Brooklyn Knight (35 page)

“You, you can’t mean …”

“Ahhh.” The light behind Ungari’s eyes sparkled. “You understand at last. Of course I mean it. Just as the people of Memak’tori were swept from the face of the earth, so shall I save humanity by opening our world to the A’ademir.”

Knight stood for a moment, transfixed, unable to move, to speak—even to blink. The monstrous truth of his onetime friend’s admission had stunned him utterly, throwing his mind into a turmoil. He had just been told the sacrificial destruction of billions of human beings was but seconds away. Standing in the darkened cemetery, the early summer night’s chill invading his bones, the professor wrestled with the magnitude of Ungari’s proposal.

Was there, he wondered, something to it?

If the human race was doomed to massive starvation, to plague and food riots, to a reversion to tribal gang wars, ever-shrinking pockets of people slaughtering one another over ever-dwindling resources, might there not
be something to the doctor’s solution? It was severe, cold-hearted—but then, so was amputating a young man’s leg to protect him from gangrene.

If there’s really no other way to save the human race from extinction
, thought Knight,
could the ends justify the means?

“Understand me, Piers,” came Ungari’s voice in a whisper. “I’m not doing this to become king of the world. To allow the A’ademir access to this world, I will have to offer my own body as its passageway. I would be the first consumed.” And with those words, the doctor turned Knight from any consideration of his ideals. His eyes narrowing to hard slits, fingers curling into fists, the professor responded;

“You almost had me convinced.”

“You do not believe me?”

“Oh, I believe you, Ashur. That’s the problem. Like all self-made martyrs, you think that passing by the rewards of those you consider villains makes you noble. But the prize you’re chasing is adoration. ‘He gave his life for humanity. Oh, how we love him.’ Your problem is you’re afraid to be here when the rising tides have swamped the coasts. You’re terrified of the idea of sand dunes spreading across the base of the Eiffel Tower. You’re a coward—but the thing that annoys me is, for a minute there … you almost turned me into one, too.”

The doctor’s body went coldly rigid. His teeth grinding down firm, he blinked, and suddenly the light behind his eyes flashed forward with a menacing glow. His hands rising, fingertips meeting, pressing against one another before his face, Ungari growled;

“I wanted you to understand what I was doing, Piers. To join me. To welcome the A’ademir.”

“What, as they did in Memak’tori? Tell me, ‘old friend,’ did your precious A’ademir leave anyone behind ten thousand years
ago when it dropped in for lunch? For God’s sake, man, what makes you think it’s going to this time?”

Without answering, without warning, Ungari turned his palms toward the professor and unleashed a bolt of pure force, one far more focused than the lightning he had used previously. Expecting such treachery, however, Knight was ready with his white-oak rune held firm in the same hand wearing the ring returned to him that evening. Deflecting the shot, knowing he could not survive many more, the professor turned and ran into the cemetery, desperate to gain some time. Shaking his head slightly, sadly, Ungari marched forward at a steady pace, calling out;

“Do not waste our time, Piers. You cannot escape me. You cannot defeat me.”

Ignoring the doctor’s comments, Knight raced through the cemetery, his mind desperately attempting to concoct some sort of plan.

“You are a competent, minor magician, Piers!” shouted Ungari. “I grant you that. But the tiny grams of power you might be able to pull out of this place are nothing compared to that which I hold. Let us make this easy upon ourselves.”

Crashing wildly along through the poorly lit graveyard, the professor tried to remember the way to one particular spot. Ungari was correct about his magical abilities. As he had explained to Bridget only the other night, he was capable of extracting the stored energy in objects. But what object, anywhere within Green-Wood, could possibly hold enough energy to withstand the power granted the doctor by his extradimensional accomplice?

Hoping he knew, Knight pushed himself to the limit, throwing himself through hedges, slipping on the dew-soaked grass, while all along Ungari followed him slowly but steadily.

Finally, when the doctor caught up to Knight, he found the
professor sprawled in front of a slightly larger than life-size statue of one goddess or another. Walking forward, the doctor reached down and then jerked Knight roughly to his feet. Holding him aloft, he said in a chiding voice;

“Piers, foolish little Piers. This is your answer, your means of defeating me? A statue of Minerva? How much energy did you think you would find stored here? It has been nearly two thousand years since she was worshiped with any regularity by the
pontifex maximus.
Since I don’t believe this edifice was erected that long ago, who do you think has been leaving any emotional energy here?” Throwing the professor back against the statue, Ungari laughed as he added;

“Here, old man, take what you want from your relic. Take your best shot. Then I shall get along with the business of saving mankind.”

Clutching the statue, licking at the blood leaking from his cracked lips, dribbling down from his broken nose, Knight slowly began to drag himself upward as he explained;

“You’re right; it is a statue of Minerva. She was the Roman goddess of war, as I’m certain you remember.”

“I do.”

“Well, the funny thing about history, Ashur, is that it’s hard to know all of it. For instance, Charles Higgins, the man who built this mausoleum for himself, christened this piece
Minerva and the Altar of Liberty.
Can you guess why?” When Ungari merely shrugged, Knight, his hands still gripping the statue hard as he continued to struggle back to his feet, told him;

“It was meant to commemorate the Revolutionary War’s Battle of Brooklyn. Higgins built his resting place here, on this hill, because it was the site of one of the bloodiest battles of that conflict. Lot of blood spilled here, lot of mourning—still, you’re right, even
with nearly a hundred years of visitors to this site to see this piece, there couldn’t be enough energy for me to gather to stop the A’ademir.” The professor paused for a moment, then added softly;

“Or at least, there wouldn’t be, if it weren’t for one little thing.”

“And what is that?”

“To leave behind a piece of one’s soul, to mark a site with one’s own ectoplasmic residue, one must be moved. The soul must be stirred. You were right about Minerva. In this day and age she does not elicit much in the way of human response anymore. But … she makes an excellent receptacle for a lady who does.”

So saying, Knight pointed forward off to some far away point in the gloomy distance. Still unworried over Knight or his abilities, the doctor turned around to see at what his former friend was pointing. As he did so, Ungari caught sight of something far off in the waters beyond the distant shore. As he tried to make it out in the gloom, the professor told him;

“If you haven’t heard, we call her the Statue of Liberty. And unlike Minerva, the sight of her does stir the souls of men.”

And, so saying, Piers Knight reached into Higgins’ monument and unleashed in one overwhelming flash the stored awe and respect of millions for the great bronze lady in the harbor beyond.

For close to a century, visitors had been following Minerva’s hand as it pointed through the always carefully trimmed trees to her counterpart beyond. Goddess of war, Mistress of Liberty, the effect of seeing the one hailing the other had moved hundreds upon hundreds of thousands to tears. Now, Knight gathered every iota of that raw emotion unto himself and used it to defend all of mankind.

The power slammed into Ungari with the force of a runaway truck. The doctor was smashed into the ground, flipped head over heels, then driven harshly into the earth. Despite the power granted to him by his extradimensional benefactor, Ungari’s bones were
cracked, his nervous system set afire, his blood boiled within his organs and veins and heart.

The doctor struggled to turn back toward Knight, to defend himself, to protect his dream. He could not. His eyes roasted, steam falling away from his body, drifting on the breeze, he attempted to take a step toward the professor, only to fall over suddenly. His back slamming against a small tombstone, Ungari felt his spine shatter. He gasped as the additional pain tore through his nervous system. Then, just when Knight had no more energy to throw against him, the doctor slumped over and slid to the ground. Beaten.

Destroyed.

Hoping his work might finally be over, the professor allowed his straining legs to collapse underneath himself. Somewhere on the trip to the ground he closed his eyes, never actually feeling the moment of impact.

It was several hours before Piers Knight woke up. When he did so, he found himself stretched out upon his own living room couch. Sitting in one of the chairs on the other side of the room he found Denny LaRaja, quietly sipping a cup of tea. As the professor stirred, the detective said;

“Hmmm, well, look at you, all awake and everything. Welcome back to the land of the living.”

“Thank you. Glad to be back. Where’s Bridget?”

“In the kitchen, making more tea. Shall we get you a cup?” Forcing himself up upon his elbows, Knight replied;

“I think I’d like that—yes.”

Over the next forty-some minutes, the three caught each other up-to-date. Word from Fort Drum was that a terrorist attack had been averted at a great cost of American life and property. Hints were made about some sort of terrible new weapon, but there had been no mention of fire demons. As for Bakur and Ungari, LaRaja had called
in an “anonymous” tip, alerting the authorities as to where they might find the bodies. Charred, broken, partially disintegrated, the uncovering of what had happened to them would be left to the federal authorities, along with the mystery of the disappearance of the FBI agents who had been keeping tabs on the two men.

Most likely
, Knight thought,
it will simply be decided they fell victim to the same weapon that was unleashed at Drum. Bureaucrats do like to tie things up neatly.

It was agreed upon that if as simple a thing as keeping the Dream Stone from being returned to Syria could forestall the A’ademir from entering the Middle East, then it would be best if the artifact was destroyed. Considering the world already believed that was the case anyway, the professor had suggested to Klein while they were updating each other that the agent take care of that small problem. The FBI man assured Knight such would give him immense satisfaction.

“So that’s it,” asked the detective. “This whole thing is over now?”

“As best I can tell,” answered Knight honestly. “I mean, until a few hours ago, we didn’t even know what it was about. And once we did, it was finished. Thanks to Detective Dollins more than anyone else, I think. He was a brave man, and he sacrificed more than possibly any other man ever has to safeguard us all. Your friend was a real hero.”

“He was a New York City cop,” answered LaRaja quietly. Taking a last sip from his tea, he started to speak once more, but was forced to stop for a moment, obviously overcome by emotion. Then, after his brief pause, he added, “And he was a cop I’m going to miss.”

“What will you do now,” asked Bridget.

“I could write a book on dark forces in the Big Apple, I suppose,” responded the detective. “But I doubt anyone would believe me.”

“I’ve tried to tell some of what I’ve seen over the years,” admitted Knight, “but to be honest, people only seem to want to hear about things like this when they can still believe it’s all myths. Once you make it real for them, they usually start talking burning stakes and pillory wheels.”

“Better than castigation from the tongues of the so-called Moral Majority,” joked the detective. Knight thought to correct him, then let the comment slide, simply gracing the officer with a half smile.

LaRaja stayed for only a short while longer. Making an admission of his own, that he needed to spend some time thinking as to whether or not he finally wanted to take his retirement, he finished his tea and then excused himself. Although he had not said so, he left the professor’s home having made it quite clear he would not be saying anything to anyone else about the nature of the extraordinary events he had witnessed.

After the detective had exited, Knight and his assistant sat in the living room for quite a few long minutes without speaking. They busied themselves with their tea, as well as the biscuits and cookies Bridget had brought out, but words failed them. The professor chose not to speak for two reasons. The first was simply that he was tired and had been given much to think upon. The second was that he could tell the young redhead sitting on the other end of the couch was troubled by something.

Give her some time
, he thought.
If she wants you to know something, she’ll tell you.
And then no sooner had he given himself that piece of advice, she said;

“Professor, do you think we’re all done with monsters and ghosts and lightning bolts and the like? At least for a moment?” When he assured her he thought it most likely, Bridget asked, “Then I’d like to tell you something.”

“I think at this point, my dear, you’ve earned the right to say whatever you’d like to me.”

Bridget gave herself a moment. Then, she turned herself bodily, lifting one leg onto the couch and tucking it under herself so that she was facing Knight directly. Realizing whatever she wanted to say must be important to her, the professor turned himself likewise.

“I’m not a virgin.”

“Well,” answered Knight, slightly taken aback but trying not to show it, “commendable. Good for you.”

“You’ve been treating me since I met you as if I were made of Dresden china. I just wanted to …” She paused for a second, blushing, then said, “To make sure you knew I was actually a woman.”