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Authors: Brian Hodge
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courier to get a crumbling fourteenth-century alchemical text out of East Germany and into the southwest of England. In the port city of Bristol, at the site of a mass burial pit--six centuries old but newly discovered--members of the British Paranormal Society had used the text to stop a virulent incursion of plague-spreading revenants.
If not for the Vatican's initial reluctance to fully admit what the situation was here, that an ancient manuscript was involved, he could have shown up prepared for the same kind of duty.
The custom-made case he had used before was right where he'd left it after the Bristol run: back at BPRD headquarters in Connecticut. Liz would be bringing it, but she was no errand girl. She was going to be every bit as important as the case in transporting the scroll safely.
"I'd rather be moving," Hellboy said. "I hate sitting here waiting to see if the same thing's gonna happen all over again."
Although, as Abe pointed out, while they may not have been on the move, they were hardly hunkering down in hiding. There was boldness, honor, and more than a little recklessness in that, wasn't there?
At the moment they were keeping a vigil at the very pinnacle of the Vatican, strolling around the railed parapet of the lantern tower that crowned the enormous dome of St. Peter's. It would prove to be either the cleverest of their limited options or go up in flames as a fool's gambit: They had the scroll up here with them, locked in a steel storage drawer, similar to a bank's safe deposit box, and resting on the floor of the tower. Nearby stood Bertrand, their ever-present Swiss Guard, doing a yeoman's job of trying not to look worried that he could be just feet away from an incendiary time bomb.
Not an ideal solution, but it would suffice for the hours it was taking Liz to cross the Atlantic, and it was born of need: no more hiding for the scroll. By now they had to assume that, with the confusion of the fire having died down, the scroll's would-be destroyers knew it had survived. Stashing it in the museum complex, or even in the hideaways and passages that honeycombed the old thick walls, could be an invitation to another inferno. No hiding place, however short-term, could be entirely safe, because you never knew who might be a spy.
Instead, they had chosen to hide it in plain sight--Abe's idea, a chess-player's stratagem. The first fire had been publicly explained as an explosion from improperly stored chemicals used in the cleaning and restoration of artifacts. A tragic accident, and easy enough to accept at face value. Conceivably, though, whoever had summoned the fires of Heaven, in defense of Church tradition, might feel bold enough to try it once more, so long as the fire was again confined inside the walls.
But would they go so far as to instigate the destruction of the top of St. Peter's Basilica? In front of Rome and the world?
For Hellboy and Abe, it was defense by bluff: They wouldn't dare.
Although once the scroll left this place, all bets were off. Maybe all restraint, too.
"You don't think she'll change her mind, do you?" Hellboy said.
"Liz?" Abe sounded incredulous that he would even ask. "Of course not. She's never left in the middle of anything before."
"But she does leave. That's the point." Standing at the railing, he tipped his chin, jutting and spotted with a patch of beard, at the city that sprawled below. At the vibrant streets and the red-tile roofs and the winding murky ribbon of the Tiber. "That's Rome down there. These people know how to live. Suppose she just decides to get lost in the crowd."
Again, he almost said, but didn't, because they both knew that if Liz walked, it wouldn't be the first time. Twenty-two years with the bureau--her entire adult life and adolescence, plus a big chunk of childhood too--and in that span, she had quit twelve times. On average, once every year and ten months. She always came back into the fold, and made the best of it once she had. Always
If not for the Vatican's initial reluctance to fully admit what the situation was here, that an ancient manuscript was involved, he could have shown up prepared for the same kind of duty.
The custom-made case he had used before was right where he'd left it after the Bristol run: back at BPRD headquarters in Connecticut. Liz would be bringing it, but she was no errand girl. She was going to be every bit as important as the case in transporting the scroll safely.
"I'd rather be moving," Hellboy said. "I hate sitting here waiting to see if the same thing's gonna happen all over again."
Although, as Abe pointed out, while they may not have been on the move, they were hardly hunkering down in hiding. There was boldness, honor, and more than a little recklessness in that, wasn't there?
At the moment they were keeping a vigil at the very pinnacle of the Vatican, strolling around the railed parapet of the lantern tower that crowned the enormous dome of St. Peter's. It would prove to be either the cleverest of their limited options or go up in flames as a fool's gambit: They had the scroll up here with them, locked in a steel storage drawer, similar to a bank's safe deposit box, and resting on the floor of the tower. Nearby stood Bertrand, their ever-present Swiss Guard, doing a yeoman's job of trying not to look worried that he could be just feet away from an incendiary time bomb.
Not an ideal solution, but it would suffice for the hours it was taking Liz to cross the Atlantic, and it was born of need: no more hiding for the scroll. By now they had to assume that, with the confusion of the fire having died down, the scroll's would-be destroyers knew it had survived. Stashing it in the museum complex, or even in the hideaways and passages that honeycombed the old thick walls, could be an invitation to another inferno. No hiding place, however short-term, could be entirely safe, because you never knew who might be a spy.
Instead, they had chosen to hide it in plain sight--Abe's idea, a chess-player's stratagem. The first fire had been publicly explained as an explosion from improperly stored chemicals used in the cleaning and restoration of artifacts. A tragic accident, and easy enough to accept at face value. Conceivably, though, whoever had summoned the fires of Heaven, in defense of Church tradition, might feel bold enough to try it once more, so long as the fire was again confined inside the walls.
But would they go so far as to instigate the destruction of the top of St. Peter's Basilica? In front of Rome and the world?
For Hellboy and Abe, it was defense by bluff: They wouldn't dare.
Although once the scroll left this place, all bets were off. Maybe all restraint, too.
"You don't think she'll change her mind, do you?" Hellboy said.
"Liz?" Abe sounded incredulous that he would even ask. "Of course not. She's never left in the middle of anything before."
"But she does leave. That's the point." Standing at the railing, he tipped his chin, jutting and spotted with a patch of beard, at the city that sprawled below. At the vibrant streets and the red-tile roofs and the winding murky ribbon of the Tiber. "That's Rome down there. These people know how to live. Suppose she just decides to get lost in the crowd."
Again, he almost said, but didn't, because they both knew that if Liz walked, it wouldn't be the first time. Twenty-two years with the bureau--her entire adult life and adolescence, plus a big chunk of childhood too--and in that span, she had quit twelve times. On average, once every year and ten months. She always came back into the fold, and made the best of it once she had. Always
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