The Skyguard didn't react, but maybe there was a hiss of impatience from behind the front grille of his helmet.
Rad's mouth was dry, but he was well used to that sensation. He looked up at the uninvited guest. The Skyguard was just a black outline in the long shadow cast by the table lamp.
"Y'see," said Rad, talking more to himself than the Skyguard, "dead people tend to stay dead. And if dead people turn up not dead, then they're not dead. By definition, if you see what I mean. But when that happens – and believe me, it happens – it means that the person who didn't die wanted to make everyone else think they
had
. There are a variety of reasons for that, all of them nefarious. Which gets me thinking: The Skyguard – the State's most notorious felon, no less… well, after the Pastor of Lost Souls, but let's not go there – has been in the clink since the beginning of time, and then finally meets his maker in a State-assisted manner. So we've got three options. The Skyguard wasn't executed and it was all a big cover cooked up by the Chairman of the City Commissioners. And I wouldn't put it past him. Number two: the Skyguard, being all fancy with his gadgets and gizmos and amazing powers, can survive death and/or come back from the grave. Until this week I wouldn't even have thought of that option, but it's been a strange few days, so I'm not putting that past him. Third, the sensible, sane option, is that the Skyguard
is
dead as advertised, and someone collected his costume in an everything-must-go, two-for-one offer."
Rad finished and rubbed his scalp. The room was silent, until the Skyguard or the floorboards, or both, creaked. When the Skyguard spoke, his low voice made Rad jump. It was unidentifiable, disguised by something fancy. Rad wondered who was inside the suit.
"Are you finished?"
"Huh," said Rad, and then after a second, "Yes, I've finished."
The Skyguard folded his tree trunk arms and in the low light Rad's eye caught the glint of metal and chain, and creases in the otherwise tight leather. He pouted. The design and material was familiar to him somehow.
"The truth, detective, is that this
is
the second appearance of the Skyguard, if you want to call it that. I've been watching you, just to be sure I had the right man. If Nimrod has been in contact, then I definitely have."
"Friend of yours?"
The Skyguard ignored the interjection. "You may not remember, or know it at all, but I'm the city's sworn protector. The City Commissioners will have you think otherwise. Nimrod as well. But I'm not in the habit of lying, and I haven't come into the open without good reason."
Rad was looking at the floor. He rubbed his chin. "Enemy then. Commissioners too."
The Skyguard paused, which made Rad smile. Rad might be mostly floundering in the dark, without much of a clue, but the Skyguard was... nervous? Maybe not. He was trying to
impress
Rad. So what did the Skyguard want with an average, mostly unemployed private dick like him? And what would make a hardened criminal – sorry, the city's protector – so nervous? Rad knew that if he kept pushing, maybe something would give. It was worth the risk.
Rad stood up, and walked towards the Skyguard. The Skyguard didn't move, but his costume creaked again as he straightened his back. Standing at just a few feet's distance, Rad saw that the man was actually about his height, maybe just a little shorter. It was the helmet, armour and cloak that made him look so bulky. Like a cat that puffs up to scare other cats in a territorial war.
"What do you want, Mr Skyguard? I've got a murder case to solve, and I'm pretty busy really. I'm just a private detective trying to earn a crust, and quite frankly I can do without your brand of mystery."
Another sound came from the armoured man, and with the distortion introduced by the winged helmet, it took Rad a few seconds to work out what it was. The Skyguard was laughing. Rad felt his face flush hotly as his temper rose.
"This some kind of joke?"
The Skyguard shook his great head, the white eyes embedded in the helmet shining brightly.
"Mr Bradley, you are more important than you think. That's why Nimrod wants you. That's why I want you. I can help solve your murder case and I can stop Nimrod and his men from skinning you alive in the process. He's dangerous, Mr Bradley. If I hadn't been here, we wouldn't be having this conversation now, let me assure you."
Rad frowned and motioned towards the closed wardrobe. "You knew about all this?"
"Like I said, I've been watching you," said the Skyguard as he slowly walked around the room. Rad backed off a little, keeping a certain distance from the intruder as he moved about. "When I overheard your conversation with Nimrod, I had to step in. I apologise for the sleep gas, but it seemed to be the easiest option."
Rad had been saved for a second time, and he hadn't realised. He laughed, and shook his head, and rubbed his scalp, and went back to sit on the bed.
"And the information from Nimrod? Nineteen fifty?"
The Skyguard stopped, and if his face hadn't been hidden behind the front of the helmet Rad could have sworn he was looking wistfully into the middle distance.
"Lies," said the Skyguard, quickly. "All lies. Nimrod himself is a lie. He is not who he says he is."
"Well, he hasn't exactly been clear on that matter." Rad nodded towards the wardrobe. "What about the instructions? They were a little kooky, to say the least."
The Skyguard went over the wardrobe and opened one of the doors. He leaned in, checking something, then closed it and repeated the motion with the other door.
"They were. You followed them to the letter. You didn't know they would lead to your death."
The Skyguard yanked the second door back. Rad shot up from the bed and balled his fists, ready for whatever the Skyguard had found. Instead, the Skyguard pushed a gauntleted fist into the back of the door. The mirror shattered and dropped from its frame in a rain of shards. The Skyguard flung the first door open, and did the same. He stood back, surveyed the broken glass on the floor, then picked at the remaining triangular fragments that were still stuck to the inside of the wardrobe doors. When they were free of any trace of mirror, he looked at his feet and began grinding the larger fragments into dust with his armoured boots.
Rad whistled. "I get the picture."
"Avoid mirrors. Avoid all reflections, if you can."
"Yeah, I got it." Rad relaxed a little. The need for drink and for sleep rose again, but he gulped down a trickle of saliva and focussed to clear his head.
"So, what, you're my personal protector now? What does Nimrod want? Hell, what do you want? How do I know I can trust you?"
"Nimrod and I want the same thing, although for different, opposing reasons." The Skyguard's helmet turned to Rad and the hero walked up to the detective. Rad stood, and barely an inch remained between his nose and the Skyguard's slanted, wickedly sharp mask.
"I need your help, Mr Bradley, to save the world. The Empire State may not be perfect, but it's in more danger than you can possibly comprehend. The city has only days left."
Rad's breath condensed on the front of the Skyguard's mask, throwing up a dull grey mist on the black metal that ebbed and flowed like the tide. "Days left until what?"
"You misunderstand, detective. The Empire State has days left to
exist
."
Rad drank the water gratefully. He wanted – needed – something stronger, but that would have to wait. Water would do, lukewarm and sharp with rust from his building's decrepit plumbing.
The Skyguard hadn't moved for a while. Beneath his boots the pulverised mirror fragments crackled like frost as the Skyguard shifted his weight from one foot to another. Arms folded, he stood with legs astride the mess like the triumphant hero he claimed to be.
"An attack? Here?" Rad's question broke the silence. The Skyguard didn't reply but inclined his head to look at his host. Even the slightest movement was exaggerated by the elaborate shaping of the winged helmet.
"Yes," said the Skyguard finally. Rad sighed and gulped another mouthful of water.
"What do you need me for? Can't the city defend itself? Can't you
help
the city defend itself?"
"Your role will be revealed when it is safe to do so. Nimrod is still after you, probably more so now he knows that I've intervened again. For the moment, you should know that this is no ordinary act of war. An attack is coming, one that will end Wartime once and for all, but not to our benefit. The Empire State will, literally, cease to exist."
Rad nodded. "OK, fine, need to know."
"I'm glad you understand, Mr Bradley. You are connected. That's enough information for now. As for the attack, it will be subtle. The Enemy strike could be detected and prevented if only the city defences were looking. But they're not. Nimrod is not the only traitor here."
"Wait," said Rad, letting the empty mug hang from his hand. "The City Commissioners?"
The Skyguard nodded once. "They have helped plan the attack. They have betrayed us all."
"I must be dreaming."
"This is no dream, detective."
Rad closed his eyes and rubbed his scalp. He needed to shave his head again. Three days of growth had left it as rough as sandpaper.
"You said a subtle attack, under the city's defences? How can that destroy us?"
The Skyguard held up a hand. He turned and looked through the connecting door, then strode briskly to the window behind Rad's single bed. Careful to avoid reflections, he pulled the edge of the curtain back, covering as much of his mask as possible as he peered out into the street like an old nosy neighbour. He stood like this for a minute, looking at something on the dark street below.
"I have to go," he said at last, pulling the curtain closed. "I'll be in touch again. The city is against us, but we are its only hope, you and I."
Rad stood up from the bed and walked over to the Skyguard, his face set.
"Now look here. This better be the real deal. I don't have time for games." Rad flicked his hand at the Skyguard's chest, the back of his fingers slapping at the breastplate. It was leather and metal, and had a waxy texture. Rad frowned, his fingertips stinging from the hit.
The Skyguard and Rad Bradley stood together for a moment in silence. Then the Skyguard brushed Rad aside, and strode from the room. Rad stood still, listening to his heavy footfalls in the office.
"I'll be in touch, Mr Bradley." And then the office door closed.
Nine o'clock. Rad needed a drink, and he needed to find Kane and squeeze him about the ironclad, Sam Saturn, and Captain Carson.
And Captain Carson's mysterious equipment, including underwater suits made of waxed leather and metal.
NINETEEN
KANE WAS HOLDING UP THE BAR, several spent teacups before him. Rad wasn't sure if he was surprised to see him or not, but was just thankful he'd been spared a trek around the city. The yellow of the streetlights gave him a headache, and the constant drizzle gave him backache, and the two combined did wonders for his temperament. With the Skyguard putting in a second appearance, Rad desperately needed to put his friend in the loop and enrol his help. He was in too deep to go it alone now. He should have gone to Kane earlier.
Rad caught Jerry's eye. The barman nodded and poured him a drink even as Rad was walking across the floor, but as he rattled the cup and saucer on the bar he rubbed the fingers and thumb of his right hand together, holding them out for Rad to see.
Rad nodded briskly. "Yeah, Friday, got it." The barman turned his back, apparently satisfied. "Thanks, Jerry," Rad added. Jerry grunted and cleaned teacups.
"Been lookin' for you, kid," said Rad, picking his cup up and turning to Kane. Kane's eyes were closed and he was leaning against the bar heavily. "I got developments..." He paused and counted the number of cups in front of his friend, and wondered why Jerry hadn't cleared so many of them away. "Everything OK? How's the newspaper?"
Kane snorted, a sound Rad hadn't heard from him before. The reporter leaned back on his barstool and smiled lopsidedly at Rad. His big eyes were red and he stank of Jerry's rough liquor.
"Oh, the paper. Fine and dandy, I guess. I wouldn't know." Kane swayed back a little on the barstool, then leaned forward again on the bar. He was smiling, but not looking at Rad. The smile was empty, fixed.
"The what now?"
"I said I wouldn't know. Papa don't work there no more."
Rad heaved himself onto the neighbouring stool. "What do you mean, you don't work at the newspaper? You're Kane Fortuna, star reporter. Right?"
Kane frowned and gave a half-hearted, noncommittal shrug. "You'd think. Not any more." He swigged the last of his latest cup and finally met Rad's eye. "Nothing to do with me, anyway. This is the Empire State. The Empire State controls the media, controls the newspapers. Controls my newspaper." He raised a cup and gave a theatrical bow, as best as possible while sitting intoxicated on a barstool. "My services are no longer required, it seems."
Rad didn't speak but exhaled loudly. That seemed enough sympathy for Kane, who thumped Rad on the shoulder as he surveyed the multitude of empty cups before him. Then his eyes widened, and his hand returned to Rad's shoulder.
"Say, you need a partner? I mean an official one that gets paid actual money? See, I know this guy who's looking for work. Goes by the name Kane Fortuna. He's a dish."
Kane's expression was deadly serious for a moment, before splitting into another of his characteristically wide grins. "To business!" He held an empty cup up for a toast.
Rad couldn't help but laugh, but shook his head. "Let's talk when you're a little more... cogent, shall we say." He shuffled himself on the stool and hugged the bar with his not insubstantial stomach. He tapped the rim of his hat at the back with one hand and flipped it off the front of his head with the other. Kane was no use drunk. Might as well suck it up and enjoy himself. They could plan to save the city in the morning.