"Make sure he doesn't have any more surprises," I said. "Richard, are you all right?"
He nodded. "Really rang my bell there, didn't it?" Richard removed the German SS helmet and checked the finger-length dent from where the bullet had struck. "I suppose I shouldn't have argued about wearing this." He chuckled nervously.
Satisfied he was only shaken, I was about to return my attention to the truck when something caught my attention. "Richard, let me see that helmet."
"Of course." He offered it out, a little grin at the corner of his mouth. "I assume you'll be wanting one too, now that I've tested it."
Accepting the steel hat, I gave it a closer inspection. White metal, gleaming in the moonlight against the black helm, ran the length of the dent. Curious. Why would it do that? "Sir Buckland."
"Aye?" Dennis replied.
"Would you check that soldier's rifle? I would like to see the bullets." I handed the helmet back to Richard, who now studied the dent with closer scrutiny.
"Aye. One thing you might want to see first, Lady Meadows." Dennis motioned to the two dead monsters. "Why aren't they burnin'?"
My eyes widened as I looked again at the crumpled, inhuman forms. When killed with a holy weapon, a demon's essence burns with a phantasmal fire as it leaves the host body. But these did not. In the excitement I'd completely overlooked the phenomenon. My gaze moved to Feuertod's blade, still stained with the monster's dark, and most definitely unburning blood. Most curious.
Dennis hurried back into the truck as I examined the corpse of the beast I'd killed. Even now, the huge muscles and elongated bones shriveled back to those of its human host. Angular brands, like runes, scarred its chest.
Richard stepped beside me and stooped, rolling the monster's left arm over. He grunted and I spied the ring on the creature's hand. Similar symbols decorated the silver band while a skull and crossbones adorned the top.
My lip curled into a sneer. A Totenfomphring — the honour ring for Himmler's most loyal. It appeared the demon's human vessel had been SS. Burn in Hell, you bastard. I was about to compliment Richard on noticing it when I realized his attention was not on the grotesque jewelry, but at a strip of numbers crudely tattooed on the pale forearm.
"What is this?" he growled, his voice low.
I blinked. Concentration camp? Why would he be wearing a Totenfomphring?
"Lady Helen," Dennis said, climbing back out from the truck. "Look here." He held out a single rifle round.
"Silver," I said, looking it over.
He nodded. "Got boxes of 'em."
"That's useful for us," I said, "But why would the Nazis need them?"
He shrugged.
With a final glance at the beastly corpses, I looked at the soldier still under Audrey's guard. "Then let us ask our new friends."
"Well, what do you know." Peter shone his torch into one of the wooden boxes.
Turning my attention from the crate of books, I peered over the raised lid. Thousands of silver rings filled the inside, each with the familiar skull and crossbones. Upon the bearer's death, each ring was sent to Wewelsburg Castle. Evidently the SS found it important to recover them before the Americans arrived.
Peter let out a low whistle. "That's a lot of dead krauts." He turned to me. "What do we do with them?"
"Load them in the car." I gestured to the books I was scouring. "This crate as well. Fit as much as you can. We'll burn the rest." The words stung. As a Librarian, destroying books was among the highest of sins. But we hadn't room for them all, and from what my brief inspection had gleaned, whatever foul knowledge the Nazis had amassed was nothing either side should have. It was far too dangerous.
I climbed down from the truck, passed the two corpses of what had once been monsters, now emaciated men with shaven heads and tattooed arms, and stopped where Audrey and Richard were guarding our two prisoners. The man I'd shot lay on his back, his waxy skin glistening in the scant light. He clutched a red-soaked rag against his side. The other, the motorcyclist, watched me with cautious, hateful eyes.
"Have they talked yet?" I asked.
Audrey shook her head. "Not a peep." Unlike the rest of us in our confiscated uniforms, Lady Turgen wore a charcoal gray poncho, striped in black, and her dark hair was tied in a tight bun. Her delicate features and cupid bow lips made her appear more suited for fancy dress than warfare. But as any Valducan knows all too well, a gentle facade often masks lethality.
"I'll only ask this once," I said to the prisoners, my voice even and cold, "where are the weapons?"
"Safe from you," the wounded one spat.
"Allow me to be clear. We are not the British or the Americans. We are not bound by the Articles of the Geneva Convention. What were those creatures? And where were you taking them?"
"Fuck you, British whore. I—"
His words ended as Audrey ran Rowlind straight into the man's chest. He gave a wet moan and fell silent.
I turned to the motorcyclist, his wide eyes fixed on his dead companion. "I will only ask you this once—"
"Augsburg," he blurted. "We were heading to Augsburg."
"And the weapons?"
"Major Macher is escorting those and the cauldron personally."
"Cauldron?" I asked.
He nodded. "The Life Vessel."
I glanced to Audrey and Richard. They both shrugged. "And what were those creatures?"
"Die Kesselgeburten," he said. "The undying warriors."
I pursed my lips. Cauldron-born? "What of the rings?"
The prisoner's hand tightened, his fingers concealing the silver band I'd already seen. "Those who die for the Reich will live forever."
"Through the rings?" Richard asked.
The prisoner gave a reluctant nod.
"What about those men?" Richard's voice grew uncharacteristically sharp. "Prisoners? What happened to them?"
The man didn't answer.
"What did you do to them?" Richard shouted.
I held up a hand. We were losing sight of the immediate goal. "Are the weapons and the cauldron still at the castle?"
"They were when we left," the prisoner said. "Major Macher was to take the other route."
"So they might have already left." I turned to see Peter and Dennis loading the crates into the car. "We must hurry. Richard, do what you must."
I'd made it three steps toward the vehicle when the man cried out behind me. While Richard Simon was a gentleman in every sense of the word, he was also a Jew. Peter had referred to him as my puppy behind my back. But Richard's hatred of Germans surpassed even my own. He was quick with the prisoner, but not merciful. No one objected to the treatment.
I thought of my late husband, eighteen and cut down in the final days of the First Great War. Despite my distaste for the race, Feuertod was technically German. But that was fitting. Germans excelled at killing, and killing was Feuertod's specialty.
"Are we done?" I asked as Dennis heaved a wooden box into the back. He carried one of the newly confiscated rifles with silver ammunition over one shoulder.
"Aye. That's all she'll hold."
"Very well. Peter, can you operate that?" I asked, pointing to the sidecar-mounted machine gun.
He shrugged. "Shouldn't be too hard."
"Then get in."
Peter and Dennis exchanged a look. "Why not Dennis?" he asked. "He's Arms Master."
While a capable knight, his American enthusiasm had caused more than its fair share of tensions between us. Truth be told, I didn't like him out of my sight. His vocal opinions might be contagious. I gave him a flat look. "Because I told you."