Robert Charrette - Arthur 01 - A Prince Among Men Read online

  A Time Warner Company

  PROLOGUE

  The sky was full of heavy gray clouds, a fuzzy blanket making premature twilight of the late afternoon. Al Churdy had been watching those clouds muscle their way to dominance in the sky since sometime around noon. Sky had been clear when he'd set out, but that had been hours and hundreds of klicks ago. He thought about turning on the Toyota's lights. The tint of the windshield made the clouds look darker, more likely to fulfill their promise of rain. Or worse, snow.

  Snow would rain everything. More rain might not be so bad; with what they'd already had there'd be mud. Mud he could deal with. The bike would be a bitch to clean afterward, but she'd get him through. She had before. Dirt runners like him learned how to deal with mud. Came with the territory. No covered tracks for guys like him. Yeah, mud he could deal with.

  Buzz Tadasuke would hate it, though—and that was something A1 could deal with, too. The thought of Tadasuke and his sleek Mitsutomo Serpent all covered in a thick, gloppy coat of Maine mud brought a smile to Al's face. Tadasuke's sponsors could put the latest crotch rocket under the Jap's butt and dress him up like a poster boy, but they couldn't order the mud to stay off him. Old Buzz would have to get dirty just like the lower classes. A! pictured doing a kick spin drew attention to the movement of her butt against the rubbed denim of her jeans. Not bad.

  He hit the clutch and downshifted, not wanting to pass by too fast. He glanced into the rearview mirror; the road behind was empty as far as he could see. Nobody to make a fuss while he checked out the bird.

  What was she doing out here? He hadn't seen any broken-down cars. She was walking at a steady clip, as though she had somewhere to be. Maybe she'd had a fight with her boyfriend and he'd dumped her out here. If so, she wouldn't be in a good mood. On the other hand, she might be interested in showing the putz she didn't need him. This could be an opportunity.

  Her head tilted to one side. Checking out what's coming? She put out her thumb.

  Oh, yeah. Al slid his foot onto the brakes and nosed the Toyota over. Maybe the trip won't be so bad after all. Gravel grated under the tires as he slowed to a stop. In the side mirror he could see her hurrying forward. She stopped at the door and looked in the window.

  Her face was oval, a broad brow tapering to a pointed chin, and her features were sharp, kind of hawkish. Too sharp for Al's taste. Her startlingly clear green eyes were sunken in dark pits that could be exhaustion or makeup. Her face didn't match her body too well; it was too plain to go with those curves. Kind of spoiled the picture. Still, only a real dirtbag would pull out on her now. He leaned over and tugged on the door handle. As the door opened he gave her a smile.

  "Need a ride?"

  Her pupils widened and the tip of a pink tongue appeared between her lips. She might have been a deer caught in sudden headlamps. Her eyes left him, darting about the cab and, once, down the road the way he'd come. She nodded.

  "Well, hop in."

  She slid in, moving with a grace that promised all sorts of things under the right circumstances. She snapped the door closed behind her. Tucking her knapsack between her feet, she settled back in the seat and sighed.

  "Been walking long?"

  She shrugged.

  Oooo-kay. Al put the truck in gear and pulled back into the traffic lane. He drove for a while, giving her a chance to get settled in, and waiting to see if she would start the conversation. A thank-you was in order, at the very least. He could think of several ways a hitcher could thank him for a ride, but she seemed to have her mind on other things. She might as well not be in the cab with him. Feeling stupid about driving along with two people in the cab and nothing but road noise for sound, he tried again.

  "Not much traffic today." She was watching the side mirror. Leave something behind? "Going to be a lot less soon."

  She gave him a sidelong glance, then twisted around in the seat to look out the back window. A! checked the mirror; nothing back there. She settled back, leaning her head against the rest and closing her eyes.

  "I meant the weather. When it closes in, ain't too many people gonna be driving along here, you know. Guess you're lucky I came along when I did."

  She made a noise that might have been agreement, thanks, or something else entirely.

  "Name's Al," he tried.

  No reply. She was a real friendly type. With manners like that she must be sprawl spawn. Maybe a direct question.

  "What's your name?"

  "Nym."

  Odd name. Fit her, though. She was an odd girl. Still, now that she'd relaxed a little, her face looked a little less harsh. She was prettier than he had thought at first. He wrote his first impression off as a trick of the light. Maybe there was some hope for a warm bed tonight after all.

  The road climbed as the clouds dropped, cutting visibility until Al had to turn on the fog lights. Their beams cut twin cones into the wispy white. The soup grew thicker, and A1 slowed. Never a good idea to overpace your visibility.

  Further attempts at starting a conversation weren't very successful, but he got the impression she was getting used to him. Her replies stayed little more than single words, but she did seem interested when he started telling her about his racing. That was good. Girls who had an interest in speed were often fast themselves. Unfortunately, the visibility dropped further, and he soon found himself spending too much time concentrating on the road and too little making moves. That was frustrating. Every time he snatched a look at her, he realized that his first impression had been off base. She was much prettier than he first thought.

  "Can't you go faster?"

  Her question caught him off guard. "Not unless you want to take up flying."

  She looked at him, brows furrowed and lips slightly open. One corner of her mouth quirked up and she gave a small laugh. It was brief and hesitant, but it made him want to hear her really laugh.

  "We'll be fine," he said.

  She flashed that mercurial smile again and turned back to staring out the windshield. The fingers of her right hand danced in an irregular rhythm.

  "Be careful," she said.

  "Hey, babe. Not to worry. I'm ace on the roads."

  No look. No smile. She didn't seem convinced. Ten minutes later he got the chance to prove his skill as a dark shape humped up in the roadway. A1 turned the wheel, swerving to the right. Whatever it was moved too, scampering right into their path. A1 cut the wheel hard the other way, felt the back of the truck start to fishtail. Damn! The bike tugged at its ties, rocking the truck up on its springs. The Toyota threatened to roll. He eased off on the wheel, throwing himself against the door to try to counterbalance the load. The truck settled back into something like control. He fought the skid down, pumping the brakes and bringing them to a stop with front tires in the gravel on the wrong side of the road.

  Geez! That was close.

  "What the hell was that?"

  "Did you hit it?" She sounded eager, as though she wanted him to say he had.

  "I don't think so. Didn't feel like it." They'd have felt an impact with something that big. "What do you think it was? Too big for a raccoon."

  "I didn't see it very well. A deer, maybe?"

  "Not a deer." He'd hit enough of them to know. It hadn't been the right shape.

  She shrugged and turned her eyes to the side mirror. "Let's go."

  He checked the mirror. Nothing out there but fog. They might have been alone in all of existence, nothing real but them and the truck. On the one hand, that was not too bad an idea. He ran his eyes down her shape. She was tense, frozen like a rabbit surprised by a hound. The tautness of her muscles prom
ised real energy. Her breasts quivered a little with every breath.

  "Let's go," she repeated.

  The edge in her voice cut him, urging him to action. He put the Toyota into gear, cutting across the road until the fog lamps picked up the road lines. He followed them back to the right side of the highway. Damn, if he'd been thinking with more than his balls he wouldn't have left them sitting in the opposite lane. In this fog ...

  Something big went past them in the other lane, moving the other way. Or maybe they had passed it. That made more sense, since there had been no lights. Only an idiot would be driving without lights in this soup. An idiot who might have rammed into them while they sat worrying about some damn critter they had almost hit. A smart person would be sitting out the fog. That big shape must've been some trucker pulled over to wait out the fog. Had to be.

  Didn't it?

  He found himself checking the rearview mirror a lot as they crawled along. A ghostly sentinel of a sign drifted into view. A1 read it aloud: "Skowhegan. One mile."

  "Skowhegan," she repeated.

  "Might be a good idea to get off the road." A warm bed sounded real good.

  "Off the road."

  Her voice seemed detached, as if she wasn't really listening. This was one strange chippie. A guy would have to be a little crazy himself to get involved with her. What was he thinking about? A glance at her boobs reminded him. The way her hair fell over them just accented their round firmness. What the hell; one night wasn't a lifelong commitment. How crazy could she be?

  A shock vibrated forward from the rear, accompanied by a muffled thump. The left rear quarter sagged in a familiar way. "Aw, shit," he said. Tire blown. That last skid must have taken off too much rubber, then a sharp pebble, or a nail, and blooey. Damned cheap Malaysian work. So much for saving money. A! nosed the limping truck over to the side of the road. He pulled over as far as he could; no sense making it easy for some bozo to plow into the truck and smear them all over the highway.

  "I'll check it out," he said as he reached over and popped open the glove box. He grabbed the flashlight before it rolled into her lap. Not that he wouldn't mind putting something long and hard between those legs. But this wasn't the place to do it. The fog made the Toyota more private than a cheap motel room, but it wouldn't be as comfortable. An airhorn sounded somewhere in the fog, telling A1 that there was at least one trucker still traveling the mountain; one too stupid to know better or too far gone on his wide-awakes to think straight. The sudden appearance of a parked pickup might be too much for drug-reduced reflexes to deal with, and A1 had no desire to be smeared over the side of the mountain. Later, he promised himself. Even walking, they could make Skowhegan before midnight.

  The fog made the night darker than it should be, danker too. A1 tugged his jacket closed across his chest to cut out the clammy chill. This weather was enough to dampen anyone's enthusiasm. Gravel crunched under his boots, crackling loudly in the silence. Somewhere down the mountain the airhorn moaned mournfully.

  He flashed his light on the wheel. Flat, all right. He crouched down to see how bad, hoping that a patch kit might take care of it. The shredded rubber blew away any thought of repairs. Damn cheap workmanship. A decent tire would have just popped. Blown a sidewali at worst. But no, this thing had to go and disintegrate. The damn thing looked as if a dog had been chewing on it for a year. And the rim was bent, too.

  He could leave the truck here and take the bike down into Skowhegan, but that would mean leaving her, since the Suzuki wouldn't ride two. He'd have to pull out the spare. Not the sort of physical effort he'd had in mind. Then he remembered what shape the spare was in; it wouldn't get him a hundred klicks. He'd have to replace it, and it'd be morning before there'd be any shops open in Skowhegan. And morning was a whole night away. But Nym had been so edgy, she might not want to stay. Maybe if he offered to pay for her room at the motel? He could tell her he'd take his own room. Money's no object for the gallant knight of the road. Like hell it wasn't, but she wouldn't know that. Yeah, why not? She'd agree to that plan because it would be better than spending a night like this outside. He could talk her out of it over dinner, talk her into his room. That warm bed was looking better and better. One,room he could afford.

  He walked around to her side of the cab.

  She was gone.

  Just great. Just fucking great.

  Maybe she just stepped out to take a leak? He called her name and listened to his voice echo hollowly in the fog.

  No answer.

  Not from her, anyway. Something went skittering off in the brush beyond the guardrail, but it was too small to be a person. Al jumped at the sound, and cursed himself for it. He flashed the light in that direction, but the fog ate the beam. He couldn't see anything but mist. What was he worried about? It was just a rabbit or something.

  He was wasting time. There was no point in waiting in the truck. He wasn't gonna get any help out here tonight. Not in this fog.

  He turned to the Toyota. Unhooking the tarp, he threw it clear of the Suzuki.

  "Come on, baby, at least you still love me," he said aloud as he dropped the back gate and climbed in. Unfastening the tie-downs, he freed the Suzuki. He filled the tank before running out the ramp and rolling her to the roadway. He patted the bike. At least he'd be riding to Skowhegan. She'd have to walk.

  Hope you get lost, you ungrateful cow.

  He set his helmet on the tank and went to the cab to get his bag. He'd need a change of clothes for the morning, especially after riding around in this soup. As he pulled the bag from behind the seat, someone grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and yanked him backwards into the air.

  He landed hard on his rump and skidded a foot or so. He felt the gravel dig into and through his jeans. Shit! He looked around for his assailant and found him, a hulking silhouette against the wan light from the interior of the truck's cab.

  Where had this gorilla come from? And gorilla seemed a reasonable description; the guy was huge. A dark wool cap made his head look even more pointy than it undoubtedly was, and it looked as if his arms might actually hang past his knees, though A1 couldn't see for sure since the gorilla was wearing some kind of heavy overcoat, something like a navy greatcoat that hung almost to the ground. A sailor? They didn't like people messing with their chippies. The guy took a step forward and something clanked under the coat. Weapons?

  What have I done to deserve this?

  Could this be the boyfriend?

  The guy took another step forward, planting his foot in the small patch of light illuminated by Al's dropped flashlight. The foot was bare and broad, with splayed toes tipped in grungy nails. Sailors ain't gone barefoot for more than a century. If this was the boyfriend, the chippie was weirder than he'd thought.

  "Now look, sailor. I just gave her a ride, okay? Nothing happened, okay?"

  The guy growled. He actually growled. Weird. Too weird for Al. He groped for the light. The flash was heavy, useful as a club, and he'd need something against this ape. His hand closed on the barrel. Feeling a little more in control, he scrambled to a crouch. He held the light before him, its beam thrusting up, a forlorn beacon vanishing into the night after only a few feet.

  Too bad it wasn't one of those sci-fi laser weapons. You should never have come back, big man. Still, it was weapon enough; Al had done fine with less in bars. He pointed the light at the gorilla, figuring he'd club the guy while he was light-blinded.

  The gorilla turned his head away, snarling, but not before Al saw his face. No, its face. This was no sailor. This thing was not even human.

  Al stood open mouthed in shock.

  A paw swept out, hitting his arm and numbing it. The flashlight fell from his grip. The paw closed on his arm, squeezing with bone-crushing strength. A second paw wrapped his shoulder and he was lifted bodily from the ground. When the flashlight hit the ground, it went out. Al hit the ground almost immediately after. He felt something snap, lots of somethings. Pain shot through him, light
ing the night with false stars.

  The thing bent over him and picked him up again. He might have been a child for all the burden he was to this monster. It shook him and something, something inside him, lanced through his chest. He choked as he flew through the air again. Something hard hit his back, and his face slammed into the gritty surface of the road. He smelled burned rubber.

  Shit, he'd never make the race now.

  The monster leaned over him, grinning to display yellowed teeth. It might have been Buzz Tadasuke bending over him, but for the foul breath. Couldn't be Buzz; sponsored types always had flower breath. A1 tried to spit in his eye, but his mouth was full of something that tasted metallic. Like blood.

  No race tomorrow.

  No race. No tomorrow.

  No...

  The monster hunched over the body, prodding it with a meaty, taloned finger. It grunted satisfaction. The monster rolled the man over on his back, tilting the head to one side and baring the neck. A deft slash of its claws opened the throat. Blood oozed up. Humming, the monster tugged its cap from its head, thrust the wool into the gore, and kneaded the fabric until it was thoroughly soaked. When the cap was fully impregnated with the man's blood, the monster held it up and croaked, "Be it so."

  It stood up, pulling on the cap. For a moment it just stood there, twisting its head back and forth and snuffling. Undecided. Nym made herself very small. The monster shuffled off down the road. Nym waited until it was out of sight.

  Then she waited some more.

  At last she slipped both her arms into the straps of her knapsack and trotted to the bike. Mounting it, she tapped the instrument panel on. Everything showed ready. She put on the helmet. Kicking the engine to life, she throttled up and roared off.

  An hour later, free of the fog, she turned on the headlamp.

  Part 1

  WE COME TO THE CRUX

  7

  9

  13

  23

  WE COME TO THE CRUX

  CHAPTER

  I

  John tapped in the entry code and mashed his thumb against the recognition plate. Nothing happened, so he wiped the plate with his sleeve and tried again. This time the sensor registered his thumbprint and the mechanism gave its usual annoyed buzz, acknowledging his right to enter. Security could be such a pain.