Obsidian Ridge - Jess Lebow [1]
A large hole in the ceiling spilled the half-moon's weak light into the building, and for a moment, the figure's lithe frame was silhouetted against the night sky. Had any of the men looked up, they would have seen the glint of metal at the tips of the figure's outstretched hands.
Catching the rafter, the figure swung twice then pulled himself up to crouch, waiting and watching.
The men had converged on the northern end of the slaughterhouse, where three huge stacks of crates were piled against the wall. Without talking, they got to work.
Inside the first crate, nestled in a huge pile of straw, was a large glass vessel. One man pulled the wooden planks off the top of the crate, and two more converged on the contents, lifting the heavy glass from both sides. The men had to squat and waddle to move it. As they did, one of them stumbled and nearly lost his balance.
The others gasped and rushed to his aid. But it was unnecessary. The man regained his balance and finished moving the vessel to a safe location on the floor, only a few more steps away.
"Be more careful!" shouted the fat man. "My brother is going to be here soon. If you break one of his vats, we'll all g«it."
The clumsy man nodded frantically. "Yes, Master Tasca." Then he hurried to unpack another crate.
The other men followed suit, unloading more glass and iron. The pieces came out one at a time, and the men worked smoothly and carefully. There were no more stumbles.
A contraption materialized from the men's efforts. Three huge glass vats, each half again larger than the last, rested on metal stands that held them off the floor by several feet. Each was connected to the next by a series of twisted tubes. It looked like a monstrous glass centipede, cut into sections and strung together by clear veins or intestines.
Not breaking their stride, the men continued. From the next stack of crates they pulled out glass beakers full of viscous, red liquid. Each was sealed with wax, which the men peeled away before pouring the contents into the largest vat.
"Don't spill any of that, or you'll be sorry," scolded the fat man.
The men continued their work in silence.
It took some time, but the vat grew fuller, and it reached the halfway point when the men finished unpacking the second stack of crates.
The man they called Master Tasca bent down beside the largest vat. Rubbing his hands together, he spoke a series of quick words. A bright purple flame erupted in his palms, and he set it down on the flagstones below the vat. Struggling to his feet, the fat man nodded at the others, and they began unpacking the last of the crates.
Inside were more beakers, each holding a bright blue liquid that glowed, illuminating the blood-stained floor.
Once again, the wax seals were pulled and the liquid poured into the vat. When it hit the thick, red substance already inside, a gray vapor formed. It swirled up the sides, heavy and dense, clinging to the glass as it climbed.
"Quickly now," instructed Pello Tasca. "We don't want to lose any."
The men formed a bucket brigade, working together to pour the beakers in as fast as they could. There was much less of the blue liquid, and the men had it finished in half the time. Then they lifted the final glass tube and fitted it over the largest vat, sealing the top.
The gray vapor rose, climbing through the twisting tubes. The clear glass became opaque, and the vapor poured into the second vat, filling it. It stuck to the sides, growing more dense and collecting in large drops that rolled down into the bottom of the second vat. A brownish liquid the color of muddy water pooled at the bottom.
The fat man bent down again and lit a second fire under this new vat. The muddy liquid boiled immediately, and the steam rose, darker and more energetic than the vapor. Black lines twisted themselves in between the gray, looking like interlocking fingers on opposing hands. Then the blackness