looked like an oversized hammer in the other. He recognized the weapon from
World of Warcraft: it was a war hammer, a ferocious and deadly variant of the
mace. Drawing nearer still, he discovered that the person was wearing white
chain-mail armor, metal boots and a rounded helmet with a veil of chain mail
covering the neck. Somehow he wasn't even surprised.
Then, abruptly, the figure changed.
Right before his eyes, the figure transformed from an armored warrior into a
blond-haired young woman, not much older than himself, in a leather jacket,
jeans and boots. Only the sword and war hammer in her hands marked her as
extraordinary. She disappeared around a corner.
Josh slowed: he didn't want to run into the woman with the sword and hammer.
And, thinking about it, he guessed she probably wasn't a young woman at all.
There was an explosion of brick and glass ahead of him and Josh picked up his
pace and darted around the corner, then stopped. The creature was stuck in an
alley. Josh moved forward cautiously; it looked as if the monster had run
down what looked like another arrow-straight street. But this particular
street curved at the end and then narrowed, the upper stories of the two
houses on either side projecting out over the sidewalk below. The monster had
slammed into the opening, tearing a chunk out of both buildings. Attempting
to push ahead, it had suddenly found itself wedged in. It thrashed from side
to side, brick and glass raining down into the street below. There was a
flash of movement in a nearby window, and Josh caught a glimpse of a man
peering from one of the windows, eyes and mouth round with horror, frozen in
place by the monster directly outside his window. A slab of concrete the size
of a sofa fell on the creature s head, but it didn't even seem to notice.
Josh had no idea what to do. He needed to get to Scatty, but that meant
getting around the creature, and there was simply no room. He watched as the
blond woman raced down the alley. Without hesitation she leapt onto the
monster s back and climbed nimbly toward its head, arms stretched out on
either side, weapons poised.
She was going to kill it, Josh decided, relief washing over him. Maybe then
he could get in and grab Scatty.
Sitting astride the creature s broad neck, the woman reached down and lashed
out at Scathach s limp and unmoving body.
Josh s cry of horror was lost in the wail of sirens.
Sir, we have a report of an incident. The ashen-faced police officer handed
the phone to Niccol Machiavelli. The RAID officer asked to speak to you
personally.
Dee caught the man by the arm and spun him around. What is it? he demanded
in perfect French as Machiavelli listened intently to the call, one finger in
his ear, trying to drown out the noise.
I m not sure, sir. A mistake, certainly. The police officer attempted a
shaky laugh. A few streets down, people are reporting that there is a
turned to look toward what had once been a substantial three-story house that
now had a gaping hole plowed through the side.
Machiavelli tossed the phone back to the police officer. Get me a car.
A car?
A car and a map, he snapped.
Yes, sir. You can take mine. The police officer had been one of the first
on the scene following dozens of calls from alarmed citizens. He d spotted
Machiavelli and Dee hurrying from the alley close to the source of the noise
and had stopped them, convinced that they had something to do with what was
being reported as an explosion. His bluster had turned to dismay when he d
discovered that the mud-spattered older man with white hair in the torn suit
was actually the head of the DGSE.
The officer handed over his car key and a battered and torn Michelin map of
Paris s city center. I m afraid this is all I have.
Machiavelli snatched it from his hand. You re dismissed. He gestured toward
the street. Go and direct traffic; let no press or public near the house. Is
that clear?
Yes, sir. The police officer raced away, thankful that he still had his
job; no one wanted to upset one of the most powerful men in France.
Machiavelli spread the map across the hood of the car. We re here, he
explained to Dee. Nidhogg is heading directly east, but at some stage, it s
got to cross the Champs-Elys es and make for the river. If it continues on
its present course, I ve a reasonably good idea it will come out his finger
stabbed the map close to here.
The two men climbed into the small car and Machiavelli looked around for a
moment, trying to make sense of the controls. He couldn't remember the last
time he d driven a car; Dagon had always looked after that. Finally, with a
grinding crunch of gears, he got the car moving and made an illegal turn that
sent them fishtailing across the road, then roared down the Champs-Elys es,
leaving rubber in their wake.
Dee sat silently in the passenger seat, one hand wrapped around the seat
belt, the other braced against the dashboard. Who taught you to drive? he
asked shakily as they bounced off the curb.
Karl Benz, Machiavelli snapped. A long time ago, he added.
And how many wheels did that car have?
Three.
Dee squeezed his eyes shut as they roared across an intersection, barely
missing a lumbering road-sweeper truck. So what do we do when we get to
Nidhogg? he asked, focusing on the problem, trying to keep his mind off
Machiavelli s terrible driving.
That s your problem, Machiavelli retorted. After all, you re the one who
freed it.
But you invited the Disir here. So it s partially your fault.
Machiavelli hit the brakes hard, sending the car into a long screeching
slide. The engine cut out and the car jerked to a halt.
Why have we stopped? Dee demanded.
Machiavelli pointed out the window. Listen.
I can t hear anything over the noise of the sirens.
Listen, Machiavelli insisted. Something s coming. He pointed to the left.
Over there.
Dee rolled down his window. Over the police, ambulance and fire sirens, they
could hear stones grinding, bricks falling and the sharp snap-crackle of
breaking glass .
Josh watched, powerless, as the woman sitting atop the monster lashed at
Scatty with her sword.
