Issue 14: “The Brown Lady Affair, Part Two”

Previously...
...Argent St. Cloud and Michael Gallant accompanied Speed Saunders on his quest (adopted from the missing Harriet Cooper) to find the Sigil of Seven (unaware that it is in the possession of Doctor Occult), following a path that led them to Argent’s friend George Townsend, the reigning Viscount Raynham, whose estate is supposed to have the Rose Chapel Saunders suspects of harboring the Sigil, and whose staircase is supposed to be the location of a ghostly Brown Lady. As Argent investigates the suspicious Lady Chessly with whom George is smitten, Speed meets Doctor Occult and heads into town; as more mysteries crop up (including a strange sigil in Michael’s guest room; odd behavior from the staff, and Speed’s discovery that the Sigil was no longer in the chapel...but in Dr. Occult’s possession), it was revealed: the chapel contains ghosts of the damned, all closing in on Speed and Dr. Occult, and Argent has discovered first hand that the Brown Lady is real!

The Danger Trail!
Issue #14: “The Brown Lady Affair, Part Two”

Written by Don Walsh
Cover by James Stubbs
Edited by Mark Bowers[/center]

“Koth.”

As the word echoed through Argent St. Cloud’s mind, the staircase before her seemed to shimmer. The word was like a pebble tossed into the pool of the world, ripples stirring up a new world around the silver-haired young woman. The ripples shifted the look of the foyer, the hall and staircase; they began to look newer, brighter and less aged, as Argent tried to grasp what she saw.

The pretty petite woman stood between the two men, her body trembled, and eyes were wide as the building seemed to emit a bluish-white glow. “Dolly, take my hand, take it, let us finish this!” said one of the two men, both dressed in aristocratic finery, though this first speaker seemed more desperate, while his opposite glared in anger.

“Philip Wharton, whatever fiendishness you think to achieve, it will do you no good!” the other man declared as he stepped toward Dolly. “My love, don’t fall for his honeyed words and wanton ways, not again. You have something better now.”

Dolly glanced from one to the other, eyes wide, tearing up, body shuddering as the shimmering lights seemed to focus on her. “Not after all this time, Dolly, not after everything that has happened, everything that has come down to you. Think of the power and the reward coming to you!” the tall, willowy-looking Philip urged the confused woman.

“Deny him, defy him, and prove your love,” the other man said, more stout of build, and older than the other two. “What we have built here. What you have to look forward to.”

“Choose, before it’s too late, woman!” Philip snapped in frustration as the aura grew brighter, sparks coruscating around Dolly. She stared at him and then turned her back on him. “Damnation,” he growled, angry at himself and turning himself now. “Koth will mark this betrayal, woman!” Philip Wharton dashed from the hall now, his slippery mind already focused on where to run and who to call on to shield him from these repercussions, magical and political.

“I’m sorry, Charles,” Dolly said as she took a step back from her husband now, Charles Townsend. “Sorry for the betrayal, sorry for nearly bringing ruin on your family and the town.”

“None of it matters, my love, you made the right choice, you did right, denying your ex-lover, choosing love and honor,” Charles tried to calm her, convince her he could forgive her. “Just take my hand now, and let all this go.”

“I can’t. That is the last thing I must apologize for, I have...I have to finish this, someone must act to protect this place, this...locus,” Dolly said softy as the light began to consume her. “I will always be here though, always here...” Slowly, she faded into the radiance, and as it faded, Charles was left alone in the hall. Confusion and sorrow battled across his face as he struggled to understand what had happened, what his wife had meant, what Philip Wharton had intended and this name, Koth. What was Koth?

“Koth.”

The last ripples faded away and the aged wood, worn walls and floor of the main staircase returned, leaving Argent alone. She blinked hard twice, reoriented to the present now, trying to understand what she’d seen, why the Brown Lady had done whatever she’d done. There was something in that fading glow that had swallowed up Dolly though, something familiar.

That sigil, Argent thought. She’d seen it in the fading light, and it was carved into the lintel of Michael’s door. George would have mentioned renovations to the building. He didn’t, so there weren’t any, and the only other people with access to the building that wouldn’t draw attention were the staff. She spun on her heel and marched down the hall toward the kitchen, fists clenched, full red lips set into an angry line.

Raynham Fort
Doctor Occult held up the Sigil of Seven, aimed toward several of the incorporeal entities that circled him and his companion, Speed Saunders. The blond-haired man swung uselessly at the nearest of the spectral beings, feeling an icy prickling at his skin where it passed through harmlessly.

Dr. Occult watched the ghosts recoil from his talisman, but he held back a more powerful attack, instead sparing a glance at Speed. “Do they seem less than menacing to you?”

“They’re scary, but yeah, I have to admit, they do seem to be taking my trying to punch their faces in their stride,” Speed answered. “So what gives?”

“Good question,” Richard Occult asked in a low voice and directed the Sigil at another of the ghosts, eyes narrowed under the brim of his hat. “So what does give? Explain, why aren’t we in greater danger from you?”

“Welcome back, Richard,” the ghost spoke, as the beings formed a ring around the two living people. “You are correct, we mean you no harm, not now, not while his attention is diverted, and we have a chance to seed our revenge.”

“You supernatural guys, you have some kind of agreement going on to be as cryptic as possible just to irk us non-supernatural guys, don’t you?” Speed asked Richard over his shoulder, as he kept his fists up defensively.

“Learn,” the ghost said again, and then he added, “Koth.”

In turn, each of the dozen other ghosts said the same word, echoing throughout the chamber, rattling it, rippling reality like waters, washing over Richard and Speed. Before their eyes, the shimmering pool of existence revealed the underground chamber under the Rose Chapel in its glory: freshly-carved, well-lit with tall candles and hung lanterns, inhabited by the mystics gathered to complete the great work begun centuries before.

“They are here,” said a man in robes of dark gray wool. “Teaford brings the babies down now.” His face lit up with anticipation.

“Good, good,” the leader said as his hands nervously toyed with the gold-link chain around his neck. His sunken eyes darted to and fro, checking each little detail in the underground chamber, ghostly golden light flickering off the rock; symbols carefully drawn, littered across the floor and walls, all seeming to look down on him and mock him. “Need to get this started. Been too long, all this work, all this effort...” his words trailed off, as he glanced around at the dozen people around him.

The man called Teaford arrived, two babies wrapped in rough blanket, crying from the scratchy material, strange setting, and cold man lugging them around. “‘ere they are, Besser. Sweet lookin’, ain’t they?” The little gargoyle of a man chuckled darkly.

“Yes, fine, adorable,” Besser replied, fingers still tugging on each link that seemed to increase in weight on his shoulders. “Get them in place.” He glanced around and called out louder, “Everyone get into place! Let’s get this started.”

The cultists shuffled around as Teaford placed the babies on the altar at the center of the room. He loved being up at the altar. It was raised from the rest of the underground temple, and he loved how it elevated him above the others when he stood there. Where he belonged, he knew that in his heart. He was closer to their beloved Koth than any of the others, he mused as he glanced around. His eyes fell on the chain around Besser’s neck, and failed to repress the snarl on his lips. Even now, on the verge of completing the great work, Besser’s faith wavered. After all the effort to bring the world’s ley lines into this area, after using it to form a bridge-head to the glorious realm of Koth, after the Brown Lady thwarted the culmination of their desires and was cursed for her heresy, they were about to succeed anyway, and Besser’s faith wavered. Teaford’s hands clenched on the abrasive cloth wrapped around the bawling infants.

Besser stepped up to a lectern over which were unrolled a number of dry, cracked parchments. He began to read the words scrawled over them, as the rest of the cultists began to chant a noise, an odd and unpleasant noise that rose in volume, insistently roiling the very air as Besser focused on his parchments. As the chanting and the incanting reached a fever pitch, there appeared in a shimmering haze on the altar a dagger. It was loathsome and repugnant to look at, seething with hatred for the world around it as Teaford’s gnarled fingers reached out for it. Both men realized it was more than just a dagger; it was the very first intrusion into this reality of the demonic alien they and their forebears had struggled so hard to pull across the veil of worlds. The very first finger of Koth itself, ready to spill the blood eagerly gathered for just this moment. “Take it, Teaford,” Besser hissed, his heart frozen in a mix of fear, anticipation and regret.

Teaford’s hand wrapped around the hilt, and gasped as it pulsed under his touch. He stared at it as the repellent thoughts of a monstrous other thing filled his mind, and the cultists watched his eyes glaze over as he lifted the weapon, the tip of Koth’s finger. The bent and wicked man grew more gnarled, larger, distorted and lashed out at his fellows in mindless bloodlust as Koth claimed the blood gathered for him so eagerly. Besser stared down at the parchments as he realized what the words meant. As the repugnant noises of the chanting continued despite the screams and dying of his fellows, Besser didn’t care. This is what they deserved for their wickedness. He smiled as he watched a white glow burst out from the side of the temple, and a strange black and red talisman clattered to the floor. As Teaford’s possessed form sprayed the blood of his peers throughout the temple, slowly but steadily headed toward Besser, the leader watched an elder man slip up from the glow and take the babies gently into his arms. As Teaford plunged the vile, squamous blade repeatedly into his hated rival, Besser just continued to grin while the great work fell apart once more with the disappearance of the strange mage, the babies and the talisman.

As Besser died, Teaford furiously tore at his own stomach, screaming out to his lord and patron about his loyalty, his love, his devotion, but Koth didn’t care. The babies were gone, and in order to have a chance to complete the last step of his claiming of the world’s ley lines, his chance to burst free onto this fresh and delicious-smelling world, Koth couldn’t offer mercy even to his most loyal. Not that Koth understood the concept of mercy, or loyalty, or anything else that was felt within the soul of man. That’s how Teaford died: horrified to find hollowness within his great lord.

With the last of the blood soaked into the Dagger of Koth, the ritual ended, the magic snapped back into that space between worlds, his and this one. Snapped back into that place forged and guarded by the Brown Lady. And the temple went quiet.

Speed fell to his knees, pale, gasping for air as the ripples faded and restored the musty old, vacant temple to his senses. The ghosts, their work done, their betrayal repaid, also faded away with the ripples. Doctor Occult fingered the Sigil of Seven, his face grave. “Get over it quick, Speed,” the ghost detective said quietly. “We’ve got work to do back at the hall.”

“Yeah, right,” Speed muttered as he pulled himself back up and wiped his forearm over his sweaty brow. “That...that was about you, wasn’t it? You were the kids...one of them...” Speed muttered as his brain struggled to put all the information together.

“Yes. Rose and myself. Our rescuer was a man named Zator, of all things, and for now, that’s all we need to go on,” Doctor Occult said as he headed back to the hole that led out. “Those ghosts are stirred up because Koth has his chance to burst out of that middle space again, and we have to get back to the hall and stop him.”

“Right. Got it,” Speed said as he followed along. “Kind of. Sort of. Just tell me who to hit, Doc.”

Raynham Hall
Argent moved steadily through the large building, keeping herself against the walls, and carefully peering around corners and past tall antiques. She needed only one of the staff in the house, but only one. She had figured out that most, if not all, of the new staff were working together, and not what they seemed, and she couldn’t take the chance of being outnumbered and finding out then that she was also outmatched in combat. So she sneaked through the large building, and she picked her opportunity. In the kitchen, she saw her chance, and it made her grin: Ruby, who for some reason, really irked Argent anyway. She had no doubt, by the wild goose chase the woman had sent her on earlier for Michael, that Ruby was one of...them. Do have to make sure I found out who ‘them’ is when I get answers from her,’ she mused to herself as she cracked open the swinging door and peered at her target.

She saw Ruby at a counter, rag in hand, silver platter being polished. For infiltrators, I can’t fault them for sticking to their covers, Argent couldn’t help but think as she crept closer.

As she drew within arm’s reach, the big-boned maid spun around and brought the flat metal across Argent’s face, the resounding crash ringing in her ears. “Saw you coming,” Ruby giggled as she brought the platter down over the back of Argent’s head, a dull smile on the woman’s face as she battered her opponent.

Argent’s eyes spun from the blows, but her brain struggled to stay focused. She rolled to her side and put a forearm up to take the third shot coming at her, and scissored Ruby’s ankle with her own legs. “Okay, lady, you’re going to tell me what I need to know,” Argent grunted in very unladylike-like fashion as Ruby crashed to the ground. The silver-haired woman continued to roll up onto her feet and lashed out with a kick to the servant’s face, the heel catching Ruby’s mouth and splitting her lip.

“Got nothing to say to you...ma’am!” Ruby spat out as she staggered back and pulled herself up to her feet, snatching a nearby chef’s knife and slashing out at Argent. “Nothing you can do about it anyway! The mistress, she’ll be finishing her work up and then we can get back home!”

Argent leaped away from the blade, rolling across the table as the hem of her dress flared up around athletic legs. She continued to back-pedal from the vicious chops as Ruby grinned viciously, the dribbling blood slipping down her chin and adding to her nasty look. As she cornered Argent at last, Ruby took a particularly ferocious thrust, but the other woman was ready. Argent snatched up the large whisk for the kitchen’s stand mixer, the sturdy metal loops catching the blade. With a flick of her wrist, Ruby’s blade clattered away across the tiled floor, as Argent back-handed her foe with the heavy metal base of her instrument.

Argent moved faster now, bringing her leg up into Ruby’s stomach when she was dazed by the blow. Another blow to the back of Ruby’s head brought the woman to the floor and Argent straddled the small of her back. “Now then, about my questions, and your answers, and whether you’re going to give them or not,” Argent growled as she laced her fingers into the nest of brown hair. She shoved Ruby’s face into the floor and asked, “Where is Michael? Where’s Chessly? Tell me how to find them!”

“Something called a secret space!” Ruby wailed now as she felt her nose crack under the blow, her eyes unfocused, and head dizzy. “Those symbols! Those symbols...let us watch...let us move...reflective magic...” she mumbled on, struggling to remember what was told to her.

Argent wrinkled up the bridge of her nose, and glanced around. She saw the platter Ruby had started off using, and walked over to pick it up. Sure enough, that strange little mark was at the edge of the platter, but in reverse. She stared at the battered metal, and rubbed at some of the scuffs with her finger, and Michael’s room came into view. “Well, isn’t that interesting? Here I thought I wasn’t sneaky enough, trying to get the drop on you. Where’s this secret space?”

“In the first floor hall, I guess,” Ruby moaned as she rolled onto her back, still too dizzy to sit up. “I don’t understand it all. Just part of the cover, it’s the mistress who understands it all.” She finally forced herself onto her knees, still struggling to stand, but her eyes widened as she finally rose high enough to peer over the countertop.

“Guess I really don’t need you anymore then, do I?” Argent asked with a catty smile and the platter crashed against Ruby’s face now and the serving girl’s world spun away into darkness.

Washington, D.C.
The hearing could only have gone worse if King Faraday’s superior had pulled out a gun and executed the agent there on the spot. That was the thought that ran through Faraday’s mind as he staggered up the stairs to his apartment. Maybe one Scotch too many down at the corner, Faraday chided himself as he reached the third floor and slipped the keys from his pocket.

He’d been suspended indefinitely, without pay. That would hurt eventually, but to lose his weapon and sanction left him feeling naked and vulnerable, and he hated that feeling. Worse still, Army Major Derek Trevor proved to be away at a conference in Hawaii with Commander Martin Cook of the Navy, and neither could be reached. He reached his front door in a foul mood as he realized how they, and General Darnell, had obviously left him out to dry after assuring him he was vital to their overall operation.

No, the hearing couldn’t have gone any worse, and now was more proof: as the key pressed against the door, he watched it swing effortlessly open. Someone else was in his apartment, no doubt waiting. His hand reached for his shoulder holster and that made him grunt angrily at the empty space under his arm. First suspension, then would come a criminal case, and while he was getting run through the mud, there would come the tragic and shocking end to a promising, but off-the-rails government agent.

Like hell. Faraday tensed up, focused past the cotton in his head from that extra glass of liquor, and then powered through his door into the gloom of his living room. He heard it crash into the wall, and so no one was there waiting to ambush him. He dove forward, and upended the coffee table to his left as a shield, a hand punching through the bottom and into the hidden space and his spare gun. He sprang onto the couch, his momentum tipping it backward and he slid down with it, using it for more cover.

Aside from him though, there were no other sounds. Not at first, as Faraday peered up over the edge and scanned the dark room. Then there came a soft clapping to his right, and he concentrated his focus in that direction. “That was truly spectacular, Mr. Faraday,” came an oily voice, oozing with contempt and arrogance.

“Who’s there?” Faraday demanded as he pointed his gun in the direction of the gangly-looking shadow, seated in a chair near the window to his fire escape.

“You can call me Doctor Zero, Mr. Faraday,” the voice replied as the figure folded his hands and peered back over them at the agent. “And after such a display of physical prowess, I can see now how you managed to best our illustrious former patron.”

“There is no Dr. Zero, he’s a fiction, a lie,” Faraday said as he slowly stood up, and kept his gun trained on the strange shadowy figure. “Project M invented him to get away with their dirty deeds.”

“That might have been true once before, Mr. Faraday, but I assure you, with your successful removing of ‘the Master’ from our ranks, there opened up an opportunity,” the voice continued to say as the figure stared back at Faraday’s glare, unshaken by the weapon pointed at him. “And a most excellent identity with a growing and powerful reputation just lying around like a discarded suit of clothing. I’ve decided to fill both. That makes you and Midnight liabilities, unfortunately for you both.”

“Not a chance, whoever you think you are!” Faraday snarled as he moved closer, and leveled his weapon. “You’re not even leaving this apartment, and when I’m done with you, I’m dragging you back downtown and clearing my name!” He reached out and clutched Zero’s collar, yanking hard and bringing his gun-hand down to strike the jaw hard.

The head cracked and popped off, rolling to the ground with a heavy thunk as Faraday stared at the elaborate mannequin he clutched. Laughter erupted from the chair now, as Faraday found his lamp and switched it on. “Well, you go and do that, Mr. Faraday. You come and get me, expose me, do your worst. But I can see you, and you can’t see me, and there’s nothing you can do to keep me from getting you, and your friends, one after the other. And each time you try to retaliate, you just make a guilty verdict that much easier for the inevitable jury to reach.”

Faraday roared in anger as he ripped up the microphone secured to his chair, threw it to the floor and ground it to pieces under his heel. He glanced at the mannequin’s shattered head and saw the ruined camera staring out uselessly. Only the size of a small pumpkin, the camera was an impressive piece of technology.

Faraday stood up slowly, and scanned the wreckage of his room in dismay. He was alone in his own community now. He had only one recourse left to him for the moment, and headed for his bedroom to pack up what he’d need for the trip to San Francisco.

Raynham Hall
“Apologies, Viscount, but our task here is drawing to a close and I fear this magnificent building, and its owner, has outlived its usefulness,” Hudson said to George Townsend, a pistol aimed at the nobleman’s chest.

“I don’t understand, not any of this, what’s happening? Where’s Victoria? What have you done to her?” George asked, fear and anger welling up in equal measure as he listened to the words and stared at the gun barrel.

“Ah, the gallantry, facing death and worried for your ‘true love’,” Hudson tiredly commented. “Victoria Chessly is up here,” he added as he tapped his temple with his finger. “Or rather, in the mind of our mistress, Mavis. So you see, you don’t have to feel like an utter failure for not saving her life.”

“Whoo-hoo!” Speed called out with a big grin on his face. Hudson turned to look at the young man hurtling toward him at great speed, then pivoted to bring his gun to bear, but not in time. Instead, Speed hunched down and rammed his shoulder into Hudson’s sternum and sent the older man crashing into a marble-topped mantle, and then came to a heap on the ground. “You, sir, may have a group of killers working in your mansion, but they know how to varnish a floor like nobody’s business,” Speed said with a flushed look on his face. He leaned against a wall and slipped his shoes back on as George just stared at him in shock.

“I’ll be sure to mention that when I’m asked for references,” George muttered as he stepped up to Hudson and picked the gun up. “In between pointing out the likelihood of them killing their employer. What in the devil is happening?” His voice finally rose as the emotions rattled him.

“I believe that we have ourselves infiltrators,” Doctor Occult announced as he arrived in the parlor at a more sedate pace. He leaned over Hudson and rolled up one, then the other sleeve, finally moving the cloth up to reveal his bicep. He tapped the skin with the red-and-black talisman and, slowly, an odd marking materialized against the flesh. It was a sword, pointed down, with some sort of scrollwork wrapped around it. “Some middle ground between what was the Thule Society and a new organization Himmler is developing in Germany,” he explained as the two men looked over his shoulder.

“What are you going on about?” Speed asked as he watched.

“Something the ghosts intimated to me, some other force poking at the edges of Koth,” Dr. Occult explained as he looked at the mark. “There was a mystic secret society in Germany, called the Thule Society. Several of them have been getting absorbed into a new group, to acquire relics, prove their insane master race, and increase their magical influence.”

“I see,” Speed said as he stroked his jaw. “Got it. This is part of that last bit, right? These guys are working for that group and if they can free Koth, they think they’ll increase their influence.”

“That’s what they think, and I’ve no doubt it’s because it’s been fed to them, to direct them to Koth’s needs,” Richard muttered angrily. “Fools and amateurs. We have to find Argent and Michael and work out our next step, find out where this Lady Chessly is going to make this idiotic mistake.”

“I don’t understand a word either of you is saying, but I will say this,” George said with a scowl. “No one messes with my Brown Lady.”

On the second floor...
...Argent stalked the hall with the silver platter under her arm. “This just might be one of the stranger, dumber things I’ve done,” she muttered angrily as she stopped in front of a mirror. She pulled out a pocket knife and started to scratch the strange mark into the frame, when she heard noises from downstairs. “Sounds like the boys are having fun.”

She stepped back from the mirror now and then looked into the platter, rubbing the mark on its surface and focusing, a blurred image of the woman known to her as Lady Chessly appearing. “Found you!”

“Find me all you want, St. Cloud, it doesn’t matter,” the sturdy tall woman shot back, the words echoing through the hall from thin air. “I’ve my Aryan, I’ve the Brown Lady, and I’ve the Dagger of Koth, and even if you figure out how to cross into the secret space, you’re outmatched!”

“Yes, I realize that. So let’s hope this works,” Argent answered and flipped the platter at the mirror. Reflections reflected back upon each other, folding and unfolding the hallway with the secret space and turning the front of the mansion inside out. She heard three surprised cries from the first floor, where the scuffle had just taken place, and grinned. “Well, what do you know? Spending all that time with Rose did pay off.”

“What the hell’s going on?” Speed’s voice came from the location of the staircase. “Whoa, where’d the lady come from?”

Argent grinned as she looked at the black space where the mirror hung on the wall, and leaped through. “Here I come, Michael!”

The Black Forest, Germany
< “A truly lovely home you have here, Herr Baron.”> The two men paced along the wood’s edge, Baron Hans Von Hammer staring away from his guest and deep into the forest as he listened to the words.

< “You are too kind, Graf,”> Von Hammer replied in his usual level tone of voice. < “It has been an honor to host a fine jurist as yourself, but I do feel there is a more pressing purpose to your visit. I am listening.”>

< “Of course, Hans,” > Helmuth James Graf von Moltke said as he stopped and looked his host in the eyes, his own handsome face lined with concern. < “You are familiar, of course, with Castrum Pfronten?”>

< “Somewhat, yes. Why?”>

< “Himmler’s Ahnenerbe has turned its attentions to it, particularly Geologische Zeitmessung,”> Moltke replied simply, and watched for any reaction from the legendary warrior.

The baron considered the comment, and let the numerous possibilities of what it could mean run through his mind, but he refused to let Moltke get any glimpse of his concerns. < “Of course, it is well known that you are not a member of the Nazi party. Not even a supporter. Thus, your interest in this matter would imply to me that you want this attention diverted.”>

< “Yes, I do. I have a couple of contacts that assure me there are good reasons to try and put a stop to this investigation.”> Moltke looked desperate now as he failed to see any sign of caring from the baron. < “I don’t understand it all, but you...” He paused and took a deep breath. “The Chancellor still wants your support. You can go places, do things, question people, that no one else can. Despite the rumors that you too are uncertain of Germany’s direction under the Chancellor’s direction. I implore you, please...”>

< “Very well, Graf, I will do this thing.”> He gave a weary sigh and turned to stare back into Moltke’s eyes now.

The refined-looking gentleman cringed slightly under the stare, but nodded in agreement and held his hand out, and felt the callused, hardened grip of the Hammer from Hell, which made him shiver more. After a few more pleasantries, the ace watched Moltke depart the grounds, and paid little heed to the figure that broke from the shadows of the woodline and approached him from behind.

“I don’t know much German, but I gotta say, that’s one spooked man, right there,” Steven Savage said as he stopped next to Hans. “What’d he tell ya?”

“He pretty much confirmed the information provided to you by both the King and Intrepid,” Hans said as he allowed the weariness and regret to spread over his spare, aquiline face.

“I picked out some stuff, but what’s this ‘Geologic Sightmessing’ thing he said. I was behind you, I saw the way your hands kinda just clenched up behind you. That can’t be good, can it?”

“Geochronology, a department of the Ahnenerbe,” Von Hammer answered grimly. “Tonight, we eat a fine meal, enjoy a pleasant evening before the fire, and sleep well. Tomorrow, we go to Falkenstein.”

The Secret Space in Raynham Hall
As the three men moved out of George’s study, leaving the bound and unconscious Hudson behind, the world seemed to turn inside out. It was as if they’d stepped into a negative, but in this negative, they were confronted by a petite woman in flowing dress and lined in silvery fire, held fast to the bottom-most stair.

“What the hell’s going on?” Speed’s voice came from the location of the staircase. “Whoa, where’d the lady come from?”

“Dolly,” George said in a reverent voice. “She’s real, she’s here.”

“I daresay that Ms. St. Cloud has pulled off a master stroke,” Doctor Occult answered with a satisfied smile. “Speed, get upstairs and see if you can help her, I suspect she’ll need it. I’ll tend to things here.”

“Whatever you say, Doc,” Speed said as he dashed up the stairs and looked down the hall one way, then the other, before noticing the black space that seemed to offer the strangest of the strange choices to take.

Dr. Occult stepped up to the Brown Lady and pressed the Sigil of Seven to the fiery silver chains binding her in place, slowly breaking them down. “Have you free in a moment,” he said to the spirit as George stared.

“I still don’t understand any of this,” George said as he watched the Brown Lady’s faint, spectral face smile at the removal of the chains.

“There’s a nexus of ley lines running through this area,” Richard explained as he continued to break the restraints. “They spread out over much of the island, and can be used for any number of things. In one particular case, it can be used to weaken the veil between worlds and release an entity called Koth. At some point though, the nexus was moved from its original location, under the Rose Chapel at Raynham Fort, and placed under the protection of this hall, and this lady.”

“And now, Victoria is trying to free this Koth?” George asked as he followed Dr. Occult and the Brown Lady as the last of the fiery chains dissipated under the ghost detective’s skilled attention.

“Yes, though I don’t know if that’s actually what she’s planning to do,” Richard said as he led the three of them up the stairs and down the same corridor Speed, and earlier Argent, had run down. “Like the cultists we met, and similar mystics in the past, she might not realize what she’s about to do.”

The three figures dashed through the black space at the end of the hall, and came out into a large gray space. Whirling about the very center of it, like planets in orbit about a macabre sun, were their companions Argent and Speed, battling the last two of the fake servants as the blonde spymaster called Lady Chessly railed against them and tried to approach the very center.

That macabre “sun” was a dull orange cyst that pulsed and pressed into the gray secret space, a malignant, malicious tumor that stretched out at the people within. Close to it, strapped into a stone slab shaped as an X was Michael, bared to the waist, muscled chest lined with shallow cuts that dripped blood into spherical droplets in a twisted wake.

“I’ve got my Aryan, and with this ritual, with his sacrifice, I’ll have the Brown Lady in my control, the grounds in my control, and through it, mastery of every restless spirit in Great Britain!” Lady Chessly screamed in defiance at Argent as the silver-haired woman struggled again the spy named Rose, trading blows with the skilled agent. “A spy network unlike any other, unseen, unstoppable!”

“Victoria!” George screamed across the gray void as he tried to race toward her, though he spun and drifted, unused to such a surreal reality. “I won’t let you harm my home, you crazed harridan!”

“Mavis! You stupid, overindulged, pampered fool! Mavis, mistress of spies, and your death!” Mavis replied as she revealed herself, staring up at the man she’d used to reach this point. “I’m doing mankind a favor putting you to death, you gullible, soft idiot!”

“He’s not the only fool here, Mavis,” Doctor Occult said as he and the Brown Lady soared across the space and toward the spy and her sacrifice. “Your ritual will release an ancient force of evil that will just as soon devour you. You’ll have no ghostly spy ring; if you’re lucky, your soul will not be kept intact to rue this day! As for this Aryan nonsense...”

“Not nonsense, Occult, and I was warned about you!” Mavis replied as she lashed out with the strange and twisted Dagger of Koth, that ghastly orange glow arcing out as a tendril of energy that lashed through the mystic, staggered him, stopped him in place with a grunt of pain. “Michael Gallant is Aryan, the very model of Aryan, the blood of ancient Atlantis flows strongly through him! Aye, him and his twin, and that ethereal bloodline will give me the power I need!” She pivoted away from the battle, to leap toward the bound Michael.

“Two of these in a row,” Speed said as he managed to grab his opponent’s arm. He twisted and spun his body about, and threw the spy as he added, “I swear, Doc, one more of these cases takes me to some strange other realm and off of Terra Firma, you and me, we’re going to have words!”

The spy called Edward cried out as he hurtled helplessly across the distance and smashed into the bound Michael in time to watch his mistress plunge the grotesque dagger into his heart. The pulsing orange cyst rumbled and palpitated as Edward’s blood pumped out into the blade and through the hilt and Mavis screamed in fury.

The Brown Lady swept through the slab of stone, Michael’s binding breaking open as she did. “Man, am I glad to see you guys,” the pilot said as he shoved the dead spy back up at Mavis, throwing her off-balance. “Really thought I’d get my ticket punched this time.”

Speed dropped onto an arm of the stone and wrapped an arm under Michael’s shoulders, rebounding from the sacrificial altar in a smooth motion to pull them both back to Doctor Occult. “I’m guessing that you got some kind of whammy to reverse all this?”

Argent retrieved George as the Brown Lady continued on her way toward the protrusion of Koth. “I think she’s about to take care of that for us. When he gets bottled back up, all those marks and rites he crafted for Mavis to use should get--”

There was an audible pop that rang in everyone’s ears, as the negative of the mansion filled with color and the weightless secret space was replaced with the gravity of Earth. Doctor Occult was unaffected, and quickly grabbed a hold of the Mistress of Spies as she struggled out from under her dead agent. “I think you’re hand is played out, Mavis. You can have that final fight if you want, but I’m thinking there’s a few too many people who’d like a chance at you if you did.”

Mavis tried to tug her arm away, and her mouth opened to speak, then glanced over Doctor Occult’s shoulder to see the rest of his group also getting to their feet, Michael and George with particular looks of fury on their faces. “Deported at best, or a British prison at worse. Either way, I’ll be back to have my revenge, you can rest assured, Occult.”

“I always do, Mavis. I always do.”

Roosevelt Field, New York
Avery Updike nervously approached the elegant young woman as she walked through the small terminal building, her every step a maximum of feminine fluidity. Her black dress hugged her curvaceous body the way every man she passed wished they could, and she spared each of the oglers no glance in return as she focused her dark eyes on Updike. Avery nervously straightened his stiff white collar and smoothed the sleek blue suit coat yet again as he watched the gorgeous woman with the icy stare saunter directly toward him.

“Mr. Updike, how good of you to meet me,” the woman said in a rich voice laced in a strange blend of Eastern European accents. She touched the edges of her immaculately coiffed hair, the pale face offset by all the dark to make her seem porcelain, doll-like, but those void-black eyes betrayed that innocent appearance.

Updike was tall and thin, a reed of a man in his tailored suit and aristocratic features, but his normally stoic and restrained demeanor wilted before this woman. “It...it’s a pleasure, truly...a pleasure, and an...honor...ma’am.”

“Your pleasure, I’m sure, and hardly an honor,” she replied, the voice low, husky, and tinged with anger. “I should never have had to come here. Not now especially.”

“S-sorry. Sorry, ma’am. We...we should talk...on the way back to my house, we can t-talk,” Updike said nervously, tugging on his collar. “Can I get your b-bags?”

“My trusted attendant is seeing to them,” the woman replied icily. “Here he comes now.”

Updike turned to see the huge man headed toward them. Over six and a half feet in height, with broad shoulders and a barrel chest, the bald-headed man walked steadily with the bulky suitcases under his arms. There was the hint of a limp with his right leg, but it didn’t slow him down, nor did it do anything to take away from his menacing appearance. People parted from him as he marched along and then stopped before the woman. She smiled so sweetly at him and straightened the lapels of his green suit and brushed a stray piece of hair away. “Mr. Updike will show us to his car now,” she said simply to him.

The three turned and walked the rest of the way from the building, past the many other people arriving and departing the airport’s main building. They never noticed the two loitering figures that watched them closely from different points in the building, each seeming to attend to their own business, until the trio was gone from the area.

Eel O’Brien walked up to Rose Psychic and let out a low whistle when they finally met, his eyes unable to stop from looking over the lovely young woman, remembering the way she looked beneath that simple blue dress.

“You look concerned,” she said softly, not quite returning the same look, but doing nothing to dissuade his interest. “You recognized them?”

“Yeah. Bad, bad news. International elite in the criminal underworld. Big time connected figures,” Eel said with concern. “If they’re meeting with Updike over the theft, then the Order of St. Dumas is about to get tangled up with Black Beauty and the Gimp.” He paused and saw a lack of recognition on her face. He put a hand to her cheek and shook his head. “Trust me, really bad news. If you got more friends, I’d get them. Soon. Because this is a bit more than a thief like me can handle, with only a dame like you to help.”

“I have friends, Mr. O’Brien,” she said with a coy grin and rested her hand into his cheek, letting a warm tingle pass between them. “We’re not alone.”

Next month...
...Hans Von Hammer and Steve Savage struggle to uncover the secrets behind “The Falkenstein Affair” as more of the secret struggle with the Order of St. Dumas is revealed!



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