Paulus (Un) Hook(ed)
It’s two days to D-Day. Their departure date.
Although Hyne has pushed it back a week, on Monday – less than 48 hours from now – everybody is leaving. Paulus Hook will be a memory.
The “Schwert Haus” in Sternenberg, Switzerland now belongs to him. All money transfers have been completed – including transfer of his hard gold reserves to Gruner Banque, et Cie. in Zurich. His crew has managed stripping everything of value from Paulus Hook and turning it into cash. Their time on the banks of the Hudson River has been effectively recouped.
Hyne sits in his living room on one of the few remaining chairs left, staring out at the lights of Manhattan in the distance. Since his Chef, Lacas, has left for Italy (for the time being) he and the boys have been eating Greek take-out food from Louvis Restaurant up the block in Jersey City. Everybody has cleared their plates and are downing Heineken beers. The wind is whipping up outside and the Hudson River is looking perilously choppy.
Suddenly, Per L’Enfant snaps his head up from the Car & Driver magazine he’s reading. Xen Chen and Dirk Fremd do the same. Hyne’s “experiential perception” implant is in perfect sync with theirs – and he senses exactly what they do. Intruders. Outside. All the security cams at Paulus Hook have been removed and all movement sensors are offline – but they know.
The men slowly stand up and move towards their overcoats – where their weapons are sheathed. As usual, Hyne already has his Seax strapped to his back, comfortably nestled between his shoulder blades.
Hyne sees it first. Movement on their outside deck. Dark figures – hooded and wearing long cloaks… a lot of them. And they appear to be hefting Khopesh blades – the Biblical ancient Egyptian weapon, His voice is urgent – but focused. He is calm – weirdly so.
“DRAW YOUR WEAPONS. STAND WITH OUR BACKS TO EACH OTHER – FORM A ROMAN “TURTLE” THAT WILL FORCE THEM TO CONCENTRATE THEIR FORCES AGAINST US IN THIS CONFINED SPACE….MAKE THEM TRIP OVER EACH OTHER….THE TEMPERED GLASS WINDOW WALL IS BULLETPROOF – IT’LL SLOW THEM DOWN AND CRIMP THEIR MOVEMENT EVEN MORE.”
The dark figures on the outside deck are clearly Vampyres. They know they’ve been seen – and are commencing their hissing-grimacing and macabre snake-dance thing to taunt Hyne and his men – but their performance boasts even more insults. They are all waving about a Khopesh, the ancient Egyptian sickle-shaped sword that is part blade and part axe, designed to hook shields – or straight swords – and deliver powerful chopping blows. Their physical movements are obviously martial arts Khopesh swordplay, maneuvers fine-tuned over the centuries to disable and vanquish their Middle Eastern enemies who were wielding little more than oversized, poorly crafted bronze butchering knives. Hyne recalls Simon Magus mentioning these Vampyres – they were called “Pharoah’s Demons”, an elite guard Pharoah, Supreme Monarch of Egypt, kept in his palace to protect him at night. They are Demonic “Special Forces”.
Per L’Enfant says out loud what the others are thinking.
“It looks like they have training, Mon Capitaine! I recognize those moves from my time on the international blade competition circuit. In the right hands the Khopesh is a devastating weapon.”
Hyne wonders what’s going on – these are a cadre, a strike-force team of Egyptian Vampyre warriors, not street thugs. Are they here to finish off the Confrerie des Paladins once and for all? Did they bring out their Big Guns for one final battle? Hyne’s tightly grouped band of Vampyre Slayers are immobile, laser-focused and frozen in place awaiting their commander’s prompt to break ranks and start cutting.
Dirk Fremd feels it before they hear anything.
“MILITARY ROTORCRAFT APPROACHING…”
Before anyone can respond a military-drab UH-60 Black Hawk with strange triangle markings and odd tail numbers descends onto the far end of their outside roof deck. It’s flight lights cast eerie reflections on the line of posturing Vampyres lined up outside to greet it. The chopper touches down at the very edge of the building, expertly – but perilously – teetering near the roof edge. The “Thump, Thump, Thump” of its rotors impact everybody’s chest as they watch it disgorge it’s – obviously important – passenger.
The man is tall – wearing a hooded, reptile scaled cloak with what looks like animal fangs sewn into it. He wears a White Scarf tied loosely about his neck. He’s wearing some kind of tunic underneath – shimmering gold and belted by a blood-red sash. His hands are dark and displaying talons and gold jewelry. The wind buffets his exterior wrap mercilessly – and the Black Hawk Rotors don’t stop, as if suggesting that his visit will be brief.
Hyne can see through the darkness – this Vampyre’s face is horribly scarred and deformed. His left eye is seared shut and his outsized fangs almost threaten his remaining right eye. Vampyre fangs grow throughout their lifespan, and the size of these freakishly neanderthal canines show that he’s well over a hundred years old. He thrusts his twisted right claw up in a signal his Vampyre cadre – who immediately fall back and become still, ceasing their practiced martial writhing and swordplay drama.
The tall Vampire limps to the glass door, using an ornate, gold-headed cane to steady himself. Hyne and his men are grouped on the other side of the glass – ready for action. The Vampyre reaches inside his cloak and withdraws a severed human hand with a still-bleeding wrist stump. With it he smears one word on the glass – reversed so Hyne can read it – then throws the stump down on the deck like garbage.
“PARLAY”
Parlay. The word used throughout history during pitched battles to request a conference with the enemy under a White Flag of Truce. Hyne edges forward and unlocks the large glass door. He steps back to rejoin his men in formation. The tall Vampyre enters, his head still covered, limping forward and leaning on his garish cane. He’s close to seven feet tall. His left leg obviously lacks any knee articulation whatsoever. He stands fifteen feet from Hyne and casts down to the floor an ornate tube. It’s decorated with strange cuneiform figures and obscene carvings, like an object archaeologists would find in an ancient Roman bordello or bathhouse. It’s hollow – and has something rolled-up inside of it.
TALL VAMPYRE:
“I AM PISTORIUS, CHIEF ARCHON OF ALL THE VAMPYRES.
YOU ARE HYNE. RENEGADE HEIR TO THE GREAT SIMON MAGUS.
HE TAUGHT YOU WELL, SLAYER. YOU ARE A WORTHY ADVERSARY. TIS’ A PITY YOU ARE UNCONSECRATED…ALL YOUR DEEDS WILL GO FOR NAUGHT. YOU WILL BURN WITH THE REST OF US….
I GIFT YOU THIS REMAINING SCROLL – IT IS NO LONGER OF ANY USE TO ME. CONSIDER IT A PROFESSIONAL COURTESY BETWEEN SWORN ENEMIES.
OUR CONFLICTS ARE NOT OVER – BUT IT IS PROPER THAT IN THE ETERNAL BATTLE OF OUR WORLDS THAT OPPOSING GENERALS MEET FACE TO FACE.
UNTIL OUR NEXT MEETING, THEN, HYNE.
MAY YOU FARE WELL.”
Pistorius turns and limps back to the Black Hawk helicopter. He boards it and the impressive machine powers up and takes off quickly. The other Vampyres on the building deck sheathe their Khopesh blades and scurry backwards, gradually disappearing over its rear wall. They probably slither down the old bricks like the snakes they are.
Hyne breathes a sigh of relief. They were seriously outnumbered – and just avoided a tough skirmish. At least one of them could’ve been hurt or killed. The boys reclaim their chairs and dig in the dinner delivery bags for more Heinekens to calm their raging adrenalin.
Hyne bends over and picks up Pistorius’ obscene tubular container from the floor. His words are resolute.
“We leave in 48 hours. Make final your preparations.”
Epiphany
Everyone – including Hyne – kills off the rest of the bag of Heinekens. The boys slowly drift off to their guest rooms on the floor below, nodding a silent “Goodnight” to Hyne as they go. Soon he is alone in the room, staring at the New York skyline once again and twisting about in his hands Pistorius’ “gift”. His thoughts are conflicting.
While he looked forward to tracking the bastard down and facing off his minions in a heroic final battle beside his Slayers – he’s relieved its’ over. He reaches over to a small table and picks up his magic book – “The Grimoire of Simon Magus”. He extracts the stylus from its inside cover and writes his message in the well-worn white square that frames his intended message.
“Gabriel – how do I tell the Pope that it’s over?”
Hyne immediately turns to the first page of the book – where his answer already awaits.
“It is NOT over. Not until you burn the last scroll. This is Your Penance – and you must complete your offering.”
Hyne is stumped by the language. Penance? His Penance? What did he do to deserve Penance? Help the Church out of an existential nightmare? Save the Pope from international obloquy and condemnation? For this he is issued Penance? He feels his blood pressure rising and his ears starting to ring. He balls his right fist and slams Pistorious’ tube against his chair armrest in a vice-like left hand grip, seething.
Suddenly he hears a familiar “Ahem” – a throat clearing, behind him to his right. And that snarky, effete British boarding school accent of Archangel Gabriel. As aggravating, petulant, snobby and nasally discordant as ever.
ARCHANGEL GABRIEL:
“You really do have a head as thick as a brick. I thought The Old Ones repaired your brain. You’re worse than ever…..
Do you recall anything of your religion? Do you recall anything from the Orthodox Liturgy about suffering? About how only through suffering can you cleanse your soul and know Christ?
YOUR HUBRIS IS POSITIVELY STAGGERING, HYNE!!!
Must I spell this all out for you? The brief version – because you’re so mentally challenged?
So, you wanted to be like Simon Magus – to take on his Mission? Were you annealed in the fire of the true Faith? Could you be anointed with the Baptism with which Simon Magus was anointed? He was a Consecrated Greek Orthodox Priest!!! He spent years in study…in reflection…in self-abnegation!!! YEARS HYNE!!! He administered the Host of Holy Communion!!! He heard Confessions and forgave sins of the faithful!!!
He worked as a Parish Priest in Greece!!! He Baptized children and buried the dead after consoling their families!! He served the poor!! His soul was forged in the foundries of the Gospel. Like Saint Paul – and the other giants you never find time to study in your Orthodox New Testament!!!
YOU WERE NEVER IN HIS LEAGUE!!!
If you wanted to be Simon Magus – and continue his Holy Works – you had to SUFFER like Simon Magus!!! It is only through SUFFERING that you can attain his state of Grace!!!
In your breathtaking hubris did you consider yourself worthy enough to tie the shoelaces of Simon Magus? REALLY???
Your body was broken in that helicopter accident. Your surgeons pinned you back together at the Clinique de Lavosier in Lausanne, Switzerland.
And then you commenced your training – at Saint Panteleimon Monastery on Mount Athos. “The Rossikon”.
It was there your tepid faith – your lukewarm commitment to Christ – caused you to quickly fall on your dumb face. You gave up. I remember your whiney, complaint-laden and entitled discussion with me inside the “Old Russik” – the Kathololikan or Main Church of the Monastery. You sounded like a bruised child who’d skinned his knee after falling off his bike.
BOO-HOO!! POOR ME!!! BOO-HOO!! POOR ME!!!
“I’m hurt! Heal me so I can go outside and play Simon Magus!! I’m his heir in his Last Will and Testament!! I get all the toys now!!!
I TOLD YOU THEN: DO YOU EXPECT HEAVEN TO REBUILD YOUR BODY? YOUR DOCTORS HAVE OPERATED. YOUR BODY WILL HEAL…HOW IT WILL HEAL. IF YOUR THERAPIES ARE SUCESSFUL, YOU WILL ONCE AGAIN REGAIN WHATEVER VIGOR YOU ENJOYED BEFORE YOUR ACCIDENT. I DO NOT GIVE HEALTH…OR TAKE IT AWAY!
TRANSLATION: ONLY GOD CAN HEAL YOU! ONLY FAITH!! YOU HAVE TO BEAR YOUR CROSS AND PRAY!!!”
HYNE (Yelling at the top of his lungs):
“MY BODY WAS BROKEN! NOTHING AND NOBODY WAS HELPING ME!!!
I ASKED YOU FOR HELP!!! I BEGGED YOU FOR HELP!!!
YOU ABANDONED ME!!”
ARCHANGEL GABRIEL (Shaking his Head in Disgust):
DO YOU NOT READ THE GOSPELS? IF YOU HAVE FAITH THE SIZE OF A MUSTARD SEED, ALL THINGS ARE POSSIBLE WITH GOD!! MOUNTAINS CAN BE MOVED THROUGH FAITH ALONE!! DO YOU THINK HEALING YOUR BRAIN WAS IMPOSSIBLE FOR ONE WHO BELIEVED IN CHRIST?
YOU GAVE UP!!! YOU FAILED US – WE NEVER FAILED YOU!!!
YOU CALLED THE SAINT PATELEIMON MONASTERY DIRECTOR – METROPOLITAN ANNEKTION URBOS – A HYPOCRITE AND TOLD HIM TO GO TO HELL!!
YOU BOLDLY ANNOUNCED TO ME YOUR DECISION: THAT DEMONIC HYBRID WOMAN – LEEDS – OVER THE TRUE FAITH!!
DON’T DECEIVE YOURSELF, HYNE. YOU MADE YOUR CHOICE. YOU CRAWLED AWAY AND THEN TOOK THE EASY WAY OUT!!
YOUR FAITH IN CHRIST WAS WEAK!!! AT THAT TIME YOU WERE NOT WORTHY TO BE THE SUCCESSOR OF SIMON MAGUS!!!
THIS IS THE SIMPLE TRUTH – AS BRUTAL AS IT IS!”
The room goes quiet as the grave. Both “men” take some time to compose themselves and dial down their emotions. The minutes pass.
Hyne realizes that his face is wet – from tears. He wipes himself with his shirt sleeve and picks up Per L’Enfant’s cigarette lighter from a nearby table. His mind is spinning and his head feels like it’s ready to explode. He pulls the cursed scroll from the obscene tube. It smells like a child’s soiled diaper. A shaking and very chastened Hyne unrolls it and displays it for Archangel Gabriel.
Gabriel just nods his head and gestures towards the lighter.
Hyne sets the stinking parchment aflame. The burning document smells worse than it did cold – but it’s soon little more than a pile of soot on the floor of his now-dismantled and chaotic living room.
ARCHANGEL GABRIEL (Speaking with Angelic Authority):
“It is done.
Now it’s time for you to do something you haven’t done in a long time: Pray.
Repeat after me:
“O Lord my God, I confess that I have sinned against you in thought, word and deed. I have omitted to do what Your Holy Law requires of me. But now, with repentance and contrition I turn again to Your Love and Mercy. I entreat you to forgive me all my transgressions and to cleanse me from all my sins. Lord, fill my heart with the light of your Truth. Strengthen my will by Your Grace. Teach me both to desire and to do only what pleases you. Amen.”
Archangel Gabriel gets up off his chair and prepares to leave. He stands before Hyne face to face. He has some departing words.
ARCHANGEL GABRIEL:
“Tell me, Hyne – did those off-world medical wizards that patched your brain together also address your Male Factor Infertility? I believe in your case it’s called “Azoospermia” – a condition where a man lacks sufficient live sperm in his semen to cause impregnation of a female.”
Oh…well, well, well. I can tell by your look of utter shock and surprise that they did not. What? You never knew you suffered from that condition? Hmmm…
Silly me! Did I just reveal a conundrum?
Where did Arkan come from? Did those interplanetary geniuses clone him like Dolly the Sheep? They may have cured Madame Leed’s Endometriosis problem – but getting your needle-in-a-haystack sperm to fertilize her already-compromised anatomy is – pardon the pun – a “long shot”.
I fear that Madame Leeds has been less than honest with you, my friend. Fact is – your Lady isn’t coming back. And neither is your “Son” Arkan.
Too bad about the Dog, though. I liked him.
And – by the way – yank that “Experiential Perception” thing out of your scalp. It can be used to track you and read your mind. Perhaps influence your thoughts. It’s “No Bueno”.
I’m leaving you a box containing a gift from His All-Holiness Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew, Head of the Greek Orthodox Church. It’s also been blessed by Patriarch Kirill, Patriarch of Moscow and all Rus.
I’m sorry I raised my voice to you, Hyne – but your stubbornness and willful stupidity can even tax the patience of an Archangel. Your Achilles Heel is the sin of Pride – and that is what makes you so awfully, maddeningly “difficult”.
Stay in touch.
Now, how shall I henceforth address you? This way:
William “Hyne” Heinlen, Vampyre Slayer. Scion of the Varangian Bloodline of Rurik and True Heir to Simon Magus
...and Friend of Archangel Gabriel.
May you long serve our Lord, Jesus.”
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