#4 - A Cold Service, Part One
Somewhere Beneath Hampstead Heath
The small chamber did not and would not appear on any geological maps of the area, nor would it be detected by any manner of divination or sonar soundings. The forces that concealed the small cave would not be penetrated by any forces either magick or technology might harness.
The bones that lay within that darkness, by rights, should have remained undisturbed until the final breath of the planet itself. And, like the Earth itself, they would be consumed by the fires of the sun.
Strange, then, how bits of soil seemed to routinely dislodge and fall upon the bones.
Thames Waterfront
Cam McClellan landed on the roof of the team’s recently-acquired headquarters along the Thames, an abandoned warehouse with a few converted apartments on the upper floors. He had no idea how ‘Gawain’ managed to acquire it or when, nor did he really wish to; he had enough headaches as it was keeping his small team together (or apart, in the case of Morgan and Gawain) and mending what fences he could with Lyonnese and other interested parties. At least Braddock’s lot had been nice enough to invite him to their little confab tonight.
Descending from the roof to the upper level platform housing their living quarters, he caught sight of Morgan and Rahne going at in the main area, which had been converted to an ad hoc gym and workout space. Both were in their ‘workout clothes’ – tatty cut-offs and tee-shirt for Morgan, a form-fitting unitard for Rahne – with Morgan trying to ensnare the agile Wolfsbane in some magickal construct or another. Surprisingly, Wolfsbane proved hard to catch and still harder to actually hold; her claws, while not especially formidable in length, seemed to slice through whatever mist or restraint Morgan could summon.
He left them to it and took a side trip to the room Gawain had claimed as his own. Even though he knew full well the sight that awaited him, Cam was still brought up short.
Somehow, Gawain had managed line three of the room’s four walls with television monitors, each alight and tuned to a different station or broadcast: BBC Prime news, BBC2 re-runs of “Eastenders”, French game shows, some ‘reality’ series from Frankfurt, a panel discussion held Spanish, commercials in Swede and Norwegian, a police show with Cyrillic subtitles, and dozen more besides. Gawain sat surrounded by it all, the volume of each set equally low yet filling the room with what to his ears was an incoherent babble of languages and dialects.
No sooner had he stepped into the room than Gawain spun about to face him directly. “Good evening, Albion.”
Cam caught himself before he took an involuntary step back. Instead, he nodded and reached into his jacket, pulling out what appeared to be a completely ordinary pen. He handed the object over to Gawain and asked “You hear everything?”
“Yes,” the android nodded.
“Analysis?”
Gawain paused, cocking his head slightly to one side as if considering the question. “I calculate an 81.35562% chance Captain Britain’s plan will succeed. Probability increases to 94.92519% in favor of success if conditions prove optimal: that the spell utilized to break down the Barrier is correct, that its conditions are met to the letter, that the Runestones prove receptive to the incantation…”
“Okay, fine. What prevents it from being an even 100%?”
“Mitigating factors are the inherent instability of magic itself, uncertainty of the precise origins of the Runestones themselves, along with natural impediments such as human error. I am actually holding the latter to a standard one-percent in any calculation here.”
Albion nodded and stated “Basically we’re rolling a pair of twenty-sided dice here, and hoping we don’t roll anything less than an oh-five, eh?”
“An adequate if simplistic summary,” Gawain replied, his modulated indicating neither approval nor disapproval. “My analysis is also purely preliminary and based solely on anecdotal data. I will be able to provide more precise calculations with more quantifiable data.”
“Such as?”
“An inspection of at least one of the Runestones would be a start. I would also like to know how Captain Britain came to possess the knowledge she professes to have.”
Albion frowned. “You think she’s playing us false?”
“No. My analysis of Elisabeth Braddock’s character and background strongly advise against such conclusions.” He paused, then added “But there remains the fact she has been…compromised in the past.”
Cam rubbed his chin and considered this. It had been a good couple months since the dust-up with Mordred and the revelations coming from that. Between their relocation and settling in, not to mention a few high-profile ‘missions’ they’d undertaken to engender some good will with the MPF and other interested parties, there hadn’t been as much time as he’d hoped to mend fences with the Pendragons proper. “I’ll give Lyonnese a call tomorrow and see if they’ll let us take a look over one of the stones. Will you actually be able to make anything of it if they agree?”
Gawain stated “As Recorder 303, I have observed and recorded the development of Earth’s civilization for the past nine centuries. During that time, I have amassed a significant database on mystic and magical symbology.”
“Uh-huh. And as Gawain?”
“I retain the majority of my data-tracks in this form. Any gaps in them do not appear to relate to this subject matter.”
“You’re sure about that? We’re taking a bit of a risk here.”
“Absolute certainty escapes me presently. I can only say I am confident of this.”
Again, Cam was silent as he considered the implications, shaking his head a few moments later as he decided to put it aside and focus on more immediate issues. “What about all this?” he asked, waving a hand towards the banks of televisions surrounding them.
“Beyond a rise in tensions in the Balkans due to renewed vampire activity within Walachia and Transvaal, limited social unrest within western Russia and the Aegean region, and some uncertainty as to the legal status of the Paris Pendragons, there are no regions of immediate danger. I do however project greater discontent across the Continent as word of Captain Britain’s plan spreads, accompanied by an accelerated push of recruitment and training of super-powered teams both on the Continent and within the UK.”
“With what outcome?”
“Impossible to project at this time with the available data.”
“In other words, you don’t know.”
“Correct,” Gawain acknowledged after another few moments internal debate. Cam sighed.
“Very well. Continue your…observations.” He turned to leave, only to be stopped by the android’s voice.
“Wait, please.”
“For what?”
“There is a further development you should be aware of.” Cam gestured for him to continue. “I believe I have successfully tracked down our ‘special project’.”
Cam looked him over carefully, then closed the room’s door so to minimize the chance they’re being overheard. “Tell me.”
Say what you would about his personality or background, Albion was a solid enough leader to recognize the team needed to be able to trust each other and be familiar with each other’s abilities and manners. Ever since their little dust up at the Prince's Trust concert and the subsequent mess with Mordred, Cam had been driving them all hard to drill and practice with and against each other. Naturally there was no chance of them having anything as advanced as Xavier’s ‘Danger Room’, but they’d made do, mostly engaging in extended play sessions like this one.
Rahne was as surprised as anyone when her claws proved disruptive to Morgan’s magicks, although the young sorceress proved devilishly clever in her constructs, summoning everything from glowing mousetraps to tentacled shadowthings. More often than not, it was the young Scot’s natural agility rather than her claws that saved her from being ensnared.
Given her focus was almost entirely upon her immediate opponent, she very nearly didn’t dodge the wave of mystic fire that rained down from above. Morgan easily shielded herself from it, although it was clear from her surprised squeak she’d been equally caught off-guard. A sweatsuit-clad Albion hovered several feet above them, smirking at them both in an infuriatingly charming manner.
“Always mind your surroundings, girls,” he stated in a tone that projected both amusement and mild disappointment. Morgan and Rahne exchanged a quick look, the latter then suddenly springing towards her former opponent, jumping into the oversized hand Morgan had summoned out of the ether and then propelled into the air by the self-same as if she were some sort of shotput in an Olympic competition. Rahne was upon Albion before he realized his jeopardy, arms wrapped about him and her momentum pulling them both to the mat below. Cam did his best to cushion their fall, which proved rougher than expected given his attacker was equally quick to abandon ship and practically shove him the rest of the way down.
Rahne landed in a neat sommersault roll without difficulty; Cam landed flat on his back with a mighty and pained “Omph!” He remained there as Morgan again summoned her over-sized glowing hand and brought it down on his chest with all the gentleness of a fly-swatter.
Cam remained where he was for several moments, taking deep, careful breaths to assess whether anything was broken or unduly damaged. Morgan’s ‘hand’ wasn’t crushing him as much as simply holding him in place, though with enough lee-way he could wiggle his arms a bit. A germ of an idea formed as both girls approached him from opposite sides, and not cautiously either. Guess it’s time for another lesson he thought to himself with a mental grin.
When both were only a few paces away, Morgan put her hands on her hips and smirked down at him. “Give up?”
“Nah,” Cam replied, throwing out two blasts of ‘dragons fire’ aimed not either Morgan nor Rahne directly…but at their bare feet. This naturally caused both to jump back and dance a bit in surprise and mild panic. Morgan’s magickal ‘hand’ shimmered and faded away almost immediately, allowing Cam to spring to his feet as quickly as his otherwise abused ribs would allow.
Rahne leapt at him again, only to be surprised when Cam ducked and rolled himself, at once evading her attack and actually managing to send her flying for a change. No sooner had he sent the young Scot sprawling to the far end of the practice mat than he was back on his feet and springing towards the still-hotfoot-dancing Morgan. She saw him coming and to her credit tried to summon something that might impede him, only to be completely knocked off her feet as Cam tackled her with all the gentleness of a rugby scrum.
Cam threw his full weight upon the young sorceress and quickly had her pined beneath him. “Give up?” he parroted, breathing a bit laboured.
Morgan however didn’t appear to be listening. If anything, she seemed…panicked. She started squirming violently under his hold, her eyes glowing and darting all about as if she were suddenly surrounded by enemies she alone could see “Morgan, you…?” was all Albion could get out, right before he was literally thrown off her by flare of bright fire that burnt nothing. She was instantly upright and literally hovering over both him and Rahne, who’d sprinted to his side.
“Ye dare manhandle me, cur?”> snarled a booming, unfamiliar voice that echoed off the walls; Morgan’s own lips remained still. Bright eldritch flames framed her slender form as she raised a hand, a hot wind suddenly washing over her teammates, neither of them certain what to make of this. Albion managed to get to his feet only with Rahne’s help, wincing a bit as he straightened.
“Morgan!” Albion shouted above the growing wind, putting as much authority as he could muster into it. Amazingly, Morgan’s blinked once and shook her head as if to clear away some mental cobwebs. She drifted back to the floor to stand easily within arms reach of them both, staring at the flames that surrounded her for several beats before daring to meet her teammate’s eyes again. She could only stare at them, dark eyes wide and fearful.
“Mor…” Cam tried again, taking a half-step forward, wincing as much from his ribs as from the screech Morgan issued that same moment.
“Don’t touch me!” She flew away before either Cam or Rahne could react, disappearing upstairs, leaving her slightly shocked teammates behind.
After a moment or two, Cam quietly murmured “Go after her. Make sure she’s…okay.”
“Ye sure?”
“Yeah. G’wan. I’m restin’ for a few.” He nudged her hard to get her moving. Rahne was soon practically leaping up the stairwell and chasing into the apartments. Cam counted to ten after she’d gone from sight, then turned and murmured. “You see all that?”
Gawain stepped into sight, head slightly tilted upwards and towards the upper floor. “All of it.”
“And?”
Gawain paused, stepping closer, then stated “I detected a 40% increase in her heart rate during this display, yet I detected no corresponding jump in her electroencephalographic activity in any lobe of her brain…save seven-point-two-second spike within the anterior section of her Temporal Lobe.”
“Meaning what exactly?”
“I cannot postulate at this time.” Without elaborating further, the android closed the distance between them and pressed a palm against his side. Cam bit down on a curse when a small current ran through him at the touch. “You have some bruising to the chest. And your difficulty breathing is not entirely concussion-based. I would advise a cold-compress to minimize any light swelling that may result.”
“Thanks for nothing,” Cam breathed as he pulled away. “I could have told you that.”
“I would further advise you avoid uncontrolled descents and landings in the future.”
“I’ll take it under advisement. Suggestions as to how to deal with Morgan?” If it were possible, Gawain looked as if he were about to…smile.
Somewhere Hampstead Heath
More dirt fell upon the bones.
The sounds of digging could be heard in the small tomb.
Then still more dirt fell.
Thames Waterfront
Rahne shifted from her wolfoid form back to fully human and got her breathing under control before she dared knock on Morgan’s door. Whatever her personal misgivings about the nature of Morgan’s power, they’d developed something of a cautious friendship, neither especially close nor actively distant. More often than not they’d visit one or another before turning in for the night, usually to trade a joke or fantasy or two. Rahne recognized there were hidden depths to the young woman, as well as something more. She hadn’t pried however and wasn’t planning to right then.
Instead, she gave a gentle knock to the heavy metal door and waited for a response. Morgan had for whatever reason chosen the room that had previously been a storage space, enclosed by a single metallic sliding door. Rahne gave a single, sharp rap on the door and called out “Morgan? Y’in there?” She bit down a surprise squeak and stepped back when the heavy door noisily slid aside. Morgan herself was not in immediate evidence, although Rahne’s enhanced senses quickly confirmed the other girls presence within.
Daring greatly, she stepped across the threshold, taking the open door as an invitation. This brave new world under the Barrier had a hundred-and-ten unwritten rules about everything from walking through a doorway to walking under a bridge to whistling every other Tuesday, the consequences for not observing them running from the horribly mundane (loosing one’s pocket change at an inconvenient-but-not-life-threatening moment) to absolutely catastrophic (being struck by lightning on a perfectly clear day).
Nothing untoward happened to her as she took this momentous step, so she took another, letting her eyes become accustomed to the low light the dozens of flickering candles provided. Morgan was hunched over a particularly large and musty-smelling old tome in the corner. Rahne approached her as cautiously and quietly as one might a starved alley cat when it was backed into a very small corner.
“Morgan?” she tried again.
“Cam send ya t’check I wasn’t sacrificin’ mice or whatnot?” the young sorceress hissed.
“He sent me t’see if yuir alright.” She closed the distance between them, still cautious but bolder than before. “Are ye?” she asked, crouching down within arm’s reach. It was only as she approached that she realized Mogran was literally, visibly shaking like a damned leaf. Rahne was about to reach out to her, realizing Morgan was actually crying now, only to have the sorceress hold up a limp hand and shake her head sharply.
“I…shite!” She must have been crying for quite awhile, given how raw her voice was. Rahne was torn between wishing to respect the space the girl clearly wished for and simply moving forward to embrace her. Morgan broke this little dilemma by speaking again. “I…I can’t read…did y’know that?”
“No,” Rahne shook her head, confused at the seeming non sequitor but willing to let Morgan talk.
“I can’t read or write a lick o’the Queen’s English. Dunno if I ever could or wot.” She closed the massive tome she’d been staring at, which promptly floated off on its own and settled back onto the already overstuffed bookshelf on the far wall. Rahne felt her hackles rise in mild alarm, but otherwise remained quiet. Morgan wasn’t looking at her right then, but instead stared directly at the bookshelf and many shelves of bottles and boxes surrounding them.
“But…I can read all’a this,” she said, waving a hand broadly towards the books and scrolls, then waved again towards the other shelves. “An’ I know exactly how much of each ingredient I have here, an’ what each c’n do and wot its for. Its makin’ me crazy that…that I know all this shite…but I don’t…I can’t…an’ now I go all bat-shite crazy an’ talk like I’m some dark queen o’Hell itself…” Morgan quickly wrapped both arms around herself and looked directly Rahne for the first time, eyes wide and frightened. “I’m scared, Rahne. I’m scared there’s somethin’ inside me…wanting to get out…”
“Then we’ll deal with it, together,” came Cam’s voice from the doorway. Making no move to enter, he continued saying “I don’t care if it’s the Red Lord himself. There’s no way I’m loosing either of you to anything.” Quiet as his voice was, there was no missing the iron determination there.
He continued after a moment, saying “Both of you should grab a shower and get some rest. We’re flying to Paris before dawn.”
“Paris?” Rahne exclaimed, jumping to her feet. “What for?”
“You found him,” said Morgan. It wasn’t a question.
Cam nodded. “Gawain’s tracked him down. We’re just waiting for the okay from Paris and Interpol before moving.” He gave them a tired grin. “This time tomorrow, we’ll be hanging the Crusader on his very own cross!”
Hampstead Heath
A dirt-encrusted hand that emerged from the recently dug hole, followed quickly by a strong arm, followed slightly less quickly by a shoulder, head and torso. Hauling oneself out of such a hole proved a laborious process, particularly one-handed, yet somehow Mordred managed it.
Once out, panting from the sheer effort this had taken, the dirt-smeared mystic managed to get to his feet and held his prize aloft. “As…requested…” he panted, handing the human skull he’d retrieved over.
Stephen Saunder accepted the fossil calmly, turning it over in his crystalline hands, his unfeeling lips curving with some difficulty into an approximation of a smile. “Alas, Michael. I knew you…not at all.”
Mordred’s chest continued to heave. “What…purpose…do you…plan…for…that?”
“This? Oh, nothing significant. Do we, my dear?”
Mordred was too exhausted to even sense the presence behind him, never mind cry out when a hand of pure stone reached about and jerked his head back, leaving his throat exposed for the knife that slide across it a second later. Even then, Mordred could not do more than gurgle as his blood sprayed out, coating the skull Saunders was so careful to hold at arm’s length.
Mordred felt all strength leak away as he collapsed to the ground, eyes fixed upon the blasphemous tableau that played out before him.
No sooner was the skull coated with red than flames rose from it. Saunders released the skull after a moment more, the flames now forming an eerie halo about it as it floated free in the empty air. These flames quickly spread downward, forming the vague outline of a human. As they did, the skull itself began to twist and reshape, becoming larger as its lower jaw elongated. A ‘skeleton’ of pure flame appeared from the flames, with sinew and muscle and flesh quickly following.
Saunders was speaking throughout this, his words echoing in Mordred’s ears and fast-fading consciousness. “If innocent blood might call forth the Spirit of Vengence…just imagine what horrors tainted blood such as yours might summon, Redeemer!”
But Mordred was beyond such thoughts and concerns, unconsciousness and oblivion having swallowed him whole by then.
And thus, completely missed what came next.
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