The Peregrine Omnibus Volume One (82 page)

“A messenger brought this for you, Herr Werner.” The maid crossed the room stiffly, holding a small folded slip of paper to Werner.

“Thank you, Esther. By the way, when will dinner be ready? Gunther is about to begin gnawing on furniture if we keep him waiting much longer.”

“It will be ready within ten minutes, Herr Richter.” If Esther caught the humor that hidden behind her master’s words, she gave no sign of it.

At a dismissive nod from Werner, Esther turned on her heels and exited the room with a frosty glance at Gunther.

“She’s a tigress, that one,” Gunther said with a laugh after she was gone. “And she wants me terribly.”

Werner ignored his friend’s jest. He crumpled the paper up into a ball and tossed it into a trash bin.

“What’s wrong?” Gunther wondered aloud.

“You were right,” Werner admitted. “The message comes from the Fuehrer himself. He wants me to test the power of the skulls and then let him know the results. When it’s verified that the old spells will work safely, I will be summoned to Berlin to demonstrate it to my superiors.”

Gunther started to grin but managed to catch himself before the smile touched his lips. He could see the fury in his friend’s eyes and knew better than to test him. Instead, he opted to take a more encouraging stance. “Is there anything I can do to help?” he offered.

Werner said nothing for a moment but Gunther saw his shoulders relax and knew that the suggestion had touched his friend. “Yes, Gunther. I can use your help. But first we will have dinner… and then we will retire to my private chambers… with the skulls.”

* * *

An hour later, Werner slipped on the hooded robes and bone-like mask of the Grim Reaper. He’d grown up in a house filled with the occult and had taken to it like a fish to water. When the time had come for volunteers to step forward as part of Hitler’s new occult forces, Werner had leapt at the chance. He let others allow themselves to be molded into silly roles such as the Iron Maiden, Black Zeppelin or Steel Jaw… it was Werner’s honor to be chosen for the most threatening identity of all: the specter of death himself.

Werner had been given a cloak and scythe that dated back to the middle ages, both of unknown origin. It was claimed that the garment and weapon had both been used by multiple individuals during the height of the Black Plague… but Werner could never confirm those tales. He could definitely sense the power in the objects, however… and when he held them in his grasp he felt connected to something far older and more powerful than mere Nazi ideology.

“You look terrifying in that outfit,” Gunther mused. Werner’s friend was seated on the floor, in the midst of a large pentagram. The occult symbol had been drawn with painstaking care, the chalk lines perfectly smooth and unbroken. One skull lay directly in front of Gunther, the hollow eye sockets facing outwards. The other two skulls lay at equidistant points on the outside of the pentagram.

The Grim Reaper faced his friend without any trace of mirth. He approached with the swish of fabric, his weapon held tightly in one gloved hand. “I’m meant to strike fear into the hearts of our enemies, remember?”

“How could I forget? Especially with you looking like that… so, what am I supposed to do here?”

“To fully activate the shared power of the skulls, I need a living conduit for the energy to flow through. All you need to do is sit still… I’ll do everything else.”

“Is this going to hurt?”

“Honestly? I have no idea. But I don’t think you’ll be killed. I’ve found references to people being used multiple times as conduits.”

“But… were they still alive? I mean, can a dead person do it? I just want some assurance that you’re not knocking me off so you can have my wine collection.”

Werner chuckled but did not respond to Gunther’s main question. Truth be told, he didn’t know the full truth about how this would all work… it might very well kill Gunther but it was a risk that had to be taken. The only other person available was Esther and though Werner valued his friendship with Gunther, it was terribly hard to find good help and he simply couldn’t risk the woman’s well-being.

“We’re about to begin,” the Grim Reaper intoned, calling upon his mystic ability to control the forces from beyond. Fog began to creep in around his ankles, slowly rising until he could barely make out Gunther’s trembling form within the confines of the pentagram.

“I’m starting to have second thoughts,” his friend protested but Werner ignored him.

The Grim Reaper closed his eyes, calling upon every mystic skill he possessed. He whispered words in tongues forgotten by all but a few, dead languages that still held perverse power over the world.

The three skulls began to glow fiercely and Gunther jerked back as the one directly in front of him seemed to stir. Its mouth opened with a cracking sound and an eerie high-pitched wail began to emerge, one that was joined in unison by the other two skulls.

The Grim Reaper felt something shift in the room, as if a door to some new and dangerous place had been opened. A chill touched the air and even beneath the magic robes he wore, Werner felt the clammy touch of the unknown.

Power suddenly flowed through Gunther, causing him to scream. The man’s head threw back and light began to stream forth from every orifice, casting the room into such bright illumination that when Werner opened his eyes, he was forced to raise an arm to partially block his view.

What would you want of us?

Werner looked around in confusion, uncertain of where the voice was coming from… Or was it more than one? Was it actually a trio of voices?

Tell us the name of the man you would like to see dead. Tell us the name of the place to be destroyed.

Werner suddenly laughed in exultation. It had worked! The power of the skulls was reputed to be enough to destroy the world… and now it was his to command. But first, he would need to test their power. The first name that came to mind was not any political rival or even the Peregrine, who had become a recent thorn in his side. Instead, he saw a face from his past: a childhood rival who had sparred with him again and again for success and women.

It shall be done,
the voices said in reply to his wordless request.

The unnatural brightness faded abruptly and Gunther sagged forward like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Werner hurried towards his friend, kneeling at his side.

“Gunther?”

A trail of spittle dripped from Gunther’s lips and his body twitched spasmodically. With a grim certainty, Werner realized that his friend’s mind had cracked under the strain. He still lived, however, which meant that he could continue to aid in the days to come…

The Reaper rose suddenly and called for Esther. He spoke to her in hurried tones from behind his door, not wanting her to see Gunther’s condition. Moments later she returned with news that both elated and terrified her employer: the man he’d sent her to inquire after was dead, slain in the middle of his dinner through unknown means within the hour.

The Reaper clenched a fist in triumph, punching at the air. The Fuehrer would be pleased, very pleased, when he heard the news. Werner cast another glance back at the skulls, whose own natural inner glow seemed lessened somehow. It looked as if it might take some time for the power of the skulls to regenerate… should he go ahead and contact the Fuehrer so that he could witness the second test? Or would it be wiser to conduct more experiments on his own?

Werner thought of the delicious possibilities. He could kill anyone, destroy anything, at a whim…

Who was to say that it was not he who should be in charge, rather than the Fuehrer?

“I have to think on these things,” the murderer mused, a broad smile beginning to form beneath his mask of death.

CHAPTER VII

In the Heart of the Enemy

January 17, 1942—Danzig

The Peregrine ran full-tilt towards the edge of the rooftop, springing outward into space with a thrust from his powerful legs. He wind milled his arms as he hurtled through the air before landing forcefully on the rooftop across the street. Down below, armed Nazi soldiers sauntered past, completely unaware of the masked man lurking above them.

Max’s entry into Germany had been less than smooth. With war waging, the German air force had greatly enhanced their security along the borders but the Peregrine’s plane was designed specifically to avoid detection. Special radar-deflecting covering over its surface and its nearly silent engines meant that detection was far from easy. Max had still nearly been spotted by passing aircraft on several occasions and only his great skill at piloting had saved the day.

It had taken some time to track Werner Richter back to Danzig, but Max felt certain that the man would have returned home with the three skulls. There was certainly the chance he had gone on to Berlin with them but Hitler had been spotted in public the day before, touring some of the Nazi strongholds so Max thought it unlikely that Werner was in the German capital at present.

Along the dockside area, Max came upon Werner’s home. It was a surprisingly stately home, surrounded as it was by massive steamships and freighters. The Peregrine wondered why the Nazi had chosen such a noisy area to call home… but Max approved of it nonetheless. The noise pollution helped cover his own actions, after all.

Max knelt, facing the house of his enemy. He took out a tiny pair of collapsible binoculars and brought them up to his eyes. He could see into one of the large windows, noting that several lights were still on even though it was nearly eleven o’clock at night. A severe looking woman in a maid’s uniform came into view, pulling the curtains shut.

The Peregrine put the binoculars away and found a fire escape, descending to the streets below. With great stealth, he crossed the nearly empty road and came up to the side of Werner’s home. He could hear the strains of classic music—Wagner from the sound of it—coming from inside and he moved around until he was just outside that window.

Max waited for a moment, taking out the Knife of Elohim from his inner pocket. The glowing dagger was capable of cutting through almost anything and by standing on his tiptoes, Max was able to use it to carve a hand-sized circular hole in the glass. The Peregrine then held the glass steady as he applied pressure, pulling the cut piece of glass out of the window.

Max peered inside, noticing that the room was illuminated only by candles arranged in a regular pattern around a pentagram drawn on the floor. A body was propped up in a chair in the center of the pentagram, heavy ropes tied so that the slack form would not topple to the floor. From where he was standing, Max couldn’t tell if the figure was alive or dead but something in the man’s manner suggested that either way the man was incapable of taking any kind of action. He seemed brain dead at best.

The Peregrine reached out with his telepathic powers, trying to sense where the Grim Reaper might be. To his surprise, he found that the figure was within the same room into which Max was peering. The Peregrine glanced around again and this time he saw the deathly silhouette in the far corner. Werner was dressed in his full Reaper regalia, standing with his back to the Peregrine.

Max tensed, readying to throw his full weight against the weakened glass. When he did, the battle would swiftly ensue, so Max sheathed his blade and instead retrieved one of his modified pistols.

* * *

The Grim Reaper tried to stem the rising tide of euphoria he was feeling. He’d used the Skulls three times now, testing their power. The second time he’d used them he’d struck down a woman who had spurned his advances several months back… and the third he’d sunk an American warship many miles away.

He was a God, capable of laying waste to men and women across the world. Soon the Skulls would be recovered enough to be used again and Werner had given a lot of thought as to who should be his next target. Indeed, he’d nearly pushed away all thoughts of contacting Hitler to let him know of his success… he was too wrapped up in his burgeoning power.

He’d been torn between eradicating London, hopefully even taking the damned Churchill with him, or turning his gaze towards Washington, D.C. where Roosevelt could join his American brothers in death.

Werner’s musings were shattered when a gunshot rang out and a bullet tore through his right shoulder. Normally, Werner was immune to small arms fire but that was a spell that had to be consciously activated—since he’d not thought he’d be in any danger within his own home, he had not bothered to maintain it.

Pain flashed through him as he whirled about, snatching up his scythe that had lain against the wall. Elsewhere in the house, Werner could hear Esther moving in response to the noise. The door to his study was locked, however, preventing her from getting caught up in what was to come.

The window watching out over the port shattered inwards and the jacketed form of the Peregrine came tumbling in through the debris. The Peregrine sprang up into a crouch, pistol in hand. He fired again but this time his bullets passed through the swirling mists that were quickly engulfing the Grim Reaper.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” Werner stated in German, moving forward and spinning the scythe through the air. “I gave you the opportunity to save your own life by avoiding me. You must be suicidal to come after me…”

“Not suicidal, just dedicated to making sure that maniacs like you are brought to justice.” The Peregrine ducked under a swipe of the Reaper’s blade, rolling to the side and then throwing himself upwards into the German’s side. The impact knocked them both to the floor and the Peregrine pressed his advantage by driving a fist into the man’s face. The skull mask crumpled under the blow, shattering. A thin line of blood began to flow on Werner’s face, his skin having been cut by the damaged mask.

Werner roared like a wounded lion and shoved Max away. He pointed a hand at the vigilante, summoning a large cloud of fog that further obscured the hero’s vision.

Max was prepared for it this time, however. He used his telepathy to keep a mental ‘track’ of the Nazi and he leaped back into the fray, slamming the Reaper repeatedly along the head and shoulders. The Reaper slashed out with the blade, catching the Peregrine in the midsection, leaving a bloody but non-lethal cut under the vigilante’s clothing.