The cold and bitter reality of The Peregrine’s words brought her up short. She looked like she might fight him on that point but she abruptly turned away, muttering, “Fine. But we have to give him a few minutes.” She entered the lower decks, adding, “I’m going to get the engine running.”
The Peregrine looked back down at the waters, which seemed quiet and still. He felt like a cad and considered abandoning his own advice to go in after Lazarus but his logic was sound and there would be no second chances when it came to their mission. If that meant making hard decisions, he was prepared to make them.
Seconds turned into minutes and the masked man’s shoulders slumped. It was time to go. He started to yell for Gravedigger when a sudden splashing below made him start. It was Lazarus, bursting out of the water, gasping for air. The Peregrine quickly tossed him a line and reeled him in, helping the soaked crime fighter to the deck.
“What the hell happened?” The Peregrine asked.
Lazarus spat out water. His arms were scratched and torn, leaving him bleeding from a dozen small wounds, but otherwise he looked intact. “The Kraken tried to eat me.”
“And?”
Lazarus held up a knife, covered in dripping gore. “He found me a little indigestible.”
The Peregrine smiled and helped Lazarus back to his feet. “Go inside and tell Charity that you’re alive. Then she can stop hating me and we can get on our way.”
Staggering somewhat, Lazarus moved away. He would enjoy the chance to recuperate on the way to Hy-Brasil. Normally such a journey would be next to impossible, given the distance and the lack of readily available fuel. In this case, however, they would be tapping into a portion of the magic in Catalyst’s gauntlet to speed them along. Since they didn’t want to use much of it — it would be needed for what they intended to do on the island, after all — the trip would still be a matter of days but that was far better than the weeks it would have taken otherwise.
The Peregrine watched his friend disappear belowdecks and for the first time in a long time, he felt hopeful that things were starting to go their way.
Hy-Brasil… and possible victory… lay in the future.
He couldn’t wait to seize it.
CHAPTER XV
Terror Takes Flight
“It’s all falling apart,” Himmler said. His hands shook badly as he raised the glass to his lips and took a sip. The alcohol burned its way down his throat but did nothing to steady him. “And it’s all my fault. I never should have—”
“Silence!” Goebbels barked. He rose from his seat in what had been The Füehrer’s Sovereign City office and stared at the macabre figure that entered the room.
It was The Mother of Pus, a name that was growing ever more apt. The beauty that her human host had once possessed had been fading for some time but the recent events had sped this transformation along. She looked like one of those Egyptian mummies now, devoid of the cloth that normally hid their cadaverous features. Her skin, sunken to the bones, was now dotted by open sores that leaked yellowish fluid.
“Mr. Death has returned?” she asked.
Goebbels glanced at Himmler and noted with disgust that the other man was incapable of answering. Standing up straighter, he answered, “He is now like his name would suggest — dead. To his credit, he took The Darkling with him. Their corpses are currently in storage.”
Darhoth waved a hand dismissively. “Burn them both. They are of no use to anyone and even though I hunger, I wouldn’t allow darkling’s flesh to touch my lips. Disgusting figure…”
Goebbels pressed on, realizing that with The Füehrer gone, someone would have to carry on in his name and Himmler was hardly the man to do so. Eager to gain favor with Darhoth, he said, “We have reports that Lazarus Gray, The Gravedigger and The Peregrine stole a boat from the harbor. We have no idea where they might be headed but they’ve left Sovereign. I think this gives us time to restore order and made preparations to move forward. I have already drafted a radio address to begin this process. In addition, I will proclaim a worldwide period of mourning for The Füehrer with a state funeral to follow in Berlin in one week’s time.”
“Let the carrion pick the flesh from his bones.”
Goebbels reacted as if he’d been slapped in the face. “Excuse me?”
“Your pitiful excuse for a leader! Throw his body outside so that the elements may do what they will with him.” Darhoth seethed now, her eyes boring into Goebbels’. “There will be no more coddling of your Nazi filth. You are slaves and that is the best you can hope for. Do as I command or you will join your master in death.”
Though he had never been the bravest of men, there was one aspect of Goebbels’ character that should never have been cast into doubt: his unswerving loyalty to Adolph Hitler. He pulled himself up to his full height and replied, “Absolutely not.”
Darhoth paused, obviously surprised by this act of disobedience.
Himmler, sensing that things were about to take a horrific turn, slid towards the door, easing out of it. He was ready to flee now, hoping against hope that he would find some means of survival outside of Sovereign City.
Meanwhile, Goebbels had reached down to the pistol he wore on his hip, drawing it forth with a shaking hand. He was thinking of his wife, Magda, and the children they both loved — Harald, Helga, Hildegard, Helmut, Holdine, Hedwig and Heidrun. They were such good children, even the most willful of them. He would be a good Nazi for them to the end, even if they could not be there to witness his act of heroism.
He pointed the pistol at Darhoth’s face and pulled the trigger. The bullets ripped through flesh and bone, reducing her already putrefying features to pure gore. Her body swayed before tumbling to the floor.
Goebbels lowered his pistol, staring down at the mess and feeling strangely exhilarated. He had done it! He had killed the horrible harpy and, possibly, freed his people. Of course, Darhoth was only one of many monsters in this world but if they could be killed so easily, perhaps it had been nothing more than fear that had prevented humanity from discovering this already.
He turned his head, about to call for guards. They would dispose of this creature’s body and then start subtly rounding up her other followers that were about the Nazi headquarters. Once they had been dealt with, plans could be made for the larger monsters that lay outside the walls.
A strange sound gave him pause, however, and he turned to once more gaze upon Darhoth’s remains. Something strange was happening. Thick fluid resembling phlegm was oozing from all of the woman’s orifices. Goebbels gasped in horror as the fluid slid away from the body and began to rise, taking on a humanoid shape composed of blood, snot, saliva and other liquids.
An inhuman voice rose from the mixture. “Before, I was weak enough that I required a host to manifest in this world. That is no longer the case.”
“No,” the Nazi whispered, his eyes growing wide with terror.
“Did you think I would be so easily destroyed?” Darhoth asked.
Her right arm shot forth, elongating until it wrapped around the neck of the Third Reich’s propaganda minister. The lips which had produced so many lies were now reduced to babbling incoherently as the man reached up to vainly try and extricate himself from the superhumanly strong grip. His eyes bulged and his face turned blue before he succumbed to the inevitable.
Darhoth withdrew her limb, which returned to its original size. She could sense something in her mind — a word, sent to her by the Followers of the Bloody Goat, a scrying guild that served the Elder Gods. She had ordered them to find her missing prey, the vigilantes who had ruined her carefully sculpted plans. Obviously, they had found something… a location.