eye contact with nearly every member of the audience, making them feel as if he was directing his speech to them personally.

  But for Max and Evelyn, there was no direct eye contact. Pasarin’s gaze swept past them each time, steadfastly refusing to acknowledge their presence. Evelyn found the entire experience quite surreal. Just yesterday this man had showed her a massive amount of flirtatious interest, then later that night he had masterminded an attempt to murder her husband… and now here she sat, listening to him give a lecture.