The Plot Thickens

By the time Matt had gotten his fill of the half-petrified wage slave singing his praises and realized that he wasn’t getting any closer to figuring out how to turn all those statues back into human beings, the cops had already taken the hapless robbers downtown for booking. It wasn’t easy to find out which ‘downtown’ they meant, either, as the police decided to give the famously rude Big Apple cold shoulder to us now that Captain Reeves had gone. As usual, it was my celebrity that saved the day: one of the more civilized officers approached me surreptitiously and asked if I was me, and after telling him that I was, and he going on with the usual story about how much it’d mean to his wife or brother or cousin, he promised he’d tell us whatever we wanted to know in return for a picture and an autograph.

It turned out that ‘downtown’ was actually ‘uptown’: the precinct house was about ten city blocks to the north. The station was old and pock-marked, but sturdily constructed. It was a red brick castle, complete with a crenellated turret, and looked completely incongruous among the glass and steel buildings that surrounded and loomed over it. Captain Reeves eventually ushered us into a windowless, cinder block conference room on the third floor. The acoustics were appalling and I did what I could to improve them.

Reeves looked at the Promethean earnestly and, I thought, fretfully. “I hope you gentlemen have good… Hmm. That’s queer. Sorry for shouting, this room’s usually noisy and with a bad echo.”

“Yes, I fixed the acoustics for now.” I said.

“Amazing,” the captain breathed, then shook his balding head. “I was saying: I hope you gentlemen have some good news for me. The commissioner himself just called and he wants to know what we’re doing about the victims. He says the mayor is riled; reporters are asking why I haven’t had them sent to a hospital.”

“I don’t think that will do them any good,” the Promethean replied. He had that troubled quarter-smile playing about his lips.

“Are they dead?” asked Reeves.

“No,” the Promethean pronounced. “I can say with confidence that they are not dead. Nor are they alive, at least not in the sense that you or I are used to thinking about. I have not personally witnessed this phenomenon before, but the circumstances are not completely unfamiliar to me. I have reason to be optimistic that the victims can be restored. Unfortunately, the only antidote I am aware of is time.”

“So it’s temporary! Good, then!” Reeves sighed and collapsed into a leather chair. “How long are we talking about, then? A day? A week?”

“More likely a year.”

“A year!”

“It will depend on the properties of the petrifying gas, which are still unknown to me. That is why we’ve come here. I’d like to interrogate the robbers, or at least the leader, the one called Medusa. No doubt there’s much she can tell me to clear up this mystery.”

Reeves’ face crumpled into a jowly frown. He pressed a button on the desk, setting off a buzzer. “Lisa, send in Sergeant Howe right away.”

Captain Reeves looked back up at the Promethean and shook his head. “So far she’s refused to say anything. Her hoodlums are talking, but they’re dumb as hell and don’t seem to know anything worthwhile.”

“Predictable,” I said.

Reeves rubbed his hand over his forehead. “Well, I suppose I can have the victims moved to the impound garage,” he said, mostly to himself.

“I recommend against it in the strongest terms,” the Promethean snapped. “There’s no telling how fragile they are in this condition, and if they are chipped or, God forbid, smashed, then the consequences to the victim would be dire. They must be left where they are and put under observation.”

“I can’t just cordon off the lobby of the Metropolitan Museum for a year! The mayor will have my head on a silver platter!” Reeves protested.

“Nevertheless, it must be done for the sake of the victims! The mayor must understand that removing them is to risk their permanent injury or death.”

Just then, Sergeant Howe knocked on the door and stepped in. “You called for me, sir?”

“Yes, sergeant. Has this Medusa character given you anything yet? Anything at all?”

“She’s clammed up tight. Hasn’t said one word since she asked for a lawyer, not even to insult us,” Howe replied. He had the same uncouth accent as Siren.

The Promethean folded his fingertips over the top of his walking stick and politely put in that they ought to let him try. “She may feel more comfortable speaking to me, or perhaps even inclined to brag once she finds out that her formula is as much a mystery to me as it is to everyone else. In any case, I am something of an expert in plumbing for hidden knowledge.”

“Pardon me for speaking out of turn, Captain, but that’d be against department policy. Besides, I’m not sure what our guest here thinks he knows about interrogating suspects that we don’t,” Howe sniffed.

“Please don’t take it personally, sergeant. It’s just that I’ve been at this game very much longer than you,” Matt replied.

Reeves shook his head. “It is against policy. Third-party interviewers have to be registered and approved ahead of time. Still, we need to know how this lunatic did it so we can find an antidote.”

“If there is an antidote,” Matt softly interjected.

Howe sucked in his gut and straightened up, smiling in anticipation of something wicked. “Permission to use more rigorous interrogation techniques, captain?”

Reeves glowered at Howe fiercely, the sort of glare you give someone when they’ve opened their big mouth when they shouldn’t have. “Get me that information, sergeant,” Reeves growled.

The Atomic Ranger stepped forward, his brow creased in a shiny, polychromatic V. “Wait a minute. What does ‘more rigorous’ mean?”

The Promethean held up his hand and nudged him back. “My friend Allen asks a good question, officers. How do you plan to induce her cooperation?”

“Maybe you can learn something from us about getting answers after all, huh?” Howe said. He patted the baton that dangled from the belt straining at his midsection.

The Promethean loudly cleared his throat. “Forgive me officers, but a foolish old man may get the impression that you’re planning to torture her. Please allay my fears.”

“That’s a nasty word to be throwing around, Mr. Mancini!” Reeves stood up angrily.

“I notice you’re having trouble denying it,” I observed.

“Hardly torture. Just a little physical persuasion,” Howe said.

“Criminals, especially violent ones, must learn that they cannot always hide behind the gentleness of the law.” Reeves snapped. “Sometimes you have to break a few eggs in this business, as I’m sure you, of all people...”

The Promethean interrupted him with a stamp of his cane. “There will be no eggs broken today!” His voice boomed in a way that ought not be possible for his slender frame, and I had no part in helping him. I was actually startled, and a little afraid.

“It is a disgrace that I should have to educate two officers of the law, pledged protectors of the civilized world, that torture is an inherent evil! It is, moreover, a clumsy and ineffective tool for obtaining the truth, truth which is needed very badly for the sake of two and one-half score petrified men and women! I will therefore not tolerate your ‘rigorous techniques,’ and I will not tolerate any delay in personally interviewing the suspect!”

For all of his bluster, Howe shrunk back like a scolded puppy, but Captain Reeves trembled with indignation. His lids were open so wide and his grimace was so tight that those bloodshot eyeballs of his looked to be in danger of rocketing out of their sockets and bouncing off the back wall. “That’s a very dangerous way to speak in a precinct house of the New York Police Department, Mr. Mancini!” he rasped.

“Let me assure you that neither you nor any of your men will prove any danger or hindrance to me or my companions whatsoever. Please, captain, do not force me to make my threat more explicit.”

I tell you, it was a thing of beauty to hear, and to watch them visibly shrink as Allen charged up and filled the room with crackling green iridescence, to see their eyes and know that they knew the old man meant it.

Reeves spoke with admirable control over his voice, though he was cowed. “Sergeant, show them to the interrogation room.”

It was a short walk, but the Promethean had a lot to say on the way over. “Allen will stay outside the room and make sure that we are not interrupted. Cameron, I will have special need of your talents inside the room.”

I smiled. “Does this call for ominous background music or seduction?”

“Shut up!” he barked. “I am not in the mood for your insufferable lechery! You will deaden the ambient sound around her. I want it oppressively, maddeningly quiet in there, do you understand? No outside noise must be allowed in, nothing but the sound of our voices and her own beating heart and the noises of the body that normally go unheard. It must be as if she was isolated, and I am speaking to her from beyond the confines of this world.”

“Cripes, you don’t ask for much, do you? That’s going to be awfully hard to manage.” The ‘cone of silence’ was one of my oldest tricks, but this was a lot more complicated. I wasn’t sure I could do it.

“Do your best. The effect will be very unsettling, and it will at least put her off her guard. They were right about one thing: she is too confident in her control of the situation. That foundation needs rattling.”

“Anything you say, Matty. But, uh... sensory deprivation. Isn’t that kind of like torture?”

I was prepared for another whack on the shin with his cane, but he only glared at me.

“Do you know who I am?”

That was the way the Promethean began the interrogation. It wasn’t a ‘by the way’ sort of question, you understand, and it wasn’t asked jovially. The way his cold voice was inflected, it wasn’t a question at all. It was like he had said to her: ‘Only now do you understand who you’ve come up against.’

The woman, who only a minute before had insolently rolled her eyes as I entered the room, now straightened up in her metal folding chair and cautiously scanned the room. Her curious reaction was due, I presume, to the sound-deadening veil I was psychically weaving around her.

Medusa was slender, dainty almost, and not at all tall. I remembered Halstein saying that he batted her down, and wondered if he had to crouch to do it. Her big oval eyes and delicate bone structure made her attractive despite the ridiculous hairdo, swollen cheek, and lack of the endowments that usually made women desirable. She tossed a thick plait of green hair over her shoulder, trying to resume her appearance of casual indifference as she fixed her eyes on the Promethean.

“Of course,” she said, and jumped a trifle, seemingly surprised by the sound of her own voice. “Of course I know who you are.”

“You don’t seem surprised that I’m here,” he said.

“I saw you when you arrived at the museum. I was surprised to see you there.”

“Is that so? I had almost assumed that your brazen act was calculated to get my attention.”

“I was told you might think so,” Medusa replied, and already she had slipped up. I glanced at Matt, and although he gave no reaction, I knew he noted it.

She smiled then, smug and coquettish all at the same time. “So, do you approve of my additions to the Met?”

“Hardly.”

“So, you’ve undone all my hard work, I guess?” Medusa made a show of pouting, but it was obvious that she knew better.

“Does it flatter you to hear that I was unable to do so, and that I do not know the secret of your fossilization formula, Medusa?”

“Very much, yes.” She laughed, but her mirth died at the sound of that laughter, or rather the very noticeable lack of that sound returning from the walls. She swallowed a lump in her throat.

“Then it will thrill you to know that I’ve come here for the sole purpose of prying that secret from your mind, at whatever cost to you. Of course, the same person who told you that I would have thought this affair was calculated to get my attention will also have warned you of the powers that are at my disposal.”

Medusa gave a worried frown. She slumped in the chair and wrapped her arms around her abdomen. “I’m through talking.”

“No, my adorable little dilettante, you are most certainly not through talking. You claimed to have been surprised to see me at the museum, and yet someone told you how I would react, someone who knew me well enough to also tell you that I would be ignorant of the secret of your alchemical trick. Indeed, I believe that you, yourself, have very little understanding of the fossilization gas: enough to avoid its effects, certainly, but probably little else. I wonder what necessary role you play in the scheme of this more formidable intellect. Or is your role necessary at all?”

“We both know that at best you are an uninspired imitator of Boris Yvain, but perhaps your part is little different than that of your henchmen in the holding cells. Ah, that look only strengthens my suspicion that you are no more than a catspaw.

“So, now that I know all that is worth knowing about you, the only question that really remains is this: what nefarious personality have you been fraternizing with? Hmm? One with no small amount of history with me, but that goes without saying. Certainly also one with a firm grasp of alchemical lore. That does little to narrow it down, until one considers the robbery. Not a bank, not an armored car, but a museum... and an obscure suit of plate armor. An artifact of only modest financial value to the uninformed collector, but a piece of surpassing value to one who believes in the peculiar supernatural qualities attributed to it. Now, that rather does narrow it down.”

You have to hand it to the man: even at eight-hundred-something, his mind is like a steel trap, and he’s almost as close-lipped. After giving me all those ‘I don’t knows’ back at the museum, I figured he was as lost about the meaning of all this as I was.

Medusa was looking mighty uncomfortable in that chair, her breaths coming shallow and rapid. Face paint, loosened by sweat, streaked down her face in muddy rivulets. When she clutched at her breast, I started to get uncomfortable wondering whether she was just reacting to the abnormal volume of her heartbeat caused by the lack of ambient noise or if it was actually something serious.

“Please,” she rasped. “I think... I think something’s wrong with me.”

“Fear not, my dear. That uncomfortable sensation you feel, the sense of disconnect from your senses, is only me unraveling your mind,” said Matt. He was in full sadistic prick mode. Even knowing he was lying, it gave me the chills.

“Where is the Copper Knight, Medusa?”

“He’s... I-I don’t know,” she whimpered. “He was in the van with us, and after the wreck he told us to run. I didn’t see where he went. I really don’t know.”

“Did he tell you that he would come back for you? He won’t. Did he tell you that you were too important to leave moldering away in prison? You’re not.”

“Please stop! The transformation wears off on its own! I-I can help you find a way to accelerate the reversal, just like I recreated Yvain’s formula!”

“First, you will give me the Copper Knight. The longer you hesitate, the more damage you do to your own mind and body!”

“I told you I don’t know! I don’t know! I don’t know!” The litany soon devolved into a piercing scream. She doubled over onto the floor, grinding her fists into her ears, and we both rushed over to her side. I shouldered Matt out of the way and helped Medusa back into her chair.

“Gosh, it’s a good thing we didn’t let the cops beat it out of her! She might have been hurt!” I said sarcastically. I was feeling pretty annoyed with him, not to mention ashamed of myself.

“Tut, tut! Her condition is entirely hysterical. There’s no real harm done to her. It is much preferable to broken ribs and bruised kidneys, at any rate. Once she’s calmed herself down, I’m sure she’ll agree. Now come along. Now that we know the Copper Knight is behind this, we have to find him before he strikes again. Surely one of the eyewitnesses will have reported seeing a man in 15th century plate armor fleeing the scene!”

“No, absolutely not. We’ve interviewed more than a dozen people, and no one saw any such thing,” Reeves rumbled, still surly from our earlier confrontation. “Obviously, I would have mentioned that before now.”

“Maybe he wasn’t in the armor,” opined Sergeant Howe.

“Quite impossible,” replied the Promethean. “The Copper Knight’s armor is his only physical vessel. He can no more remove it than you can throw off your skin.”

Reeves laughed. “This Copper Knight is a haunted suit of armor?”

“I assure you that this is a matter of deadly seriousness. And why should a bodiless soul contained in a suit of enchanted armor provoke any more disbelief than the men standing in front of you right now?”

“Regardless, the only suit of armor anyone saw was the, uh…” Reeves squinted as he looked over the paperwork. “The Prince’s Emblazoned that they stole from the Met and that battered heap they’d stolen from God knows where else, and neither of them was walking.”

Now Matt’s eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his skull. “You said there was a second suit of armor?”

“Yes. It was found in an open wooden crate in the van,” Reeves answered. “The curator double-checked, but he said it didn’t belong to the Met. We don’t know where they got it from.”

“We must secure the evidence room immediately!”

“It’s not there,” said Reeves. “Things in the evidence lockers sometimes go missing. I wasn’t going to be responsible for losing some priceless artifact. I asked the curator to lock it up in the storage room at the museum until we could ascertain its rightful owner.”

Matt stamped his cane decisively. “Captain Reeves, you must call the museum. Anyone there is in deadly peril!”

“You can calm down, I think,” said Reeves, rather unimpressed. “I’m sure the suit was empty.”

The Promethean leaned forward, his eyebrow arched severely. “And how much do you suppose the soul weighs, captain?”

“It wasn’t copper-colored, neither,” said Howe, and then generously added, “It was green.”

“So is the Statue of Liberty, you clod! I’ll waste no more time on this stupidity! Allen, Cameron, let’s go!”