The captain blinked and stepped back. Grantz looked at the sergeant and raised an eyebrow. “Have we met?”
The sergeant handed her back her papers and tossed her a salute of his own. “Sergeant Damien Scorp. Of the Baron’s Vespiary Squad.”
Grantz looked interested. “The Bug Hunters.”
“Yes’m. Had the privilege of watching you work in Belgrade last year.”62
Grantz looked pleased. “Good outfit,” she conceded. “You’ll do.”
The sergeant’s eyebrows rose. “Do for what, Ma’am?”
The monster hunter patted the Imobilex jug. “I need to get this bad boy to the Baron. I could use your help.”
The sergeant grimaced. Imobilex jugs weighed a lot. “It’ll take a while, Ma’am, but I could requisition a heavy caisson. Be a problem on the soft ground, but—”
Grantz interrupted. “No, no.” She effortlessly hoisted the jug up onto her shoulder and indicated a leather grip at her feet. “I just want you to carry my bag.”
The sergeant had worked with enough of the Empires’ Special Units to know when he was seeing a show put on for the benefit of others, and indeed, the captain, the Mecha-Mole drivers, and the rest of the assembled soldiery were watching with clearly growing awe.
“Stand aside,” he roared. “This lady is making a delivery!” Instantly a path towards the hospital gates opened and they set off.
“Do you know where the Baron is?” Grantz asked.
The sergeant shook his head. “Somewhere in the hospital, Ma’am. But I heard he’s movin’ around.”
They approached the main entrance to the hospital, which was now behind a barricade consisting of at least two-dozen troopers, several of the large brass clanks, and an enormous green-furred ape creature. The soldiers saw the sergeant and Grantz approaching and the ape stepped forward.
“Grantz,” he muttered cordially. Even though it was night, Nak wore a large pair of smoked goggles that glinted in the lights.
The monster hunter gave him a smile. “Sergeant Nak.”63
The sergeant bared his fangs. “You have come for me.”
The monster hunter shifted the Imobilex jug to her other shoulder. “In your dreams.”
Nak stared at her. His fangs were still displayed, but the corners of his mouth turned up. “Yes—in the very best ones!” He then turned to Sergeant Scorp and his demeanor changed. “And who is this?”
The sergeant stared up at the large goggles and refrained from saluting with great effort. “Sergeant Scorp, Vespiary Squad.”
Nak leaned down and examined him closely. Scorp felt the chemical-scented breath gust past him. Nak straightened up and waved them through. “Watch your back, little man,” he growled.
Scorp waited until they were in the building’s foyer. “What was that about?”
Grantz looked embarrassed. “Don’t mind him. Nak gets jealous.”
The sergeant almost dropped the bag. “But—wait—”
Grantz rolled her eyes. “He can’t help it. Under those goggles? He’s a green-eyed monster.”
There was a lot left unsaid in that statement. Sergant Scorp was open-minded. He had to be. In the Armies of the Empire you worked with—and relied upon—any number of things that were, well, not human necessarily, but certainly people. And it followed that two people of any type might form the strongest of bonds. Scorp had seen it happen often enough. Hell, his daughter had fallen for an accountant, of all things, and after he’d gone to all the trouble of setting her up with a nice reanimated fellow from his old unit. No, nothing surprised him anymore, but…
“I thought you hunted monsters.”
To his astonishment, the woman laughed at this. “Only the ones that cause trouble. Most of my work involves the shambling, mindless stuff. Rogue machines, beasts gone mad…Intelligent, sentient monsters are rarer than you’d think.”
A sweet voice arose from one of the chairs in the lobby. It sounded amused. “About time you got here.”
To his surprise, Scorp saw Grantz spin, slide the Imobilex jar to the ground, and whip her sword out in one smooth movement. The tip of the blade pointed at a curvaceous woman with dark skin and jet-black hair clad in the white uniform of the Baron’s exploratory fleet. She was lazily unfolding herself from the chair and she was a beautiful sight. It wasn’t until he saw the small skull-shaped bindi upon her forehead that Scorp realized they were standing before Captain Bangladesh DuPree. The bag dropped from his suddenly cold hands. I never even heard her coming, he thought, with a touch of panic.
Captain DuPree stared a moment, cross-eyed, at the sword held motionless centimeters from her nose. Then she grinned up at Grantz insouciantly. “Maybe someday, girlie.” She moved the sword aside with the tip of a finger. “But not today. Come on, Klaus is waiting for you.”
She turned and headed off with a light step. The monster hunter stared after her for a second, sheathed her sword, and bent to pick up the Imobilex jug. She only remembered Scorp when he moved to pick up her valise. She gave him a small smile, such as you’d see between two veterans who had survived an attack, and continued her conversation as if she’d never stopped. “But when you do meet an intelligent monster, you really have to be careful.”
They followed Captain DuPree through the hospital corridors, which magically cleared of people as she approached. To Scorp’s surprise, they passed through another lobby and he realized that they were again outside, in one of the hospital’s hidden courtyards. This one was crowded with people, clerks, and functionaries, as well as a few of the higher brass. Scorp then saw that the tower of machinery they were clustered around was some sort of giant clank, which was currently at rest upon the ground. Seated at its apex was the Master of the Empire, Baron Klaus Wulfenbach. Sergeant Scorp had seen his share of battle injuries. The Baron looked like he’d decided to try a fair sampling of all of them.
Everyone was talking. Scorp resigned himself to a long wait, but Captain DuPree simply waded forward. “Hey, Klaus!” Everyone froze and again a space cleared out around her. She waved the two of them forward without looking at them. “Grantz is here, with that big jar of trouble you ordered.”
The monster hunter stepped forward and swung the jar off of her shoulder. Her face was a mask of concern. “Herr Baron. I’d heard you were injured but I had no idea. Should you be up?”
Klaus smiled. “Despite Dr. Sun’s histrionics, I can assure you that it looks worse than it is.” He turned serious. “Your delivery?”
Grantz nodded. Taking a key from around her neck, she unlocked a panel, which swung aside. She flipped several switches and the lid of the jug squealed and slowly began to unscrew itself. The crowd pulled farther back. Sergeant Scorp would have liked to have done the same but instead he simply clutched the valise tighter.
The lid fell off and Grantz dipped her hand into the jar, hauling out a limp figure wrapped in a hunter’s net. She pulled a small device from a pouch at her belt, touched it to the netting, and it fell apart, revealing none other than Othar Tryggvassen—the famous Spark and self-proclaimed hero—who glared defiantly at his surroundings before folding up and collapsing onto the floor.
Grantz held up her hand. “Please. Don’t underestimate him this time. This is the second time I’ve had to bring him in.”
She nudged Othar with her foot. “What’s the matter with you? Are you trying to pull some kind of trick?”
“No!” Othar snapped. “My legs simply fell asleep! Have you ever been stuffed into one of those things?” He flexed his legs and grimaced. “You people certainly know how to ruin an entrance.”
Klaus rolled his eyes. Othar lived his life knowing that, no matter the situation, he was The Hero, and thus tried to be as—Klaus searched for a word—dramatic? No—as showmanlike as possible. This made him a great favorite amongst the populace at large.