Orphan of Mythcorp by R.S. Darling Page A

watch.
“Balls. I thought my ruse would buy us more time.” He withdrew a
serrated blade, long as my forearm and just as cold and dead
looking, from another secret pocket. He seemed to have a lot of
these kinds of pockets. “He’s getting quick in his old
age.”
    Before I could ask, Nimrod ripped the
moldy pages and rolled up tubes from the safe and stuffed them into
my backpack. Then he glanced at the windows. “Take these to Ash.
Don’t let anyone else see
them. Understand?”
    Jeez this guy was bossy. “No,” I said, all
sarcasm. “I’m not sure I understood that last part. Maybe if you
speak slower and—”
    SMACK. The metallic hand smashed against my
face. I didn’t feel anything, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t pissed.
He might’ve just broken my jaw!
    “ Keep that hole in your face closed,”
Nimrod said as he dragged me towards the stairs. “I’ll go up first,
distract him. When I say, you run up and head east. Get those
papers to Ash.”
    “ Okay.” I didn’t know which way was
east, but my chrono gave a time of 11:42. Eighteen minutes to reach
the bus depot. Should be enough, I thought .
    He had reached the top of the stairs and
stepped out of sight. I couldn’t hear anything. Three minutes
passed and still no shout. My temp was down to 60 and there were
only fifteen minutes left to reach the depot.
    “ Come on come on come on.” What the
heck was taking so long? Probably Nimrod’s paranoia had gotten the
better of him and that Malthus dude wasn’t even around.
    “ Screw this,” I headed up the
steps.
    At the top I peaked around the door frame.
The place looked deserted. Cautiously, I tromped across the floor,
heading towards the exit.
    Midway to the door, I froze. Yes, my joints
were seizing up, but that wasn’t why. Standing in the exit was a
behemoth. Fluorescent light fell across his body. His flesh was
dark blue, so deep it could easily be confused as black on first
sighting. He must’ve been at least seven feet tall, built like a
Mr. Olympia, legs like tree stumps. And in his left hand was a
sword.
    That’s right, a real live metal saber, as
dark as his flesh, long as his arm.
    My thermo began to beep. I wanted to rip it
off, burn it up. If I didn’t move soon I’d freeze and then this
behemoth would have an easy-on-my-squeezy time of slicing me into a
Sanson-filet.
    With a bit of a struggle, I shifted my weight
and stepped forward. My assumption was that this Malthus—for who
else could he be—would not hurt me. I wasn’t Nimrod. But you know
what they say about making assumptions
    The behemoth didn’t move. He didn’t move,
that is, until a shadow flickered behind him.
    And then he whipped that sword around. The
clanging of metal biting metal filled the records building. Grunts
and more clanging. Nimrod drew Malthus outside, clearing the
exit.
    “ Run!”
    I didn’t need to be told twice. I ran out of
there and didn’t look back.

Chapter 11
    Since there wasn’t an Escaping from School for Dummies book
in the library (I checked), I hobbled my way over to the Camelot
staircase. I was thinking of asking Ava for advice, since she’s the
smartest of the Morai. Well, the smartest next to Ash, but he
doesn’t count because he’s a zipperdick.
    But then as I was standing there, massaging
my buggered knee, my peepers fell on the plywood covering the
busted back doors.
    “ Hmm.”
    Naked Charlie walked past the plywood. He
didn’t seem to notice me, too intent on something I couldn’t see.
They do that sometimes, my spooks, stroll aimlessly, looking at
invisible stuff. Whatever they see, it’s from Limbo, and I can’t
help but be a smidge curious. He bent over near the plywood. I
raised my hand to cover a certain unseemly sight. Without warning
he took off through the plywood.
    Was this some kind of spooky spook guide
stuff?
    I limped over and pried on the wood. The
biggest sheet didn’t budge. So I tried the smaller piece, the one
on the right, covering the window