tectonic proportions.
“What be this, pbuh?” Both massive shapes turned sharply, to espy a third figure hovering close behind them. Despite its size it had made not a sound during its approach.
“Und I thought you vaz ugly,” the Golem murmured to the Monster as it contemplated the newcomer.
“Speak not ill of others lest the wrath of Allah befall thee.” The Afreet approached, its baleful yellow eyes flicking from one shape to the next. “What manner of mischief is afoot this night?”
“Ask you . . . the same,” the Monster rumbled.
The Afreet bowed slightly. “I am but recently brought fresh into the world, and am abroad on a mission for my mortal master of the moment.” It glanced back toward the main street, with its twinkling lights and window-shopping pedestrians blissfully unaware of the astonishing conclave that was taking place just down the alley. “Yet I fear the atmosphere not conducive to my command, for what I see and hear troubles my mind like a prattling harim.”
“You too?” The Golem rubbed its chin. Clay flakes fell to the pavement. “I vaz thinking the same.”
“I think I know . . . what is wrong.” The other two eyed the Monster.
“Nu? So don’t keep it to yourself,” the Golem said.
“I have been pondering.” Eyes squinted tight with the stress of the activity. “Pondering hard. What I think is that the season,” the creature declared slowly, “is the reason.”
“Pray tell, explain thyself.” The Afreet was demanding, but polite.
The Monster’s squarish forehead turned slowly. “The brain I was given . . . remembers. This time of year—the sights I see—make me remember. The time is wrong . . . for the command I was given. All . . . wrong. Wrong to kill . . . at the time of Christmas.”
“Kill,” the Afreet echoed. “Strange are the ways of the Prophet, for such was the order I was given. To kill this night two men: one of art and one of learning. Felix Stein and Joseph Rheinberg.”
The Monster and the Golem started and exchanged a look. “I vaz to stamp out Stein alzo,” muttered the Golem, “as vell as a historian name of al-Nomani. Rheinberg is my master.”
“And Stein . . . mine,” added the Monster.
“Fascinating it be,” confessed the Afreet. “For al-Nomani is the one who called me forth.”
“He is one whom I was to . . . slay,” the Monster announced. “And this Rheinberg . . . too.”
The formidable, and formidably bemused, trio pondered this arresting coincidence in silence while cheerful music and the sound of caroling drifted back to them from the street beyond. Though least verbal of the three, it was again the Monster who articulated first.
“Something . . . wrong . . . here. Wrong notion. Wrong time of . . . the year. Everything . . . wrong.”
“Go on, say it again,” the Golem growled. “Not just Christmas it is, but Chanukah also. Not a time for inimical spirits to be stirring. Not even a mouse.”
“The spirit of Ramadan moves within me,” the Afreet declared. “I know not what manner of life or believers you be, but I sense that in this I am of similar mind with you.”
“Then what . . . we . . . do?” the Monster wondered aloud.
They considered.
Stillman blinked snow from his eyes. By now there wasn’t much left of his cap, or his winter coat. He fumbled for the flashlight, somehow wasn’t surprised to find that the supposedly impregnable cylinder of aircraft-grade aluminum had been twisted into a neat pretzel shape.
He saw the cruiser in front of him and began crawling slowly toward it. Nothing inside him seemed to be broken, but every muscle in his bruised body protested at the forced movement. The rotating lights atop the car were beginning to weaken as the battery ran down.
He was a foot from the door when he sensed a presence and looked to his right.
Three immense forms stood staring down at him, each all too familiar from a previous recent encounter. It was impossible to say which of the
“What be this, pbuh?” Both massive shapes turned sharply, to espy a third figure hovering close behind them. Despite its size it had made not a sound during its approach.
“Und I thought you vaz ugly,” the Golem murmured to the Monster as it contemplated the newcomer.
“Speak not ill of others lest the wrath of Allah befall thee.” The Afreet approached, its baleful yellow eyes flicking from one shape to the next. “What manner of mischief is afoot this night?”
“Ask you . . . the same,” the Monster rumbled.
The Afreet bowed slightly. “I am but recently brought fresh into the world, and am abroad on a mission for my mortal master of the moment.” It glanced back toward the main street, with its twinkling lights and window-shopping pedestrians blissfully unaware of the astonishing conclave that was taking place just down the alley. “Yet I fear the atmosphere not conducive to my command, for what I see and hear troubles my mind like a prattling harim.”
“You too?” The Golem rubbed its chin. Clay flakes fell to the pavement. “I vaz thinking the same.”
“I think I know . . . what is wrong.” The other two eyed the Monster.
“Nu? So don’t keep it to yourself,” the Golem said.
“I have been pondering.” Eyes squinted tight with the stress of the activity. “Pondering hard. What I think is that the season,” the creature declared slowly, “is the reason.”
“Pray tell, explain thyself.” The Afreet was demanding, but polite.
The Monster’s squarish forehead turned slowly. “The brain I was given . . . remembers. This time of year—the sights I see—make me remember. The time is wrong . . . for the command I was given. All . . . wrong. Wrong to kill . . . at the time of Christmas.”
“Kill,” the Afreet echoed. “Strange are the ways of the Prophet, for such was the order I was given. To kill this night two men: one of art and one of learning. Felix Stein and Joseph Rheinberg.”
The Monster and the Golem started and exchanged a look. “I vaz to stamp out Stein alzo,” muttered the Golem, “as vell as a historian name of al-Nomani. Rheinberg is my master.”
“And Stein . . . mine,” added the Monster.
“Fascinating it be,” confessed the Afreet. “For al-Nomani is the one who called me forth.”
“He is one whom I was to . . . slay,” the Monster announced. “And this Rheinberg . . . too.”
The formidable, and formidably bemused, trio pondered this arresting coincidence in silence while cheerful music and the sound of caroling drifted back to them from the street beyond. Though least verbal of the three, it was again the Monster who articulated first.
“Something . . . wrong . . . here. Wrong notion. Wrong time of . . . the year. Everything . . . wrong.”
“Go on, say it again,” the Golem growled. “Not just Christmas it is, but Chanukah also. Not a time for inimical spirits to be stirring. Not even a mouse.”
“The spirit of Ramadan moves within me,” the Afreet declared. “I know not what manner of life or believers you be, but I sense that in this I am of similar mind with you.”
“Then what . . . we . . . do?” the Monster wondered aloud.
They considered.
Stillman blinked snow from his eyes. By now there wasn’t much left of his cap, or his winter coat. He fumbled for the flashlight, somehow wasn’t surprised to find that the supposedly impregnable cylinder of aircraft-grade aluminum had been twisted into a neat pretzel shape.
He saw the cruiser in front of him and began crawling slowly toward it. Nothing inside him seemed to be broken, but every muscle in his bruised body protested at the forced movement. The rotating lights atop the car were beginning to weaken as the battery ran down.
He was a foot from the door when he sensed a presence and looked to his right.
Three immense forms stood staring down at him, each all too familiar from a previous recent encounter. It was impossible to say which of the
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