The Priestess has caught up with Logan, finding her way across the fluctuating
landscape of A-Time with little need for the assistance of her feathered friends. A-Time itself, a land of
data, information there to be culled from the very fabric of its weave, tells her where to find
him.
It was supposed to have been a pincer movement, a capture. She had been charged with bringing the
thing in by force and handing it over to Hephaestus, but something in the wind, in the whispers of the
zephyrs as they brushed tender fingers through her hair, had changed her mind and now she was
disobeying a direct order from the Ferryman himself, which was not going to go down well.
The two friends hunker down by a bush, Fingal on the left and Logan's steed, the On-One Gimp
occasionally called Chuckles, leaning against a tree behind them. They watch the strange creature in
the clearing with an uneasy fascination.
It is large, more manufactured than alive, one might say. Puffs of vapour occasionally gasp from its
joints as it moves. It seems to be having difficulty controlling its motions, as if it were somehow
newborn and is still learning how to operate its own limbs.
"Is that thing steam-powered?" Ravenbait whispers to Wolverine.
"Don't smell like there's a combustion chamber in there, darlin'," he tells her. "Sure as hell looks like it
though. You want me to take it down? Got some adamantium here to slap upside its head."
Ravenbait shakes her head and stands up in full view. The creature catches sight of her, first looks
startled and scared, and then angry. It begins lumbering across the gap between them, teeth bared like
rows of gravestones. Thinking it is about to attack the Priestess, and more than willing to make the
most of any excuse, Wolverine springs forwards, claws leaping from their sheaths with their familiar
bright sound.
"No!" there is a sudden cry and Wolverine is barrelled to one side by a man in a long brown coat and a
large hat. He lands on the ground, snarling, pinned by his assailant. Ravenbait ignores them both.
Logan can take care of himself.
She sidesteps the creature charging at her. It still does not have full control of its body and it tumbles
over the bush, falling in a heap of limbs that gives off massive clouds of steam.
"I don't want to hurt you," she says gently, proffering the creature a hand. It stares at her for a long
time, as if no one has ever shown it any kindness before, and then reaches out and swamps her
Specialized-clad hand in its immense, shovel-like paw. She heaves, muscles straining, and it regains its
feet clumsily.
From behind her she can hear spitting and snarling.
"You an' me, we're goin' to Slash City!"
"No! There is no evil in him. I cannot let you hurt him!"
She gives the creature, now looking somewhat befuddled and forlorn, a wry smile. Sounds of a scuffle
come from behind and there is the unmistakable noise of a very large gun being cocked.
"Music to my ears, bub! Step right up! Be the first in line to meet your ancestors!"
A shot is fired. "Pray cease and desist or I will have to kill you," says the voice with the indeterminate
accent.
"That hand cannon don't mean diddly if you can't hit me!"
"Oh for pity's sakes!" Ravenbait exclaims crossly. She turns round, strides across and removes the
ostentatious weapon from the hand of the man in the hat and coat. "Logan, behave!"
"We ain't winnin' this shootin' match by tip-toein' through the tulips, darlin'," he tells her with a note of
disgust. She glowers at him. He puts his claws away and stalks forwards until his nose is bare inches
away from the other man. They are strikingly similarly matched for height and build.
"Let's see whatcha look like under the cape and cowl, bub, " he says. "Hope you ain't no psycho
millionaire with a utility belt."
Ravenbait rolls her eyes and smiles at the creature, which is looking even more confused and
bewildered.
The man removes his hat and coat and he and Logan stare at one another, identical frowns creasing
their brows.
"Logan, meet Van Helsing," the Priestess says with the sigh of a woman who knows things are about to
get difficult and complicated. "Van Helsing, meet Logan. Van Helsing is a member of a monster
assassination squad working secretly for the Vatican and his last memory prior to that is of being on the
battlefield at Masada in AD73. Logan is..."
"An insignificant hairy barbarian," Van Helsing interrupts with a sneer.
"Correction," Logan growls. "I'm an insignificant hairy barbarian mutant with a mutant healing factor,
adamantium laced bones, razor-sharp adamantium claws and I'm the best at what I do!"
"Which is what?"
"Major damage."
It looks like the boys are going to start fighting again.
"Stop it you two!" Ravenbait yells. "Gods, I'd rather go toe to toe with the Humungous. At least he
wasn't as much of a pain in the backside!"
"Madam! What did you say?" Van Helsing takes her by the arm, searching her face. "I beseech you.
Pray tell me where you heard that name."
"Mr Van Helsing," she begins in a particularly dangerous tone. "I am the High Priestess of the Triple
Goddess of Cycling. I am the genetically engineered progeny of the Divine and Sapphic union of Tank
Girl and Ellen Ripley from Alien: Resurrection. It is my job to know about the Humungous. I probably
know more about him than you do and I would thank you to let me go." She drops her Rudy Projects to
the end of her nose and favours him with a baleful stare from her hellish black eyes.
Van Helsing drops her arm as if it has suddenly become red-hot.
"I know of you. You come from the very depths of Hell itself."
"Yes, that's right. Well done. Garm is a real sweetie when you get to know him. Now. Be a dear and
explain why you are running bodyguard duty for our steam-powered friend here."
Van Helsing does not look at all happy about being in her presence. Logan is still eyeing him up
suspiciously, and Van Helsing keeps making sidelong glances towards the hairy little man, as if he
feels as if he should know him from somewhere.
"This creature is the result of dastardly experimentation being carried out by evil scientists of sinister
intent. They are attempting to resurrect the Humungous," he tells them. "The creature is not evil in
itself, it is merely an innocent victim in this. He was the victim of a collision with a powered carriage
and they took him as a subject for their cruel machinations."
"The Humungous is dead," Ravenbait responds flatly, eyes hard and glittering behind the lenses of her
glasses. "I was there. Kali-Ma crushed him beneath her feet."
"Nay, madam, he is not dead." Van Helsing shakes his head, evidently pained to bring her such bad
news. "So much of him was artificial and mechanical already that it protected what little vital parts of
him were still of flesh and blood. His people retrieved his remains from the battlefield and have taken
them away to a secret place where they watch over him and keep the last thin thread of life within him
while they work to fashion a new body for him. In their work they produce creatures such as this poor
fellow, and worse besides. They are using demonic powers, creatures not of this world or the next, so
that when he returns he will be superhuman."
"So that is why the Ferryman is involved," Ravenbait says, voice cold with the old fury. The ABD were
up to their old tricks again. They were trying to resurrect the Humungous and yet they were still
rejecting life; still rejecting the freedom of physical exertion on the open roads; still wishing to divorce
themselves from the thrilling pulse of a hard-working heart and the satisfying burn of well-used legs.
They were not trying to give life to the Humungous: they were merely trying to give him movement,
make him mobile. They did not care whether he needed to breathe, whether his flesh was warm or cold,
whether he had passion rather than simple rage. All they cared about was winning, winning the old
fight that had gone on for so long.
But this time they were not merely recruiting non-human allies; they were using them for spare
parts.
Ravenbait looks at the creature, who stands there motionless with the saddest, most tragic eyes she had
ever seen. She smiles at it kindly then turns to the two men. They could, she reflects, have been
twins.
"So," she says, her face predatory. "Are we going to let them succeed?"
"I have every intention of putting a stop to these evil madmen," Van Helsing assures her.
"Gonna have a real rip an' tear-fest, huh?" Logan grins, lighting up his cigar. "The more the merrier as
far as I'm concerned. Come on! Let's boogie - let's rock and roll! I know all about havin' a bunch o'
Mengele types messin' where they shouldn't... indulgin' their own twisted curiosity."
"Splendid. First stop, Mount Etna. Let's see if Hephaestus can't make this fellow a little more
comfortable at least."
She makes a silent call and the two ravens appear. She sends them to the Ferryman to report. It looks
like she is going to do what she was told after all, but for completely different reasons.
Well boys and girls! What dastardly and evil stuff is this? The ABD is attempting to resurrect the
Humungous! Can such a thing be done? Just what sort of creature is it that the Priestess has found?
What of the mysterious Van Helsing? Why is he avowed to protect it, even to the extreme of fighting
with the Wolverine? What will the gentlefolk of the Cake Stop have to say when their Priestess returns
with this most dreadful of news? We await, dear reader, to find out the answers to all these questions
and more. We leave you waiting in breathless anticipation for our next instalment of this educational
periodical for young gentlefolk of an adventurous persuasion, where we shall discover what the lovely
and heroic Mrs Pike has been doing to keep Captain Jack Sparrow occupied and whether the beautiful
and infinitely patient Clare has dealt with the interloper in her fine Cake Stop.
Tune in, next time, on Chronicles Of The Cake Stop!
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