Fear Her Wrath II: Crucible of Glass

Chapter 62

The Calvert Armory, in case you were curious, is named for Colonel William "Iron Bill" Calvert, who brought distinction—if you can call it that—to the Calvert family name by his bloodthirstiness with the saber during the Indian Wars. It was built sometime in the 1880s, when Dreyfuss Steel was churning out steel rails and cut spikes by the thousands at the Black Kilns and the rest of the Fen was benefitting from the boom. It remained in use through World War II, with a few slight renovations that did little to change its Gothic Revival facade and looming stone parapets. It wasn't exactly a landmark, but everybody knew where it was even if they'd never taken the time to appreciate the architecture under the century of decay and grime.

It took me nearly an hour of jumping over rooftops and running along side streets to get to the Armory. I decided not to go back for the Night-Wheel, since the subways had shut down and it was nearly as far to the Night-Chapel as to my intended destination. Needless to say, I was exhausted. It was nearly 90 degrees—the hottest night in nearly 15 years—and my costume was drenched with sweat. I kept getting updates from the Prioress, but none of it sounded encouraging. Men in glass masks had started shaking down the businesses in Norbury and Hmong Town, and the waiting room at Brand Hill Community Hospital was filled with broken bones and gunshot wounds. Rumors of the happenings in the world outside had led to a prison riot in Merceron, which was at risk of turning into a mass breakout.

On top of all of that, the Shambler had been sighted in the western Fen, skulking in the shadows and generally terrifying everyone who saw him. I wasn't sure what Mr. Rothko was up to, but I knew it was no coincidence that we were both heading in the same direction.

Getting into the Armory wouldn't be easy. Maybe Glassface anticipated that I would come after him, because besides the guards posted on the street, there were several armed and masked goons patrolling the armory roof, and he had even had searchlights mounted on the parapets to scan the neary rooftops. Michael Anselmo—wearing a glass buffalo mask that was surely a Nika Artemesia creation—appeared to be in charge of security.

"Ellie, I need a way in," I whispered. "The front door and the roof are both covered."

"Lemme see," said the voice in my ear. "Hmm. Looks like there's an underground passage that links up with the sewers. No idea what condition that might be in, though. It's been closed up since 1916."

"Yeah, hard pass on any digging," I said. "Any other options?"

"Well, sorta. It'll involve jumping."

"How far?"

There was a scuffle, and I thought I heard Ellie fighting off an attempt by Ben to take away her headset.

"Back off, Vang, we're busy. Go get more coffee or something. Make yourself useful. Where were we?"

"The jump," I said nervously.

"Right. Well, if you get a running start from the roof of the old meatpacking factory, you'll land on a ledge about ten feet down and you should be able to get inside from there."

"Assuming I don't die."

"Well, that's always the qualifier," said Ellie, as though me plummeting to my death wasn't a prospect that particularly concerned her.

"I'll still have to avoid those spotlights."

"I can't do everything for ya, vigilante. They'll, like, know you're coming if I cut the power. Do your stealthy stuff."

"And assuming I do make the jump, what happens when I get inside?"

"Oh, I've got a lot of stuff cooking," said Ellie nefariously. "Ol' Glassface won't know what hit him. Get moving, Maggs."