Guardians Inc.:Thundersword (Guardians Incorporated #2) (22 page)

“It’s not the only thing it has,” Thomas said, moving in front of the stain to take a better look. The mold wasn’t writing, but it was arranged in a special way against the wall, and as he did with all other codes, he deciphered its meaning. “Prometheus,” he said aloud.

“The legend?” Bolswaithe asked. “That’s a clear connection to the Guardians.”

“No,” Thomas said. “Just the word:
Prometheus
. I’m sure it’s a message.”

“That’s also the name of Pripyat’s cinema,” Bolswaithe said. “This way.”

They walked until they reached the street where the cinema was located. The building was as dilapidated as all others, but the mosaic on one wall still retained some of its original beauty.

“Here we are,” Bolswaithe said. “Should we go inside?”

Thomas looked around; this area was covered with much more vegetation.  “No,” he said. He looked at the ground and found a small batch of black mold growing in the concrete. It looked as if it had been spattered on purpose.  He saw another batch of mold leading away from the cinema toward a block of granite. He began to follow the trail of black mold toward it. “What is this here for?” he asked as he reached the granite block.

“This was the base for a statue of Prometheus,” Bolswaithe said. As Thomas knelt closer to the mold, he began to sense another sigil in the mold. “But it has been moved closer to the—”

“We want a deal,” Thomas said, interrupting Bolswaithe, and the block of granite rumbled. Thomas stood back as it lifted on one side and moved, letting out a hiss of stagnant air. A flight of granite stairs led down a shaft, and a line of old light bulbs lit up along the roof of the entrance leading down.

Thomas looked at the others.

“I guess we found it,” Tony said and pulled out his gun and lantern. “So let's get this thing done.”

Bolswaithe frowned. “I don't think that's the best course of action.”

“What?” Tony cocked his gun. “Come on, Bolswaithe. This is no time for jokes.”

“I’m not joking,” Bolswaithe said. “We didn't find where he lived. We were invited.”

“That's true,” Thomas said. “He basically told us where to find him if we needed his help.”

“Come on guys!” Tony said, trying to find support with Elise, but she shook her head. “It's not like we are just having lunch with this guy at his house!”

“How would you react if someone you invited came to your house with a readied gun?” Elise said.

“I'd kick your butt...” Henri rumbled from behind him. “Hard.”

Tony sighed. “Okay!” he said, putting away his gun. “But I'm not going first in there.”

“I'll go.” Bolswaithe went down the stairs followed by Thomas and Elise. Tony stopped Henri with a hand.

“I'm not going last either,” he said, rushing down the stairs.

Henri shook his head as he followed them, and the granite block closed behind them.

The Dark Dealmaker

The long granite tunnel was barely lit by the bulbs. Musty odors and patches of black mold covered parts of the walls, and a fetid, humid smell permeated the air. The electricity fluctuated, and the bulbs dimmed and brightened at intervals.

One of the bulbs went out as Bolswaithe stepped under it. “There is a larger room about ten feet ahead,” he said. Thomas remembered a tour he had taken with his dad a long time ago through an abandoned mine. This smell was even worse than in that mine, like damp mold and rotten food.

“Are we going down?” Thomas asked.

“Yes,” Bolswaithe said. “It has a mild inclination. We are about thirty-three feet underground.”

“About thirty-three feet? And how many inches?” Tony said from behind.

“Six and three quarters,” Bolswaithe answered mockingly, but Thomas knew that Bolswaithe was probably accurate.

“Six and three quarters...” Thomas heard Tony softly muttering from behind.

They entered a larger room. It was double the height of the hallway, and the walls were full of old shelves and tables. Coffers were strewn on the floor, and old coat hangers and bookshelves were set without any arrangement. Almost all surfaces of the shelves and walls were covered with decaying things—rotten food, moldy batteries, a beat-up radio.

Yellowish paper, old newspapers, and magazines, some dating to hundreds of years ago, sat in piles along the shelves. Clothing and military uniforms from different eras hung on broken hangers. Toys, figurines, and even jewelry was thrown around and covered with dust.

A pile of gold coins gathered dust in a corner.

The walls were full of burned out pictures, old men and women, families, and kids hugging a pet. The people in the pictures seemed happy, but Thomas could sense that they also were sad or nervous. He approached a map of Spain on a wall to see it more clearly; two cities were circled in red—Guadalquivir and Seville—and someone had drawn a line over the train track that connected them. Pinned to the map was the picture of a man on his dying bed, his family kneeling beside him and the words
“Spanish Train”
scribbled in a dark oily stain,  he saw the Dark Dealmaker pictured by the bedside.

“I wouldn't touch anything,” Elise said. “Some of these things are sure to be Magical.”

“I see a table in the center,” Bolswaithe said as he moved around the furniture, trying hard not to touch anything.

The dim lights gave out strange shadows as they flickered. Thomas saw a gold coin with a bullet embedded in the middle reflecting the light, and beside it an old, yellowed baseball, the signatures of the team unreadable because of its deterioration.

They reached the center of the room. An old table with a chair on each side seemed to be the only furniture the dark Dealmaker regularly used.

“I don’t think anybody is home,” Bolswaithe said.

“Hello!” Thomas yelled. “I'm Thomas Byrne!”

His call went unanswered.

Tony circled the table, looking at the things on the shelves. “Whew!” Tony said. “This guy’s a packrat.”

The lights flickered and the shelves produced strange shadows.

“More like a collector.” A voice startled them as the Dealmaker materialized from behind an old bookcase. “Or like De Sade put it, a connoisseur.” He was carrying a brand new football.

He placed the football on a shelf, and within seconds the football deflated and wrinkled in front of their eyes. It became as corroded as everything else in the room. “I'm sorry for being late,” the Dealmaker said. “I was making new friends.”

The Dealmaker pulled out a chair and sat down. He rubbed his long-fingered hands over his bald head, leaving a dark, oily residue that was absorbed by his skin. “Are you ready to make a deal?” he said with a crooked smile.

“You know of our problem,” Bolswaithe said. It wasn't a question.

“You mean the tests? The years of work down the drain? No one taking you seriously, always the joke, overworked, underappreciated, ready to shine but never allowed. The mockery of your family line.”

“What are you talking about?” Thomas exchanged a questioning look with Bolswaithe.

“Shut up,” Tony said, and they all looked at him; he was ready to draw one of his swords.

“Oh yes, the mockery of your family line. I can help you with that,” the Dealmaker told Tony.

“Shut up!” Tony yelled as he pulled out the sword.

“Stop!” Elise interposed herself between Tony and the table. Tony seemed to react to her presence, and he stepped back.

“A hybrid, an experiment born out from love. Way above half your heritage and a disappointment to the other half. Must be hard to know that you'll never be up to your daddy’s expectations...Princess.”

Elise turned around to face him. Thomas could see the anger building up inside her.

“He does love you with all his heart though, and he’s going to be very saddened when you die. You will outlive your human mother, but not the Elven father. Unless, of course, he is killed before his time.”

“Stop or I'll put an end to you.” Henri pushed hard on the bookshelf next to him, sending the contents to the floor and a cloud of dust throughout the room. The grotesque stepped forward, ready to attack.

The Dealmaker smiled. “I will,” he said acidly, “but not because of you. You're just a puppet.” Henri seemed to freeze where he was standing. “A failed Guardian, your reason to exist lost his head long ago. Did you fail because of circumstance, or did you betray your father on purpose? Out of spite for the King’s new mistress? You and your brothers just watched the rabble come in and get King Louie and Marie Antoinette, didn’t you? You didn’t lift a finger for them, and their children rotted away in prison—”

“Enough!” Thomas said, pulling out the chair and sat down at the table across from the man. He was indeed a Boogeyman, and he felt like he was going to deal with the Devil himself. “I am ready to deal.”

The Dealmaker wetted his lips with a purplish tongue as he looked at Bolswaithe. “I see your bravado is gone,” he told him. “I can help you too, you know?”

“Leave them alone.” Thomas smacked the table with his fist. “I'm the one who's making the deal.”

The Dealmaker crossed his hands in front of him. “What is your problem?”

“You know.”

“I know about many...” the Dealmaker said and Thomas felt something coursing through him, like a soft draft going through his skin to the man in front of him. The Dealmaker rolled his eyes in something close to ecstasy.

It sickened Thomas.

“So much to do. So many problems to solve,” the Dealmaker said.

“I just need your help with one.”

“And which one would that be?”

“My grandfather keeps tracking us wherever we go. I want that to stop without harming my grandfather,” Thomas said, and the draft immediately stopped.

“Oh that…” The Dealmaker clacked his mouth. “Yes, I can help you, but what are you going to give me in return?”

“What are you asking?” Thomas said, dreading what the Dealmaker would ask from him.

“I asked you once for a book,” the Dealmaker leaned forward on the table.

“
Mysteries of the Worm
, Ludwig Prinn,” Thomas said, remembering the first time he had seen this creature in the library. He looked over at Bolswaithe, who was already relaying the information to the Mansion.

“It's too dangerous to give it to you,” Bolswaithe said as he read his wristpadd.

“No deal,” Thomas said. “It has to be something else.”

“Oh, I wouldn't want to keep it,” the Dealmaker said. “I just need to read a couple of pages.”

Bolswaithe typed on his wristpadd.

“There is nothing more you can offer,” the Dealmaker told Bolswaithe, motioning with his hand. “Be sure to tell them that.”

“Five minutes with the book in a secure location, and you won't touch it,” Bolswaithe said.

“Twenty, and I don't want to touch it, but someone needs to turn the pages for me,” the Dealmaker replied with a sick grin.

“Ten,” Bolswaithe said.

“Ten is not enough,” the Dealmaker gritted his teeth . “Give me fifteen and I'll agree.”

Bolswaithe typed, then read aloud, “Fifteen, and you can't touch the book or make any copies of the writings, you can only read it.”

“Deal. Before I read the book, I'll tell you what I know about your predicament and who can solve it.” The Dealmaker extended a hand toward Thomas with a crooked smile. Thomas grimaced at his moldy fingernails and glistening palm. “Yes or no, Cypher?”

Thomas hesitated, then shook his clammy and cold hand. The long fingers wrapped around his palm, and as Thomas let go, strands of a black substance appeared on his palm and then were absorbed by his skin before he could wipe them off.

“We are partners now, young Thomas,” the Dealmaker said. “Just like Tasha was before you.”

Thomas stood up from the chair. “When is he reading the book?” he asked Bolswaithe.

“Mrs. Pianova is bringing it personally,” he said. “They are already entering Pripyat.”

“And Morgan?” Tony asked, trying not to look at the Dealmaker, who was munching on a moth he had pulled out from his pocket.

“They're gone,” Bolswaithe said. “They probably realized that even if they came in the exclusion zone for a sign they would never reach it before we did.”

“Fauns are so humorless, so against taking chances...” the Dealmaker said. “I prefer to deal with humans. They're always looking for ways to get ahead. Elves are also like that.” He looked at Elise. “Tasha was always one of my most avid customers. You might become one too.”

Elise hands lit up for an answer.

“All right,” the Dealmaker said. “I won't speak again of Queen Tasha.”

“They're here,” Bolswaithe said. A couple of seconds later, Guardian soldiers came into the room, light rifles at the ready. Mrs. Pianova was carrying a large book in a crystal case.

“Ooooh Goody!” the Dealmaker clapped as Mr. Pianova placed the box on the table.

“Tell us what we need to know. How do we stop my grandfather from following us?” Thomas said, interposing himself between the Dealmaker and the book.

“I don't know how,” the Dealmaker said, “but I know who can tell you, and that information is just as valuable.”

“Deal off,” Bolswaithe said, pushing Thomas away from the Dealmaker's reach. Mrs. Pianova picked up the box.

“You can't back down from the deal without consequences,” the Dealmaker warned, and Thomas yelled and fell on one knee, holding his arm. A dark spot grew on his hand just under his skin, which began to squirm as if filled with a thousand worms.

Tony placed a sword against the Dealmaker’s throat. “Stop it!” he yelled.

“I can't,” the Dealmaker said through clenched teeth. “Rules are rules, a deal is a deal.  I would be the one suffering right now if I was the one backing down. I said I could help you, not that I knew exactly what you needed.”

“Then help us!” Tony said. “Finish your part of the deal and we will finish ours. Say it, Thomas!”

“We'll honor the deal,” Thomas said, clenching his wrist, the blackness and the squirming subsiding.

“All right,” the Dealmaker said. “I did say I would tell you before reading the book.” He approached the table and looked greedily at the book in the crystal box. “You need to visit the Namtarii. They will tell you what you need to know.”