Read Online Grimm - The Icy Touch by John Shirley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: John Shirley
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they did it to escape the notice of Grimms, of course.
Why were Nick and Hank waving to that Coast Guard boat? He could see the gleam in Nick’s badge in his hand. It was coming over to them...
Monroe waited, and watched.
Shouldn’t be doing this...Nick’s gonna be mad...
But Monroe had to know what was going down. Who, exactly, was behind Smitty’s death. If he found out who they were, maybe he could get in touch with the Verrat, the Royals, someone who could rein these bastards in. Or maybe he could get the Wesen who’d torn Smitty to pieces himself. Get the scumbag alone. Take him down.
He’d sworn no more predation against animals or people.
But against a Wesen murderer... that was a death he could live with.
What would Rosalee say, if she knew what he was thinking? What would Nick say, for that matter. This is nuts...
But still Monroe waited, and watched.
CHAPTER SIX
Nick led the way, gun in one hand, Hank’s flashlight in the other.
“You know,” Hank whispered, as they waded quietly up the culvert, into ever deeper darkness, “I used to work in Vice, busting crack heads and tweakers. They’d be outta their damn minds every single time. Never knew what they were going to do. Some of ’em bit you when you arrested ’em.”
“So I’ve heard,” Nick replied. They’d gone about fifty yards into the culvert, after using a Coastie’s crowbar to break the lock on the gate. Now and then something other than their boots splashed in the darkness. Rats, Nick guessed.
“Yeah. Twice I had to get antibiotics and tetanus shots, from crackhead bites. But you know what, that’s starting to sound pretty good to me right now. I never had to wade up a stinking culvert, stepping on rats, looking for...”
“Shhh...” Nick stopped, aiming the light on the curved cement wall to their left. There was a dark place there, oblong, rough-edged. In a barely audible mutter, Nick added, “Might have our Drang-zorn tunnel...”
Nick moved toward the tunnel, trying not to slosh too loudly—it was difficult in hip waders on a curved, slime-slick surface, to keep from slipping and making a lot of noise.
Yes. A side tunnel.
It was cut into the wall—broken through, really—just above the water level. The tunnel beyond was formed of packed clay and rock, with characteristic Drang-zorn marks. They’d evidently found some other badger people to dig for them. Maybe the Daemonfeuer had scared them into it.
Nick moved up to the side of the tunnel, leaned out to look without showing too much of himself. He angled the light down and peered along the tunnel, hoping to see someone, or something, that might give him a clue what he and Hank were getting into.
“Let’s just do this, at least then we’ll be out of this rat waterpark,” Hank said.
Nick holstered his gun, and climbed up into the tunnel, keeping the light angled down. Hank climbed after him. Nick created a pool of light so they could see what they were standing on then, hunched over a little beneath the dirt ceiling, they moved off down the tunnel. It smelled of clay and worms and wet rock.
Near as Nick could tell they were moving along at a sharp angle from the culvert, heading for Old Town Portland.
After an indeterminate distance, Hank whispered, “That flashlight goes out, I’m gonna light your hair on fire, so I can see my way. I don’t like rats. Did I mention that?”
“I inferred it.”
“That look like light up ahead to you?”
“Yeah...”
Another forty steps and they came to a wooden door, loosely fitted in a brick frame. A little light showed around the edges.
“Got a locked chain on it,” Nick said, inspecting it with the flashlight. “You didn’t bring the crowbar?”
“Wasn’t our crowbar. But you know what, I didn’t come all this way to stop here. Let me get out of these damned waders...”
They both discarded their waders. Then Hank looked at the door, searching for the right spot. He took a step back.
“You hear
Why were Nick and Hank waving to that Coast Guard boat? He could see the gleam in Nick’s badge in his hand. It was coming over to them...
Monroe waited, and watched.
Shouldn’t be doing this...Nick’s gonna be mad...
But Monroe had to know what was going down. Who, exactly, was behind Smitty’s death. If he found out who they were, maybe he could get in touch with the Verrat, the Royals, someone who could rein these bastards in. Or maybe he could get the Wesen who’d torn Smitty to pieces himself. Get the scumbag alone. Take him down.
He’d sworn no more predation against animals or people.
But against a Wesen murderer... that was a death he could live with.
What would Rosalee say, if she knew what he was thinking? What would Nick say, for that matter. This is nuts...
But still Monroe waited, and watched.
CHAPTER SIX
Nick led the way, gun in one hand, Hank’s flashlight in the other.
“You know,” Hank whispered, as they waded quietly up the culvert, into ever deeper darkness, “I used to work in Vice, busting crack heads and tweakers. They’d be outta their damn minds every single time. Never knew what they were going to do. Some of ’em bit you when you arrested ’em.”
“So I’ve heard,” Nick replied. They’d gone about fifty yards into the culvert, after using a Coastie’s crowbar to break the lock on the gate. Now and then something other than their boots splashed in the darkness. Rats, Nick guessed.
“Yeah. Twice I had to get antibiotics and tetanus shots, from crackhead bites. But you know what, that’s starting to sound pretty good to me right now. I never had to wade up a stinking culvert, stepping on rats, looking for...”
“Shhh...” Nick stopped, aiming the light on the curved cement wall to their left. There was a dark place there, oblong, rough-edged. In a barely audible mutter, Nick added, “Might have our Drang-zorn tunnel...”
Nick moved toward the tunnel, trying not to slosh too loudly—it was difficult in hip waders on a curved, slime-slick surface, to keep from slipping and making a lot of noise.
Yes. A side tunnel.
It was cut into the wall—broken through, really—just above the water level. The tunnel beyond was formed of packed clay and rock, with characteristic Drang-zorn marks. They’d evidently found some other badger people to dig for them. Maybe the Daemonfeuer had scared them into it.
Nick moved up to the side of the tunnel, leaned out to look without showing too much of himself. He angled the light down and peered along the tunnel, hoping to see someone, or something, that might give him a clue what he and Hank were getting into.
“Let’s just do this, at least then we’ll be out of this rat waterpark,” Hank said.
Nick holstered his gun, and climbed up into the tunnel, keeping the light angled down. Hank climbed after him. Nick created a pool of light so they could see what they were standing on then, hunched over a little beneath the dirt ceiling, they moved off down the tunnel. It smelled of clay and worms and wet rock.
Near as Nick could tell they were moving along at a sharp angle from the culvert, heading for Old Town Portland.
After an indeterminate distance, Hank whispered, “That flashlight goes out, I’m gonna light your hair on fire, so I can see my way. I don’t like rats. Did I mention that?”
“I inferred it.”
“That look like light up ahead to you?”
“Yeah...”
Another forty steps and they came to a wooden door, loosely fitted in a brick frame. A little light showed around the edges.
“Got a locked chain on it,” Nick said, inspecting it with the flashlight. “You didn’t bring the crowbar?”
“Wasn’t our crowbar. But you know what, I didn’t come all this way to stop here. Let me get out of these damned waders...”
They both discarded their waders. Then Hank looked at the door, searching for the right spot. He took a step back.
“You hear
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