tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25508203952505013902024-03-12T17:22:59.220-07:00Terra DamnataBook 1 of The Pu'Shing Bhu'Tons Series
by Monique FinleyUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger53125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550820395250501390.post-56978408908047046332016-10-15T04:20:00.000-07:002016-12-01T12:14:17.762-08:00A Puero<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Un-fucking-believable,”
Colonel Dagon grunted while staring at the ashen-faced Ensign Balin. “You let
him die because you wanted to watch the fireworks show?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“No,” Balin
forced himself not to shout, “you misheard.” He huffed, “he’s passed out in the
Break Room. He needs a doctor.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Then why is
he here?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Unable to
control himself, Balin blurted, “he and his bird freaked in the hospital. Demanded
to come here. Thinks he’s being hunted.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“He is.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The cousins silently stared at each other, heads tilted at matching angles.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Balin’s shoulders
slumped as the weight hit him, “war…” trailing off, his lips slammed shut
forming a thin line of regret. <br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Get him to the
Field Medic,” Dagon ordered. “The Celatrix will relieve you.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Balin popped
to attention, dropped his fists to his sides, and bowed slightly before
pounding his fists twice against his thighs, “Aye! Aye! Sir!” He twirled about,
marching toward the stairs leading down to the basement floor where the 10-bed
Trauma Unit was tucked. Ir rested in a reinforced bunker on a dead-end branch
of an emergency tunnel leading from the Templus de Ambros. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Sitting down
on the edge of his desk, Colonel Gawain Dagon watched his office door slowly
close as his cousin marched down the hall. He reached down with his right hand
and pressed a button on the back of the desk. When he heard the familiar click
of the latch disengaging and the low rumble of the hidden drawer sliding open,
he got off his desk, walked around it and pulled back his chair. Opening the
top drawer, he reached inside it, fumbled with a secondary release and then
removed a palm-sized leather-bound book imprinted with a gold-inlayed Eye of
Mercury. He lifted its embroidered royal blue and white tassel and quickly read
the last entry: </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 74.3pt; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "heather btn";">[22<sup>nd</sup>
Year of Our Lord Gryphon, Rudolpho Imler, Ides o’Aprilis, 21:45]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 74.3pt; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "heather btn";">The
web includes Chief Justice Adonis. The Kaiser cannot accuse him without
evidence. The servant boy is being groomed to obtain that evidence. Under the
Kaiser’s orders, Adonis will be left in place as Chief Justice: Enemy that we
know and all. Who else?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 74.3pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "heather btn";">Col. Gai. Dagon<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-right: 38.3pt;">
He stared at the empty lines below. Then,
scratched:</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 74.3pt; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "heather btn";">[1<sup>st</sup>
Year of Our Lord Gyphon, Arceleus Imler, X11 Kalends o’Maius, 06:50]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 74.3pt; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "heather btn";">Adonis
had Kaiser Rudolpho Imler murdered. Adonis in custody. Assassin at-large. Bard
Fintan also murdered by Assassin. Kaiser Rudolpho interred. Child Heir, Praeceptor
Archeleus confirmed. War Cabinet: 0700.
Bells: 08:00. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 74.3pt; margin-top: 0in; text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "heather btn";">Col. Gai. Dagon<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-right: 2.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "heather btn";"> </span>It took a couple tries to get his
passdown log back into its cubby. Once he’d secured it, he locked up his office,
and then followed in Balin’s footsteps down to the underground passage. Rather
than dipping into the Trauma Unit, Dagon quickly walked the length until he
came to a chipped beige door with an equally ragged thumbprint scanner. A
light, but distinct clack sounded and he pulled on the steel security door. Walking
through the door, he glanced at his watch, <i>late.
Damn it.</i> His pace quickened as he navigated his way to the Kaiser’s
chambers.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-right: 2.3pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-right: 2.3pt;">
The head of Public Works, Craig Archer,
stumbled through the War Cabinet’s conference room. Under one arm he carried a
bundle of rolled up maps and plans, in his other hand he sloshed a nearly full
coffee cup. By the drooping faces and whispered mumblings of the various Advisors,
Archer saw that exhaustion was a common factor. He dropped the maps onto the
table, sat down the coffee cup, and pulled out his swivel chair. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-right: 2.3pt;">
One-by-one the other Advisors took their
places, when all were seated, General Nelson Whistler said, “I call this War
Cabinet to order. Do I have a second?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-right: 2.3pt;">
Standing Archer said, “seconded and so-called,”
he unrolled a map of Poterit Don. Using pens notepads and other Advisors’ drink
cups to keep the map from rolling up, he pointed to a red X over Avalona, “here
was the initial strike.” Moving his finger up to Ambrosia City, he said, “the
assassinations of the Kaiser and Bard occurred here and here.” He sat back
down, nodded his head toward General Whistler, and then leaned back in his
chair. Unless there was some specific question about city’s public works, he’d
be a silent observer.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-right: 2.3pt;">
“Until the other generals arrive,”
Whistler remarked dryly, “we’ll be unable to give any Force preparedness
assessments.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-right: 2.3pt;">
“What’s the ETA?” Jerry deBoca, the
Director of Transportation, asked. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-right: 2.3pt;">
“Varied. Closest is Tomlyn, in Avalona.
He’s interrogating a suspect.” Whistler sighed, twisted his pinky ring and then
added, “the Oathbreaker Fraunx Adonis.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-right: 2.3pt;">
A collective sigh broke the silence. And
then, Archer said, “he has proof?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-right: 2.3pt;">
“A witness,” Colonel Dagon answered from
the doorway. Nervously standing behind him were Cassie and Archel. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-right: 2.3pt;">
“Who’s the witness,” Louisa Prescott
asked. She sat behind a little hand written card she’d made that read:
Agriculture and Market.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-right: 2.3pt;">
“I am,” Cassie said from behind Dagon. She
peeked around the Merc before stepping into the room. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-right: 2.3pt;">
The half empty conference table reverently
stared at the tattered girl wearing Mercury’s Bracelet and Circlet. The
testimony of the Messenger was above reproach. Jerry deBoca bowed his head,
whispering “Messenger,” to which the Advisors pushed back their chairs and took
to their knees. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-right: 2.3pt;">
“Oh,” Archel whispered as he walked up
next to her. “Will you all please get up?” Archel asked. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-right: 2.3pt;">
“Sir, I’d introduce your Advisors, but
we’re pressed for time.” Dagon said as he escorted Archel to the chair at the
head of the conference table. “Until you come of age, you are tasked with
learning the Realm. If you have any questions, ask them,” he waved a hand at
the table. “In the mean time, they have to debate.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-right: 2.3pt;">
General Whistler smacked a hand on the
table, “there’s nothing to debate. We’re at war.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-right: 2.3pt;">
“We never received a declaration from the
Kaiser…” deBoca said. “Oh, uh, from Kaiser Rudolpho.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-right: 2.3pt;">
“It doesn’t matter. We have to retaliate,”
General Whistler demanded. “We can’t stand idly by. Not now. Look at what
they’ve already done. Unchecked? Absolutely not!” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-right: 2.3pt;">
Archel cast Cassie a longing look from the
chair that had swallowed him. She shrugged and winked. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-right: 2.3pt;">
“Shall we vote?” Louisa Prescott asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-right: 2.3pt;">
Dropping his jaw, General Whistler sat back
in his chair. He said, “of course,”
picked up his pen and notepad from their position on the spread out map which
promptly curled. He quickly scrawled, “<span style="font-family: "chiller";">WAR,</span>”
folded up the paper and slid it right to Archel who stared at it as if it were
contagious. Slowly the slips of paper before Archel grew, one part of him
thought to grab them, but the reasonable part of him shrunk into the chair and
looked for an escape route. Finding none, he closed his eyes, gingerly reached
out a hand and dragged the small pile closer. He opened a paper, read, “war,”
and dropped it on the table. On the way to opening the second slip, his stomach
flipped, <i>real? This. This is unreal.
What’s wrong with these people? I’m not whoever they think. I-I I can’t be.
It’s too much.</i> He thought of that terrible dream he’d had about being stuck
as a griffin. His heart rate increased as he opened another slip with “war”
written on it.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-right: 2.3pt;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-right: 2.3pt; text-align: center;">
***</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-right: 2.3pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-right: 2.3pt;">
The Ambrosian Fields were already filled
to capacity when the Templus Bells tolled. The normally frolicking sound of
12,000+ people was eerily silent as they waited. Archel stole a view of the crowd
through a backstage curtain. His stomach dropped, and then he retched all over
the floor. “I can’t go out there,” he said to Colonel Dagon. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-right: 2.3pt;">
“You have to, Praeceptor,” Dagon answered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-right: 2.3pt;">
“I can’t,” Archel mumbled as he searched
for something to clean up his mess.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-right: 2.3pt;">
“You must,” Dagon insisted. Archel used a
towel he’d found to cover his vomit, as he bent to scoop it up, Dagon grabbed
him under the arms and swung him away from the offending heap. Kneeling down in
front of Archel, Dagon said, “never again. You have a bigger job now.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-right: 2.3pt;">
“Someone could fall,” Archel pointed out.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-right: 2.3pt;">
“It will be cleaned. This way, milord,”
Dagon pointed to the stage stairs where the Advisors were disappearing. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-right: 2.3pt;">
Archel struggled not to run back the way
he’d come, so many expectant faces stared at the stage. As he walked to the
podium, he fumbled to recall what they’d made him memorize. At the podium, he
found a step and a set of note cards with everything written in the same
flowing hand of Louisa Prescott. Using the step, he glanced over his shoulder
at her and was met with a smile and a nod. Archel nervously flipped through the
notes, doing anything he could think of to delay the inevitable. Finally, he put
down the papers and said, “I am Kaiser Archeleus Imler. Today, we’re at war.”
He glanced back at the Advisors, wondering if they’d be mad if he just told
what happened. Sticking to the script, he read the second note card, “we have enemies
in custody.” Placing the notes down, he said, “I used to be a servant for Chief
Justice Fraunx Adonis. He did this to us,” Archel glanced at Dagon, bit his lip
when he saw the disapproving expression, but continued anyway, “I need your
help.” He gripped the podium with both hands, “please.” The silence erupted in
a righteously enraged roar that bore down on Archel. He stepped back from the
podium, walked to Dagon and whispered, “I’m so tired. Can I go to bed now?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-right: 2.3pt;">
Pointing back to the podium, Dagon smiled
sadly, “not just yet, milord.”</div>
<script>
(function(i,s,o,g,r,a,m){i['GoogleAnalyticsObject']=r;i[r]=i[r]||function(){
(i[r].q=i[r].q||[]).push(arguments)},i[r].l=1*new Date();a=s.createElement(o),
m=s.getElementsByTagName(o)[0];a.async=1;a.src=g;m.parentNode.insertBefore(a,m)
})(window,document,'script','//www.google-analytics.com/analytics.js','ga');
ga('create', 'UA-66666100-1', 'auto');
ga('require', 'linkid', 'linkid.js');
ga('send', 'pageview');
</script>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550820395250501390.post-3056525444054003892016-10-08T04:20:00.000-07:002016-10-08T21:37:39.648-07:00Reus Voti<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
As the Phoenix sang, her tune turned from
one of mourning to that of celebration. With each note of her song, Kaiser
Archeleus Imler slowly, and though wobbling terribly, got to his bare feet. Once
standing, Archel stared up at the brilliant fiery hues trailing after the
Phoenix. On an impulse, he held his scrawny arm out, fore- and middle fingers
extended. She swooped around his head, gently landing on his outstretched
fingers where she promptly ceased singing. Archel turned to the still kneeling
Celatrix, “um, could you please get up?” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“As you
command, Praeceptor Archel,” Celatrix Verna replied as she stood. The double
line of now silent, previously chanting, ministers followed her cue and also
rose.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“It’s not
really a command,” Archel mumbled.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What, milord?”
she asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Uh. Nothing,”
Archel said, absently stroking the Phoenix’s back. “What happens now?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“With your
permission, we finish the ceremony,” she answered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Oh. Okay.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“May I?”
Celatrix Verna asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Sorry. Yes,”
Archel replied.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Never say
‘sorry’, milord,” she said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
He looked from
Celatrix Verna to the Phoenix and back before saying, “but, sometimes I am.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I know. Even
so, as Lord Gryphon you should always appear confident. ‘Sorry’ just doesn’t
illicit confidence.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Oh,” Archel
said softly, continuing to pet the Phoenix.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Celatrix Verna
smiled at Archel, “as Praeceptor you have time to learn to be a great leader
like Kaiser Rudolpho.” She leaned in, adding, “if you want…” With a flourish,
she bowed to Archel and the Phoenix, then spun around and stepped up to her
staff, which remained at attention next to the golden, jewel-encrusted,
crown-like fence surrounding the Phoenix Rose. Once again she applied pressure
to the staff. This time, multiple ear-piercing whistles culminated into one and
shook the Templus de Ambros complex. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The Phoenix
launched off of Archel’s hand, as if chasing something. While she darted
through the sky trailing sunset sparks, the second round of fireworks lit the
night with a blue fireball, immediately followed by green, white, and red ones.
Each popped as if impervious to rain or Aquilo’s windy breath. The Phoenix dove
through the showering sparks, creating an enormous fiery infinity sign in the
air above the temple. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Ecce! Archele
oriens. Rex Archeleus est,” Celatrix Verna shouted. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The dual line
of ministers heard her and began chanting, “Archele oriens! Rex Archeleus est.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Though the
rain continued to fall, the fireworks staggered the spectators and the
Phoenix’s flaming infinity burned their retinas. The new chant brought out the
last few stragglers of Ambrosia City, among which were the Inquisitor and the <i>duumviri</i>. Each of the three men carried
a duffle bag over one shoulder. In the Forum Publicos, they elbowed through the
crowd, making their way to the other side where sat the tourist entrance to the
Templus Ministrae as well as the main entrance to the Templus de Ambros. Both
of which they passed by without a second look. When they finally reached the
normally well-guarded giant double doors that led into the Antigone Courts, the
trio stopped and watched the surrounding area. With the crowd distracted, they
had no fear of raising suspicions. One-by-one they walked up the steps and
slipped through the unguarded doors. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“That was too
easy,” Jougs whispered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“That was a
door,” Vorant responded.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Shh,” the
Inquisitor hissed at Jougs, who rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders,
while Vorant stifled laughter. After removing a sheet of paper from his pocket,
the Inquisitor aligned the map with the front entrance and traced a route with
his middle finger. He pointed to his left, “this way,” he said. In his rush to
reach Chief Justice Fraunx Adonis’ private chambers, the Inquisitor saw not one
bit of the ornate moldings, intricate tapestries, or impressive bas reliefs
that decorated the halls. When they finally made it to the stairwell they expected
to run into a guard, but unbeknownst to them, the Antigone Courts were vacant
save for three justices watching the fireworks from a 2<sup>nd</sup> floor
balcony. The handful of guards that were supposed to patrol had all snuck out
to catch the display. Rather than climbing up the stairs, the Inquisitor led
them around the left hand side where another set of stairs disappeared down. He
paused at the top, thinking about Rainboy’s and the unexpected stairwell. A
chill ran through him. <i>What other
surprises do you have waiting?</i> he wondered as he took out his little LED
and flicked it on. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Are you sure
it’s down there?” Jougs whispered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The Inquisitor
shot Jougs a dirty look, and then began his descent. Unlike Rainboy’s, these
stairs were wide, broad-based, and covered with plush red carpeting. The entire
vibe was different, but the same caution warning pulsed in the back of his
mind. Midway down the stairs, he stopped, swung his duffle around and dug
through it. When he removed a rifle and attached his LED to it, the <i>duumviri</i> quietly followed suit. Satisfied,
the Inquisitor resumed his descent. At the bottom of the stairs he glanced at
the map again, turning it twice to realign it. After which, he led them through
the underground passage, passing by the oak door of the Antigone Courts’
antechamber and the amphitheater door. The moment they reached Adonis’ chambers
they had no doubt they were in the right place. Two busts of Adonis stood guard
on either side of the cherry door which showed hand-carved scenes of the court
process, including the various types of execution. The Chief Justice in each
scene held a remarkable resemblance to the conceited man captured in blue
marble. For the second time that night, the Inquisitor removed his lock picking
tools. In no time, he had the door unlocked and with the <i>duumviri</i> on his six, he shoved the door open. They stormed the
chamber, coming face-to-face with Justice Levi Bayleaf. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Holding up
both hands to block the blinding light from the three LEDs suddenly shining in
his face, Justice Bayleaf shouted, “damn it, I can’t see. Turn those lights
off, will you? The lamp’s on. Sweet mother of Mercury, what’s wrong with you?
Trying to give me a heart attack?” The senior justice had taken advantage of
the lax security to break-in to Adonis’ office. As such, he half expected one
of the Antigone’s guards to find him. Once the Inquisitor and his men turned
off their LEDs, he said, “I know I’m not supposed to be here, but the Chief Justice
asked me to get some of his notes,” it was a story he’d worked on for the
better part of five minutes. If his sight wasn’t impaired by the white spots
from the LEDs he would have forgone the lie.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Laughing
heartily, the Inquisitor asked, “Justice Bayleaf?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Well, this
is…a pleasant surprise,” the Inquisitor laughed again.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What do you
mean?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Ignoring the
question, the Inquisitor turned to the <i>duumviri</i>,
“gentlemen, if you’d be so kind as to wait outside. The Justice and I have
overdue business.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Jougs leaned
in, whispering, “do we have time for this?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Mister Jougs,
when opportunities present themselves, only fools turn away.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What are you
men talking about?” Justice Bayleaf asked, squinting into the shadows. “Wait a
minute. You’re not Mercury’s Elite. Who are you? What are you doing here?” He
stepped toward them, and then abruptly stopped, throwing his hands into the air
and saying, “don’t shoot.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Holding the
justice at gun point, the Inquisitor said nothing while he waited for the <i>duumviri</i> to vacate the room. Certain
that they were alone, he sloughed off the duffle bag, lowered the rifle barrel
and stared at Bayleaf. “The years haven’t been kind to you, old man,” he
finally said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“They aren’t
kind to anyone who reaches my age,” Bayleaf replied. The two men glared at each
other in the dim light of Adonis’ table lamp. Bayleaf asked, “how do I know
you?” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“We met when I
was a child,” the Inquisitor stated, “a long time ago. You sentenced my father.
I’m told I look just like him.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Curiosity sunk
its filthy hooks into the justice, he asked, “what’s your dad’s name?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Grayson
Lawrence Whittaker, Senior,” the Inquisitor answered proudly. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Shrinking
back, Justice Bayleaf stuttered, “Gr-ray-so-son?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“That’s right.
And, I’ve waited 15 years for this,” the Inquisitor swung the rifle barrel up,
catching the justice under the chin, “you knew. Yet, you <i>just</i> had to make an example out of someone.” He shoved the rifle further
up, forcing Bayleaf’s head to tilt back awkwardly. “You spoke to him. You knew
he didn’t have the capacity,” with a flick of his wrists the Inquisitor slapped
the justice with the rifle butt. Bayleaf stumbled back, one hand holding his
freshly bruised cheek, the other wildly feeling for the desk. “Too many brawls,
hits to the head,” the Inquisitor said tapping his noggin. “You wouldn’t know
it, Dad was practically a genius before he started street fighting to feed his
family. That’s how he landed in my gang.” The Inquisitor leaned toward the
shaking justice, “<i>my</i> gang. He didn’t
know. No one knew. That’s why they couldn’t tell you.” Pointing the rifle
barrel at the floor, the Inquisitor closed the gap, lifted up Bayleaf by the
chin, and said, “the secret to criminal success is a complete disassociation
from your real life. That’s the hard lesson I learned after you had him
murdered.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“The law—”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“DON’T! Don’t
you dare deny your complicity. I was there, remember?” Squeezing Bayleaf’s jaw,
the Inquisitor growled, “first you suggested the death penalty. Then, you <i>smiled</i> when the sentence was read. And,
you laughed when he stumbled up the stairs at Raven’s Drop. You <i>laughed</i>.” In his unbridled anger and
without realizing it, the Inquisitor had shaken Bayleaf so hard he’d dislocated
the old man’s jaw. “I know your type. Done business with hundreds of you.
Sneaky, conniving, backstabbing shits. So focused on your own power plays you’d
miss the truth if it hit you in the face,” in emphasis, he shoved the old man
into the desk. “Iphigenia must love me,” he chuckled, “and hate you. Don’t
worry, I’m a professional. This will hurt.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“How much
longer? I’m so tired,” Archel whispered to Cassie while they slowly marched
from the Phoenix Rose to the Tomb of the Gryphons.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I don’t
know,” she yawned.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Archel rubbed
his temples, “my head hurts.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“So does
mine,” Cassie mumbled, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I wish they’d shut
up.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I could order
it,” he offered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Don’t do it.
You’ll ruin the ceremony.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
He continued
to rub his temples, “fine.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
When they finally
reached the field before the black marble mausoleum, the entire procession
halted and the chanting abruptly rolled to a stop. Mercury’s Elite Guard stood
in formation wearing their dress uniforms. Colonel Dagon headed the small army.
He marched to center field, where Celatrix Verna met him. After a brief
exchange of words, the Celatrix motioned for Archel to join them. Without
waiting for permission, Cassie followed. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Praeceptor
Archeleus,” Dagon bowed deeply from the waist, never taking his eyes off of
Archel.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Hi, Colonel,”
the boy answered uncertainly.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“The Elite
await your command,” Dagon said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Um, okay?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“May we
proceed with the funeral?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Oh. Yeah,”
Archel nodded his head and instantly regretted it. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Thank you,
milord,” Dagon said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Archel
helplessly looked at the colonel, “uh, you’re welcome?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Dagon snapped
to attention, saluted, then kicked a foot back. He executed a perfect
about-face and marched to the head of the Elite’s formation. Once he’d returned
to his place, the drummers began a rolling thunder that competed with Aquilo’s
growl. Suddenly, the drumbeat ended and single horn cried into the early
morning. Its call was answered by a competing horn. They battled momentarily,
then silence fell. The drums picked up their thundering beat, building slowly,
slowly. Then, they too fell silent. Dagon shouted, “make ready. Fire.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Three cannons
exploded. Archel and Cassie both stepped back holding their ears.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“One,” a
counter said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Fire,” Dagon
ordered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The cannons
exploded again, causing Archel and Cassie to tighten the grip on their ears.
They glanced at each other, both feeling the pain.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Two,” the
counter said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Fire,” Dagon
commanded.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Again, the
three cannons flashed their charges, booming as they spit fire. The teens
reacted by squeezing even harder.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Three,” the
counter said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Fire.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
For the last
time the cannons roared, their blasts echoed in the sullen silence that
followed. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Four,” the
counter said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The drummers
emerged from the formation, marching into new positions and bringing the Elites
with them. As they carried out the maneuver, Archel whispered to Cassie, “will
they’ll do this for me, when I die?” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
With both
hands still holding her ears, she lifted a palm and whispered, “what?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“When I die…”
he stopped, “never mind.” The distinct sound of metal sliding out of scabbards
brought his attention back to some of the Elites, who’d formed a sword arch. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The minister
pall bearers stepped out of the processional line, carrying Kaiser Rudolpho’s
casket through the arch. Two-by-two the swordsmen swung their swords down after
the pall bearers passed by. At the mausoleum, they placed the casket on the stand
under a statue of Rex Gryphus. With the casket in place, the pall bearers
stepped out of the way. The drummers resumed, the swordsmen returned their
swords to their scabbards, and then backpedaled into their original places. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
In one voice,
the Elite sang, “Astra declive. Morte est. Quidnunc? Sol oriens. Vive est.” As
they sang, they reformed into two columns that marched toward Archel. Upon
reaching the youth, the song abruptly stopped and the Elites dropped to one
knee, shouting, “PAREO!”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Archel didn’t
know how to respond, he glanced at Cassie, who knowingly shrugged her
shoulders. One look at the Celatrix told him nothing and Colonel Dagon was unhelpfully
one of those kneeling before him. He searched his mind for anything that might
work and said the first thing that came to him, “oh. Sure.” </div>
<script>
(function(i,s,o,g,r,a,m){i['GoogleAnalyticsObject']=r;i[r]=i[r]||function(){
(i[r].q=i[r].q||[]).push(arguments)},i[r].l=1*new Date();a=s.createElement(o),
m=s.getElementsByTagName(o)[0];a.async=1;a.src=g;m.parentNode.insertBefore(a,m)
})(window,document,'script','//www.google-analytics.com/analytics.js','ga');
ga('create', 'UA-66666100-1', 'auto');
ga('require', 'linkid', 'linkid.js');
ga('send', 'pageview');
</script>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550820395250501390.post-78778734195890949082016-10-01T04:20:00.000-07:002016-10-01T21:30:51.977-07:00Nomen Regis<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
“Eheu!
Rex morte est. Inquam, O Mercuri. Astra declive!” Celatrix Verna’s voice
trembled, building as she timed her ‘declive’ to coincide with the chanters’.
Holding her hands to either side of the podium, she raised them with the palms directed
at Kaiser Rudolpho Imler’s wounded face as he lay in his lidless coffin. While
slowly turning her upper body toward Archel, Celatrix Verna continued, “Ecce!
Rex nasci est. Inquam, O Iphigenia. Sol oriens!” Her impeccable timing once
again apparent as her words blended into the chanted ‘Sol oriens!’</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
From
the front row, Colonel Thompson and General Michaels bowed their heads,
listening to the foreign words. Michaels leaned over and whispered, “you know
what she’s talking about?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
After
elbowing him into submission, Colonel Thompson whispered back, “of course I do.
Took it first year. Was 2<sup>nd</sup> in my class at Elite.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
“Well?”
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
“I’ll
tell you later. Now, shut up.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Osborne
watched them briefly before returning his attention to the Celatrix who held
her hands toward the young griffin. He couldn’t help but stare. Raised in a
Merc family, Osborne was well-versed in the griffin legends and having attended
Elite was familiar with the language. But, he was very, very rusty and heard
the words without recognizing them. He sighed, <i>should have paid attention. Maybe she’ll tell me, too. Don’t ask in
front of the general. She’ll chew you out for making her look bad.</i> He
watched them, listening for the part he remembered, the part that every
soldier, Merc and Militia alike, was drilled on. Then he heard it:<i> </i> </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
“Dummodo
mihi fidei promittes, libenter tibi custodiaeque divei promitto,” the griffin Archel
repeated after Celatrix Verna.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
The
hair raised on Osborne’s body as he joined the room answering, “promitto!” </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Though
time breached the wee hours, lights popped on across the typically resting City
of Ambrosia. Residents closest to Sentinel Cemetery and the Templus de Ambros were
the first drawn in by the chanting. They crowded into the cemetery and to the
temple wall where a few parents helped their kids up. From there they could not
see into the grounds, but they could see a colorful light dancing against a
backdrop of Umbrian trees. The pulsing rainbow moved in time to the chanting. Residents
slowly added their own voices to the maelstrom, “As-tra de-cli-ve. Sed, Sol
or-i-ens.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
New
comers asked the standard set of questions, “what’s going on? Why are you
singing? What’s with the lights?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
To
which a few received barely heard answers, “don’t know,” or, “got to be the
Kaiser. Last they did this was his daddy’s time.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Many
shop keepers reopened their stores, some eager to cash in on the sudden
business, others altruistically intent on supplying the nearby crowd with support
services, accessible restrooms, and potable water. Street vendors parked their
vehicles anywhere they could fit and set up as the death of Kaiser Rudolpho
Imler and the ascension of his previously unknown heir spread through Ambrosia
City.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
“Praeceptorne
Uno promittes?” Celatrix Verna asked the griffin.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Bobbing
his great eagle’s head, Archel nervously responded, “facio.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
“Fas
est.” Lowering her hands, Celatrix Verna bowed her head and closed her eyes.
Once she’d stepped back from her podium, one of her attendants placed a white cape
over her shoulders. The crimson-gold hem and a centered eye of Mercury stared
at the congregation. A second handed her an ornate staff, decorated with
phrases of power carved by her predecessors. Another took the Praeceptor’s
weaved royal blue and white cord to Archel, who lowered his head, beak nearly
touching the ground. To Cassie, a fourth brought Mercury’s Circlet which
perfectly matched Mercury’s Bracelet in aesthetic beauty but came up zilch in
magical properties. She lifted her head, opened her eyes and with intentionally
slow steps maneuvered through the parlor. The newly frocked Praeceptor Archel
followed, Cassie still by his side. Santos and Brimley discreetly walked a few
feet behind the leading trio, while the minister pall bearers bore the weight
of the Kaiser on their shoulders. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
At the
entrance to the funeral home, Celatrix Verna paused, staring out the door’s
window at two rows of chanters bathed in the full spectrum of pulsing colors. For
the next ten minutes, she would lead the procession from the funeral home to
the Phoenix Rose. She took a deep breath, then walked out the open door. One-by-one
the parlor occupants trickled out, trailing up the minister-lined rainbow path.
Each occupant came to face the intensity of the chant carried on the night wind
by a city full of people who’d thrown their voices into the mix. <br />
Upon reaching the Phoenix Rose,
Celatrix Verna addressed Cassie, “non potest.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
“Tamen
poterit,” the messenger replied.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
The
Celatrix bowed her head, “vale.” Taking her staff to the Phoenix Rose, Celatrix
Verna thrice circled the rose bush before setting the staff into the ground
next to the crown-like gate that enclosed the bush. She pressed the staff into
place with a grunt, then spoke into it, her voice rolling throughout all
Ambrosia, “finis.” The quiet rolled in on a wave that started with the
ministers and rippled through the streets. The moment she felt the tension
rise, she said, “with great sorrow, we gather tonight to bury Kaiser Rudolpho
Imler.” She couldn’t see the citizens gathered around the temple complex, even
so, she knew they were there. Knowing that rumors run rampant among the
uninformed, she continued, “by the blessings of Mercury, Kaiser Rudolpho’s heir
stands before us.” As she spoke, a sunset of colors chased the Phoenix who
climbed up the rose bush. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Moaning
and groaning Archel rocked back, threw open his beak and screeched with
everything he had. The Phoenix met his cry with one of her own. The melancholy song
of the Phoenix and the griffin entwined as it blew through the city. Residents
shuffled from foot to foot, uncomfortably feeling the mourning song of the
Gryphon bounce off their bodies. The longer he kept up the song, the weaker he
became and the louder the Phoenix sang. His already twisted back was frozen,
his tail whipped empty air, and his muscles uncontrollably twitched. The
python’s tail receded, taking his lion’s fur and eagle’s feathers with it. He
shivered then jerked wildly, his limbs realigning themselves. Archel silently
screamed, then dropped to the ground. The Phoenix dove into the unconscious boy’s
chest.<br />
The Celatrix gently applied pressure
to her staff. A moment later, a whistling filled the sky, drawing everyone’s
attention upward. Thirty seconds later, the source of the whistle exploded
above the Templus de Ambros and white fire fell as if a blown dandelion. The
explosives boomed, flying into the air and lighting up the night. During the
fireworks display, two attendants monitored Archel. One covered the boy king
with a cotton cloak, carefully ensuring that the royal blue and white cord
remained around Archel’s neck. The other knelt next to Archel holding a goblet
full of water and a loaf of bread.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Three
of the nine Justices of the Antigone Courts of Poterit Don, stood on the 2<sup>nd</sup>
floor Templus balcony. They stared down into the Gryphon Gardens where a
rainbow bridge of ministers marked the line from the funeral home to the
Phoenix Rose and where they had a perfect view of the fireworks. <br />
“He’s dead.” Crimson Bohner
whispered to Travis Scott. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
“An
heir,” Crimson and Travis said in unison.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
“We’re
being toyed with,” he spit.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
“When
do you think it happened?” Seeley Songtree wondered.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
“Doesn’t matter. They should have told us,” Travis said bitterly.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
“Do you
doubt it?” Seeley asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Travis
looked at her, his lips and his eyes tightened, “I don’t know.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
“Of
course not,” Crimson answered, “I trust the Celatrix.” She glared at Travis,
“you ‘don’t know’?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
“I
haven’t seen it,” Travis shrugged.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Seeley
and Crimson stared at him from their peripherals, then briefly met each other’s
eyes. Believing that to be a moment of understanding, Seeley said, “can’t you
have faith?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
He spun
toward her, his face bunched, “excuse me?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
“You
heard me. Faith,” Seeley said.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
“I’ve
got faith in plenty of things. For other things, I require proof,” he said
finally.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
“And
this is one of those ‘proof’ times?” Crimson asked, holding her hands in the
air and repeatedly drawing down both her index and middle fingers. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
He
smiled at her, nodded, and then said, “I’m a Justice. I require the same
genetic tests to be run on this so-called heir as I would for any paternity
case that hit our docket. Requirements of proof are thus to protect all
parties.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
“Wow,”
Crimson mumbled.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
“What?”
Travis asked. “Think about it. Of all the estates in the realm, the Kaiser’s is
the only one capable of throwing the regions into complete disorder. So, what’s
good for the parts must be good for the whole.” He chuckled, “besides, after
the day we’ve had? Someone ought to explain.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
“I
completely agree,” Crimson Bohner sighed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Watching the fireworks in silence, the three justices leaned against the
rail of the second floor balcony, where they had one of the best views in all
of Poterit Don. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
When
the chanting started, the few Mercury’s Elite Guardsmen that were still inside
HQ, trickled into the smoking pit on the roof, where other nearby government
buildings partially blocked their view of the display.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
“What
the hell is going on?” Kent growled.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
“Shhh,”
Balin whispered to Kent.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
“You
have to call me ‘sir,’ but you can shush me whenever you feel like it?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
“Shhh,”
Balin repeated. Then he pointed above the Templus, “watch.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Looking
up was surprisingly painful, Kent’s head throbbed with the effort. No sooner
did he get his good eye focused, then his head spun and his ears plugged. He
lowered his gaze and waited for the spell to pass. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
“You’re
not watching,” Balin said, his face pointed in the general direction of the
fireworks.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
“I
don’t feel so go—” Kent hit the roof with a shockingly loud thump.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Balin
grimaced, bent down and felt Kent’s neck for a pulse. Satisfied that the
unconscious Bard was still alive, Balin picked Kent up and carried him off the
roof, down the stairs and into the station’s Break Room. Placing Kent on one of
the racks, Balin took out a chair and sat down with his back to Kent and his
face to the door.</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
The
Phoenix flew out of Archel, his human body twitching helplessly as she began
circling the rose bush, singing a haunting melody. The two attendants knelt by
him still holding the bread and water. When he pried his eyes open and saw
their offerings, he thoughtlessly grabbed for the water, chugging until his
belly protruded and his throat protested. He sputtered and coughed up the
water. After a moment, he pulled the cotton cloak tighter around his body, laid
his head down, and closed his eyes. <i>I
can’t be, </i>he thought. His mind played back their conversation, the mini download, and
her promise that she’d tell him the rest some day. It took him the
better part of a minute to get his courage up. He slowly stood up, facing the
Phoenix Rose and Celatrix Verna, he said, “I am Kaiser Archeleus Imler, true heir to the
Last Gryphon King, rightful Lord of the Unified Poterits, Mercury's Chosen One,
Caretaker of Poterit Don.” He sagged under the expenditure of energy it took to
release the words the Phoenix had just taught him. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
Dropping to her knees,
Celatrix Verna called out, “pareo.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
The dual line of silent
chanters fell to their knees, repeating, “pareo.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<script>
(function(i,s,o,g,r,a,m){i['GoogleAnalyticsObject']=r;i[r]=i[r]||function(){
(i[r].q=i[r].q||[]).push(arguments)},i[r].l=1*new Date();a=s.createElement(o),
m=s.getElementsByTagName(o)[0];a.async=1;a.src=g;m.parentNode.insertBefore(a,m)
})(window,document,'script','//www.google-analytics.com/analytics.js','ga');
ga('create', 'UA-66666100-1', 'auto');
ga('require', 'linkid', 'linkid.js');
ga('send', 'pageview');
</script>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550820395250501390.post-18319168503877489052016-09-24T04:20:00.000-07:002016-09-27T09:08:28.426-07:00Media Nocte<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Oh, sweet
Mercury! What did you put in it, piss?” Brimley complained.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes. That’s
the secret to warming it up. I piss in it,” Santos retorted.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Oh, now I
don’t want it,” Brimley held the coffee cup away from her while looking for a
place to put it down. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Here. Let
me,” Santos offered. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
She mock
handed him the cup, which he genuinely took, eliciting her to whine, “hey, give
that back.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
In the living
room, Cassie whispered, “it doesn’t make sense,” to Archel who kept one
enormous eagle eye on the bickering soldiers. “Do people never grow up?” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Chess,”
Archel murmured. In stifling a yawn, all the feathers on his head and neck went
ridged. “Game,” he exhaled. “Ooh,” he moaned, “I dreamed I was…” His
beak fell and his lion’s shoulders slumped. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Excellent,”
Santos said from the kitchen, “you’re both awake. We made coffee.” Brimley
appeared holding a tray with three coffee cups. Santos followed her, carrying a
wide mouthed pot. “Uh, I don’t really know of a better way, sir,” Santos
apologized while setting the pot on the couch next to Archel. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Groaning,
Archel bent his head into the fresh coffee steam. It smelled burnt. Even with
sugar and milk, it’d still taste burnt. Every day. Three in the morning with
breakfast to appease Chief Justice Fraunx Adonis’s appetite. He stuck his
tongue into the pot and began lapping unceremoniously. Between his satisfied
slurps he heard the delighted mmm’s and ohm’s of his fellow drinkers. The
quartet drank their coffee without conversation. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
As Santos
collected the dishes, Brimley rehashed Celatrix Verna’s orders. She emphasized
keeping to the clock, eyeballing Santos as if he were personally responsible
for every time anyone was late. To which Santos tapped his watch and motioned
toward the door. Though Brimley was closest to the door she made no effort to
open it. She ran for the couch where Archel’s entangled paws threatened to
topple him onto Cassie who was losing the battle to gravity’s stronger forces. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Heavier than
you look, sir,” Brimley huffed. “No offense.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
He squawked in
her face, causing Brimley to jump backwards as Cassie tried not to fall and
Santos laughed.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Following the
reverberations of a human made rolling thunder, Clara Darin snuck through
Sentinel Cemetery, hiding behind tombs, trees, mausoleums. She carefully
avoided the well-lit main paths, slowly navigating the shadows. Arriving behind
a public mausoleum, she kept a view across the empty field, a single building
in sight. The funeral home loomed over the nearby cherry trees, the concrete
walk was lined on both sides by white-clad chanters who disappeared deeper into
the cemetery. And, a lone Merc paced the better part of the circumference,
stopping at the double line of chanters, about-facing and continuing back. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
She leaned
forward straining to hear the words. The hair on her arms rising as the chant’s
crescendo’d line struck home, “Astra declive. Sed, sol oriens!” Clara Darin
held tightly to the edge of the mausoleum, <i>a
son, </i>she<i> </i>leaned her head against the
concrete. <i>Always three. The stories
always have them together. Messenger, Bard, and Gryphon. </i>Clamping her lips
together, she maintained her hold on the mausoleum and began working on the
best route for escape. <i>Just back away,</i>
she thought, <i>back the way you came.
Tonight is not the night for one last midnight stroll. </i>She scoffed,<i> if not tonight, when? Tonight,</i> she
sighed, brushing rainwater from her eyes.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Ducking down,
she darted behind a series of shrubs that lined the path from the public
mausoleum to the well-lit main path that wound throughout the cemetery. She
kept hidden and slowly navigated through the sea of tombstones, until she found
herself pinched by the stone wall on her left and the double line of chanters
on her right. The line disappeared through a hole in the wall. Curiosity
dragged her to the wall, where she managed to scale enough of it to peer over.
She wasn’t surprised to see the line of chanters weave itself to a point in the
distance. The smart thing would be to leave out the opposite exit. To walk
south, catch a shuttle, and see where it went. She slid down from the wall,
leaned her back to it, and clutched to her chest the bag she’d received from
the Inquisitor. Her whole world in exchange for the contents of that bag, she
squeezed it tighter. <i>What if I just walk
in…I could…</i> she coughed into her hand and fought back tears, <i>...you could what? Die? That’s what’ll
happen if you try it. </i>She yanked the bag down, used the palm of her free
hand to wipe away her tears in the rain.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
She stood
braced against the wall, shivering and soaked, fighting with herself when she
plainly saw three people and a griffin enter the path approaching the chanters
leading out of the front entrance of the funeral home. The griffin entered the lamp
light and the chanting fell into a collective, “oooh,” which suddenly rose into
cheering, “oriens!” as the chorus picked up again. The sight of the griffin
drove her further into the wall. She froze, <i>what
have I done? </i>Her flesh rippled as sweat formed on her palms, around her
lips and eyes, and a wave of nausea rode her chin to her feet. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Colonel Thompson grabbed General Michaels hand
and squeezed, exclaiming, “Mars!” Years melted from her face as she leapt up
and dragged Marshal with her. For his part, Marshal balanced on his good foot.
The funeral parlor bustled with movement as white robed ministers led a griffin
into the foyer. Patrick Field and Colonel Dagon stood to the side, neither
outwardly impressed, though both were, in fact, impressed. The mortuary door
opened suddenly, Celatrix Verna stepped through and immediately fell to her
knees. The reaction was instantaneous as the ministers fell like dominos. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Letting out a
screech that cracked glass, Archel stomped one of his lion’s paws, and bobbed
his head up and down. Cassie stepped forward, whispered something to the
Celatrix who immediately rose spawning the rise of the line of ministers.
Archel screeched again and Cassie once again translated.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
From the
parlor, Thompson leaned into Michaels and muttered, “I wonder if he’ll be
cranky like his dad.” She took a deep breath, holding it and the memory it rode
in on. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Michaels shook
his head and shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t remember Kaiser Rudolpho being
cranky. Cranky?” He looked at her with his face scrunched and his head tilted.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Oh, Mars, he
was cranky. Right before a meal…” she shook her head, “terrible.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Before he
could respond, Celatrix Verna called out, “hear me!” She clapped her hands
twice and called again, “hear me!” After a moment, she announced, “no ceremony
requires more precision than the death rites of a fallen king and the ascension
of an heir.” Raising her left hand over Archel’s shoulders, Celatrix Verna
said, “any who doubt this heir, step forth. Speak your mind.” She waited, a
customary pause, before continuing, “I do not contest this heir.” She bowed to
Archel, “wait here, Lord Gryphon,” nodding to the nearest ministers, Celatrix
Verna exited through the mortuary door. When she returned, she was followed by
minister pall bearers who deliberately walked the topless casket into the
parlor. Celatrix Verna led the solemn procession, took the pulpit, and waited
as the casket was settled into place. She waited as the two retired soldiers
each took a moment, while Patrick Field shuffled by uncomfortably, and a dozen
ministers bid Kaiser Rudolpho Imler farewell. She waited while the young
griffin lingered, pitifully. And, she waited while he wailed. His angst
patterned by the ministers who carried it on a chant down the line. Aquilo, the
eaglewind howled, as he cried. Finally, while the storm rumbled over head,
Celatrix Verna began, “Ecce! Rudolphe morte. Rudolphe anime. Ecce! Archele
vive. Archele corpe. Ecce!”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
In the
basement of one of his safe houses, the Inquisitor perused racks of weapons.
After filling three duffle bags, he stopped, shook his head and chuckled, “it’s
never enough.” He cross slung the bags, negotiated the stairs out of the
basement, and wobbled his way down the hall through the living room and into
the garage. With the car loaded and the driver’s door open, he pushed the
button on the wall an inch below the light switch. While waiting for the garage
door, he ran into the kitchen and grabbed a drink from the fridge. He unscrewed
the lid, threw back his head and took three full swigs of his blue drink. One
push of the blinking red Start button, the engine turned over and a neon green
light encircled the button. The Inquisitor threw the car into reverse,
carefully backing out of the garage. Having closed up, the Inquisitor drove
cautiously through neighborhoods before arriving at the primary safe house. With
confidence and deliberately slow movements, the Inquisitor entered the living
room, locked the door, and held his breath as he turned. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What took so
long?” Jougs asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Errands
frequently take longer than expected.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What took so
long?” Vorant repeated.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I went
shopping,” the Inquisitor answered. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You get toys
for everyone or just you?” Jougs asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Everyone, of
course,” the Inquisitor glanced at Jougs.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What gives?”
Vorant asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Difficulties
have presented themselves,” the Inquisitor said. “I could list them, it would
not help. Suffice it to say, the location for payment is not advantageous.
There exists no alternate, which means we can either manufacture a better place
or attend the meeting as planned. I’ve found two locations that are far more acceptable,
near the original site, yet secluded enough for our purposes. The trick is in
acquiring the Chief Justice without drawing suspicion.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“The Chief…”
Jougs dropped his head, sighed, and finished, “Justice.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You think
he’s gonna stiff us?” Vorant asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Is that
rain?” the Inquisitor put a hand to his ear. “Why, yes. Yes, it is rain.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“No one stiffs
me,” Vorant stated.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Exactly,
Mister Vorant. No one stiffs me,” the Inquisitor clapped Vorant’s shoulder, “no
one.” Even though he wanted to shudder when his mind’s eye dredged up the image
of Adonis’ face leering over his followers, the Inquisitor maintained his
façade. Bad enough that they know he’s powerful, he reasoned. Let them find out
Adonis’ other little connection? Watch rats flee a sinking ship. “We’ll corner
him, arrange our payment, collect, and then we’re gone.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What about
the girls?” Jougs asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“A problem for
another day,” the Inquisitor replied.</div>
<script>
(function(i,s,o,g,r,a,m){i['GoogleAnalyticsObject']=r;i[r]=i[r]||function(){
(i[r].q=i[r].q||[]).push(arguments)},i[r].l=1*new Date();a=s.createElement(o),
m=s.getElementsByTagName(o)[0];a.async=1;a.src=g;m.parentNode.insertBefore(a,m)
})(window,document,'script','//www.google-analytics.com/analytics.js','ga');
ga('create', 'UA-66666100-1', 'auto');
ga('require', 'linkid', 'linkid.js');
ga('send', 'pageview');
</script>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550820395250501390.post-1399612793121632532016-09-17T04:20:00.000-07:002016-09-17T17:26:41.037-07:00Magni Periculi<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span lang="EN-GB"> The headquarters of Mercury’s Elite
Guards, a nondescript government building created to blend into the
neighborhood of government buildings, was a fortified monstrosity with two
underground passages leading to opposite sides of the Templus de Ambros. The
idea being that should an emergency occur, the Kaiser and his Mercs would have
direct access to an adequate evacuation route regardless of where in the
Templus they were at the time of need. In practice, the passages were used to
move essential personnel to and from the temple compound without drawing the
attention of tourists waiting in line for the official tour. From the end of
the well lit block, where Balin and Kent stood, only two things indicated that
the building was anything other than part of the bureaucracy. First, a giant brightly
lit sign announced: Mercury’s Elite Guard Head Quarters. And, second, a series of
lights shined on limply hanging, soaked flags, banners, and pennants, which
didn’t have the gumption to snap in the budding thunderstorm. Though Balin
tried encouraging Kent to continue on, the young man defiantly stood his
ground, enduring the drizzle while gaping at the </span>colorful spectacle that
completely wasted the architect’s efforts at designing a group of nondescript
public buildings. <br />
“I seen a place just like this on
the Strip,” Kent said nostalgically. “This one ain’t got a flashing sign
pointing to parking in the rear or giant windows filled with fools and slots.”<br />
<a name='more'></a> “The Strip? Slots?” Balin asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Oh. Uh. Ever
gambled?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Sure. We bet during
Training Week,” Balin answered, pointing up to the flags, “see the one on the
left? Third pole over and about a fourth of the way down?” Kent nodded. “That’s
the Fighting Falcons. My squad. Took 1<sup>st</sup> during the Gryphon’s Cup
last month. Beat out the Regulars by a full minute.” Staring at Balin, Kent
raised both eyebrows and shoulders in that ‘what are you talking about’ manner.
Balin laughed, “I guess that doesn’t impress you.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I mean, not
really…” Kent said, shrugging.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Well,” Balin
consoled himself, “it’s a big deal around here. But, we’re biased.” He grabbed
Kent’s wrist, while excitedly saying, “come on. When we get inside, follow my
lead. There’s a lot of protocols.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Always are,” Kent grumbled, though he
allowed himself to be led toward the front entrance of Merc HQ.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Tapping her
foot as she repeatedly checked out the front window of Patrick Field’s house,
Officer Brimley sighed heavily. <i>The only
thing worse than waiting on the clock is doing it in the same vicinity as that
pompous, arrogant ass of a Merc, Santos,</i> Brimley sighed again. Behind her,
in Patrick Field’s living room, two emotionally exhausted teenagers snored. <i>He is a teenager, </i>she reminded herself.<i> Certainly, he is a griffin,</i> she glanced
at the sinking couch where Archel lay curled up like her mastiff, minus the
massive wings, who was most likely snoring on her couch. <i>Damn couch potato. </i>She chuckled softly, passing her gaze over
Cassie. The girl had fully reclined Patrick’s favorite chair yet somehow
managed to sprawl in it so that all her appendages draped off the seat,
including her head which hung off one of the arms. From the kitchen, she could
hear the clip-clop of Santos’ military boots on linoleum. He’d slowly paced for
the last hour; every one of his steps echoed in her brain and sent her
irritation level through the roof. Utilizing her last meager ounces of self-control,
she refrained from screaming at him to pick a place and stand in it. <br />
When the clock struck 11:00 PM,
Santos appeared in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. Without
lowering his voice, he asked, “am I the only one that wants some coffee?” Undisturbed,
Cassie and Archel continued snoring. Brimley shot the Merc an evil look,
exhaled deeply through her nose, and then nodded. Santos asked, “how do you
take it?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
She quietly
answered, “light milk. Heavy sugar.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Why are you
whispering,” he asked. “I can’t hear you.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Crossing the
living room, she pointed at the sleepers, “are you blind?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Ah. They need
to wake up anyway. Besides, I bet they’d both like a cup before we head out.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Brimley
groaned. Leaning in, she hissed, “you don’t know anything about kids, do you?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Santos let out
a hearty roar, “more than you, I’d wager.” He pounded her on the shoulder, “got
two with my ex. And, they both like coffee when they’re groggy.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Stepping back,
she checked him out as if for the first time, her eyes wandering from his legs
upward. When their eyes met, she blushed as she said, “you shouldn’t give them
coffee. It’s not good for them.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Oh,
whatever,” he smiled at her, “probably not good for anyone. But, we like it
anyways, don’t we?” He popped her on the arm again, asking, “how’d you want
it?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Back inside
the dugout, Steele wiped his bloody hands on his pants, while saying, “damn
shame.” The giant Hellion rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, and added, “I
liked Marbles.” When Steele began correcting Marbles, the previously injured,
now dead Hellion had pulled a knife—his last mistake. The effect was
instantaneous: Steele ripped the knife out of the smaller man’s hand and then
picked the fool up. After shaking him senseless, Steele dragged the knife across
Marbles’ throat. Silently, Dante and Musgrove stared through the dugout fence
at the half circle of Hellions surrounding the heap that had once been Little
Bloody Nosering AKA Marbles. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Completely
ignoring the field, Jessup asked, “when do we get started?” <br />
“I’ll send Musgrove to pick you up
tomorrow,” Dante replied.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Wincing
slightly, Musgrove asked, “where?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“The Mazard,”
Jessup answered. “What time?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Thinking about
it, Dante shrugged and said, “1800.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Okay, sir,”
Jessup agreed.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“We need a
down payment,” Steele said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“When?” Dante
asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“1800,” Steele
said with a smile. “Nothing too big. I’m not suggesting you drop off one of the
vehicles tomorrow. But, something that proves you mean business.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Fine,” Dante
growled, thinking about what he might have access to overnight. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Steele put
forth a bloodstained paw which Dante took without second thought. Pulling the
reeking commander toward him, Steele asked, “this a trap?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Dante laughed
in the big man’s face.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Just
checking,” Steele responded.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Thirty steps
down, the Inquisitor caught his breath again as another stair creaked. The
ungodly sound echoed throughout the stairwell and his body hair came to
attention. He’d fought back a sneeze for the last ten stairs, but every step
down encouraged the urge all the more strongly. If the damp musk got any worse,
he’d explode. Between the unexpected secret passage and the slowly building violent
sneeze, the Inquisitor hesitated. His LED light seemed tiny in the consuming
darkness of the thin stairwell. For a reconnaissance mission, this night was suspiciously
hands on. He shrugged off the warning in the back of his mind to continue down,
after all, he needed information. Three turns and another forty steps later,
the Inquisitor finally reached the last stair. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>About time,</i> he thought.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The stairwell
ended in an equally thin, undecorated wood-panel hallway. Several feet in, the
Inquisitor found himself staring at the right wall where he’d seen a peek. After
using the LED to investigate, he clicked the light off, and fumbled his hand up
the wall until he felt the peek. Once it was opened, he stuck his face into it,
blinking quickly against the unexpected brightness of the room. Inside, he saw
a prepubescent youth wearing a thin smock over the Rainboy’s wait staff
uniform. The youth stood in the middle of the room bent over an elaborate
canopy bed, struggling to feed some unrecognizably frail creature buried under
an avalanche of flower print comforters. <i>What
is this place?</i> the Inquisitor wondered, shutting the peek. He flicked his
LED back on and took a few steps forward, examining both walls as he walked.
When he found a second peek, he repeated the ritual of turning off the light
before feeling for and opening the peek. Here he saw a robed group meditating
around a well-built circular fireplace in the middle of the room. Against the
far wall, hung an unreasonably large portrait of Fraunx Adonis wearing his full
legal regalia and staring down haughtily. Right below the portrait sat an altar
with an assortment of containers, candles, and burning incense. Closing the
peek, he shook his head, <i>Iphi be damned.
He’s a cult leader. I’ve seen enough. There’s no pay here. Next time I see
that… </i>Somewhere ahead of him a door opened and a blast of warm air flew
down the corridor. <i>Oh, fuck me backwards with
a chainsaw.</i> He immediately clicked off his LED, spun toward the stairs and
attempted to reach them before whoever had entered the hallway could reach him.
With one hand on the left wall, he fled. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
By the grace
of Iphigenia, he made it up the stairs and into the chamber without being
caught or giving away the fact that he was there. That he had an incredible
memory and kept count of the squeaky stairs, may have helped his cause.
Regardless, when he was once again in the darkness of the main dining room his
gait eased. He tightly held the LED in his fist and used a barely perceptible
beam escaping from between his fingers to guide his way out of Rainboy’s. <i>I don’t know what that skeezy crack whore
politician is up to, but I’ll kill him for this. FUCK this day. Lost men and slaves.
If what I’ve just seen is any indication, we’ll never get paid. Adonis, you’ve
screwed with the wrong people, now.</i> So lost in his thoughts of revenge, the
Inquisitor never saw the tuxedo cat follow him out of Rainboy’s and down the
many winding roads leading back to the safe house.<i> </i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Goldie, what
are you doing?” Captain Prescott roared.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I’ve got a
right,” she answered, “it’s my basement.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Go back
upstairs,” he ordered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
She shook her
head and said, “no. I’ve got to restock the bar.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Not right
now,” he said, one hand pointing up the stairs. “You can restock later. It’ll
be my ass if you’re down here when the general returns.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I don’t
care,” she said stubbornly from the bottom of the stairs.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Well, I do,”
he responded as he marched toward her.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“If you won’t
let me in, then at least get me what I need from the shelves,” she pleaded,
while batting her eyelashes.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I’m in the
middle of something,” he said. “You know that. Now, go on. Get back upstairs.
As soon as this is done, I’ll help you restock.”<br />
Stepping down another step, she
asked, “do you promise?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I wouldn’t
have said it, if I didn’t mean it,” he said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“How sweet,”
Adonis groaned, “will you two fuck now or later?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Shut your
worthless trap,” Captain Prescott growled as he whipped around to glare at
Adonis. With his back turned, he had no chance to duck out of the way of the
brandy bottle that Goldie wielded. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
After Captain
Prescott landed, Goldie bent down, kissed his cheek and whispered, “I just
can’t wait.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What are you
doing?” Adonis hissed.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You’ll see,”
Goldie answered as she approached the wriggling prisoner. “I’ve never supported
the torture of another human being, until now,” she confided. “Of course, until
a couple days ago, I could never imagine anything that would warrant it.” She
looked at Captain Prescott’s prone body, “I hope I didn’t hurt him.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“He’s
unconscious,” Adonis said, “of course he’s hurt. And, good on you for it. He’s
an evil twit.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
She slapped
his mouth, “you don’t get to talk about him.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“He’s
torturing me,” Adonis blurted.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
She slapped
him again, “why?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Why what?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Why’d you
sell out your people? Why’d you bomb my town? Why’d you kill my family and
friends? WHY?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I’m
innocent.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
She slapped
his burnt ear, “LIAR!” Upon seeing the knives in the chair, she grabbed one,
angled it toward Adonis’ and screamed, “WHY?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
He panicked.
She was not a professional. If he could just keep her distracted long enough,
perhaps Prescott would wake up and stop her. “I—I didn’t have a choice. The
plan was in the works long before I was born. I’m just a tool. I swear. Please,
lady. Don’t. Don’t kill me. I’ll tell you everything. Just—just don’t kill me,”
he cried.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Holding the
knife toward him, she shook violently, “you lie and I’ll cut off your balls!” </div>
<script>
(function(i,s,o,g,r,a,m){i['GoogleAnalyticsObject']=r;i[r]=i[r]||function(){
(i[r].q=i[r].q||[]).push(arguments)},i[r].l=1*new Date();a=s.createElement(o),
m=s.getElementsByTagName(o)[0];a.async=1;a.src=g;m.parentNode.insertBefore(a,m)
})(window,document,'script','//www.google-analytics.com/analytics.js','ga');
ga('create', 'UA-66666100-1', 'auto');
ga('require', 'linkid', 'linkid.js');
ga('send', 'pageview');
</script>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550820395250501390.post-85417673427986409452016-09-10T04:20:00.000-07:002016-09-10T20:10:23.650-07:00Rei Militaris<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
With a heavy
exhalation, Jessup sat down on the concrete bench inside the away team’s
dugout. He stared at the tobacco stained floor. No one spoke. Steele stood with
his enormous bulk blocking the short stairwell leading onto the field. Slowly inching
toward the back of the dugout, Musgrove unconsciously put distance between
himself and Dante who nonchalantly reclined against the chain link with his back
to the field full of Hellions. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Can’t be done
alone,” Steele spoke deliberately. “Can be done. Needs to be. Needs a
crew…ain’t a one man affair.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Who you work
with is your business,” Dante said. “Tell them nothing that might compromise
the job.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“The pay?”
Jessup asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“As many Bits
as you want on your RFIDs,” Dante answered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Crazy Man,”
Steele shot, “we’re outside the Bits line. That train don’t stop round here.
Crews don’t work for cred. So, what’s the pay?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Dante turned
around to stare across the field, his back to Jessup, his fingers lightly
hanging from the chain link. He’d relied on Bits so long, it was hard to
imagine anything else as a viable currency. Even so, he’d heard the stories
about Poterit Don’s pieces of silver, he’d seen news reports about slave
traffickers, and he knew enough history to understand the principal behind
bartering for goods. <i>What besides Bits?</i>
he wondered while staring at the growing mass of Hellions. “Looks like Little
Bloody Nosering is gathering the forces. You may want to handle your business,”
Dante suggested. “Do the job, get the equipment required to turn your bunch of
malcontents into an army.” Turning toward Steele, Dante asked, “how’s that for
pay?”<br />
“Vague,” Steele retorted.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Body armor,
riggings, tackle, guns, and ammo,” Dante smiled.<br />
“Throw in a couple Teslas and
A-Tracks,” Steele added.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Musgrove
scoffed, “right. Don’t want Bits, but you’ll take highly recognizable vehicles
equipped with tracking devices.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Remove them,”
Steele ordered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Deal,” Dante
said. “By the way, if you don’t handle Little Bloody Nosering, I’ll kill him.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Willy,”
Steele said, nodding his chin, as he stepped up the stairs to the field.<br />
Without a word, Jessup followed
Steele. When the two were confronting the Hellions, Musgrove walked up to
Dante’s right, where they both stared at the mass. The mob congregated as a
riled up half-moon just behind Little Bloody Nosering, whose arms occasionally
shot out from either side of Steele’s bulk. “Is it even possible, sir?” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What part?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“The part
where you hand over a load of military equipment to a bunch of whack jobs
living in a stadium in the middle of Sanctuary City.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Be nice,
Anthony,” Dante chided, “these whack jobs are going to keep us alive.” Sighing,
Dante glanced at Musgrove, “besides, equipment is constantly marked as
consumable, used up, and sent off to be destroyed. There’s a chain,” he tugged
on the fence, “sure. But, in the end, it’s all data controlled by soldiers.
And, what are soldiers, Anthony?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Musgrove
shrugged, “what are they, sir?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Underpaid,
underappreciated, slaves to a government that doesn’t give a shit about them.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Ain’t that
the truth,” Musgrove mumbled.<br />
“What am I, Lieutenant?” Dante
asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Uh.
Commander,” Musgrove hesitantly replied.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Exactly. Commander
of…?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Camp
Polkner.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Right,” Dante
slapped a hand on Musgrove’s shoulder, smiled, and turned his attention back to
the field where Steele had picked Little Bloody Nosering up and was vigorously
shaking him. The crescent moon of Hellions took an involuntary step backward,
as they let out a collective groan. “Big sumbitch, isn’t he?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You’ve got my
attention,” General Whistler stated.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I heard
everything you said to Doctor Conway,” Nurse Tippet said as he flattened down
his scrubs’ top with sweaty palms. Leaning in and whispering, he added, “but,
you didn’t say anything about the new Bard.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Raising an
eyebrow, the general straightened up, asking, “and?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“He was just
here with a Merc,” Tippet confided. “I don’t know where they went but, yes sir,
he’s definitely the new Bard. I don’t have the whole story. Halbert, one of the
paramedics, brought them in after that explosion near the cemetery.” Nurse
Tippet paused for a breath, and then continued, “told me Fintan was burned up
in the explosion. The new Bard’s taking it hard. I wish I could tell you more,
sir.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Who else
knows?” General Whistler asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Besides me?
I…uh. Doc Conway and Halbert. I’d guess whoever else was on that emergency
call. But, I can’t be sure.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Nodding once,
General Whistler turned to the nearest Regular, and motioned to the nurse,
“he’ll show you who. Round them all up.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The Regular
popped to attention, stepped around the general, and indicated that Tippet lead
the way. Confused, Tippet stared at the Regular, who barked, “go.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Where?”
Tipped asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Start with
Halbert,” General Whistler ordered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Halbert,” the
Regular repeated.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“But, I don’t
know where he is. I’ve got rounds to do. Patients to attend.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Not anymore,”
the Regular replied as he gently pushed Tippet toward the swinging doors. “Go.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Tippet
stumbled back a few feet before turning around and walking out the doors, while
muttering, “un-fucking-believable.” As they passed by the Nurse’s Station,
Tippet called out to Martha Westling, “got to run an errand. Take over my
rounds. Last room I hit up was 315.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Paul! You
can’t run off,” Nurse Westling whined.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
One look over
his shoulder at the humorless soldier and Tippet snapped, “I’m not running off,
Martha! Finish my rounds. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” With that the two men
marched down the corridor and out of her sight. Watching them go, she wondered
what had crawled up Paul Tippet’s sphincter to expire miserably.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Sergeant!”
Captain Prescott yelled from the bottom of the stairs.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The door
popped open and Sergeant Caspian answered, “sir?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Go to
Command. Tell the general I’ve made progress.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Sir?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What’s
confusing you, Sergeant?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You want me
to leave you alone, sir?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Laughing,
Captain Prescott said, “I’m not alone, Caspian. I’ve got company,” he slapped
Adonis’ in the burnt ear, causing the former justice to holler out. “Don’t
worry about us. We’re becoming fast friends. You’ll be back either with the
general or with his orders. Now, go.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes sir!”
Caspian replied before shutting the door.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
He stared at
the lock for a split second, then spun around intent on carrying out his
orders. Within five minutes Caspian stood in front of the general. After
passing on the vague intel, Caspian waited for his new orders. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
In the middle
of the Command tent, General Tomlyn held a small collection of papers in one
hand. He wagged the papers at Caspian, “are you familiar with the term ‘FUBAR,’
Sergeant?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I am.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Good. Then
you’ll understand when I tell you that this is the most FUBAR day I’ve ever had
the displeasure of witnessing during my long and distinguished career in the
Regular Militia.” He confided, “and, I was a lowly private when the rioter’s
set Dervishaw on fire. Way before your time, son.” General Tomlyn stopped
speaking, tilted his head to the left, and squinted at Caspian. “Yes, Sergeant.
I was enlisted. No one handed me this job. I worked my ass off for it. And,
right now, I can tell you, I’m damn glad I did. I don’t trust anyone else to do
what’s got to be done next. Tell Captain Prescott that I’ll be with him
shortly. Dismissed.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Caspian
saluted, clicked his heels together, and grunted, “yes sir!”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What in
Mercury’s name is going on? I can hear you all in the Ready Room. If I can hear
you, then by the wings on Mercury’s helm, so can all the river rats, the dockers,
and the damned authorities!” Captain Decker said, his deadly quiet voice filled
with rage.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Who do you
think you are?” the twins yelled at him.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I’m the
captain of this barge. The man seeing you to safety. And, one irritated old
bastard. Who are you?” he growled back.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You don’t
know?” one twin asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Captain Decker
glared at her, “and I don’t care. It’ll be the better part of night before we
get there. Keep quiet. Or so help me, I’ll have Doc dose you.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Uh, Captain,”
Doctor Cooper interrupted, “I don’t know what they were already given…”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Hear me,”
Captain Decker ordered, “and hear me well. The next one of you that goes around
braying, screaming, or otherwise making a racket will be shackled, gagged, and doped.
We will make our port of call without incident. Or, so help me, I’ll keelhaul
the lot of you. Understood?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Aye sir!”
Miranda and Doctor Cooper answered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Understood?”
Captain Decker asked again while staring at the twins.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The two women
chanced looks at each other, before replying softly, “yes.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Good. Now,
I’m not an unreasonable man. I understand you’re probably confused. Let me lay
it out. Slavers kidnapped you all with the intent of sending you over the
mountains to live out your days as sex slaves to the twisted fucks that live in
Poterit Dan. You were rescued. We’re to escort you to safety. The goal is to
get the lot of you as far away from those asshats as possible. I know you have
lives you’d like to get back to and that you can’t trust that we’re not the
slavers responsible. Asking you to take our word for it is, perhaps, asking too
much. Regardless, that’s exactly what I’m asking. When the rest wake up, it’d
do you all well to help them keep their cool. If not, whatever future you might
have had as plaything for the Danian elite will seem like a nice and wonderful
vacation from the misery I promise to inflict. Is that understood?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The twins
nodded their ascent, but stared warily at the captain. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Sir,” Doctor
Cooper said, “you should see this.” He waved Captain Decker to the cot that the
twins were guarding. On it lay the oldest of the women. Her open eyes stared at
some distant point and her mouth moved with the repetition of a silent phrase.
Her extremities were covered in thin cuts that disappeared below the sheet she’d
been covered with. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
After a full
minute of gazing at the brutalized woman, Captain Decker cursed, “by Mercury we
will settle up with these festering pus bags!” Glaring at the twins, he forced
himself to remain calm as he said, “no one on my crew would ever do that to an
innocent. But, you can rest assured, we will return the favor in full.” He
about-faced, marched to the hatch, ordering over his shoulder, “fix her,
Doctor.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Miranda, my
bag.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
When Rainboy’s
closed and the Forum Publicos emptied, the Inquisitor and the tuxedo cat were
still sitting on the bench. They sat there until the Inquisitor suddenly stood
up, deposited his dinner trash in a nearby receptacle, and then jogged across
the forum to an alley a block up from Rainboy’s. Unbeknownst to the Inquisitor,
the tuxedo cat followed in the shadows. Circling the block, the Inquisitor
approached Rainboy’s from the rear where the restaurant’s dumpsters were
hiding. He leaned against the building on the opposite side of the alleyway
while observing the rear entrance to Rainboy’s. Once satisfied that the
employees had really closed up shop, he jogged to the door, and removed a pack
of picks from his back pocket. In less than thirty seconds, he’d picked the
lock and let himself inside. He did not see the tuxedo cat dart through the
door a split second before it closed.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
From his front
pocket, he removed a tiny LED flashlight that he held in a loose fist. The
light spilling out between his fingers was enough for him to see by, but dim
enough that it wouldn’t attract attention through the front windows. Quickly
and silently, the Inquisitor moved along the wall of the walk-in refrigerator,
passed the gleaming silver expanse of high class kitchen counters, work spaces,
and grills, and into the actual dining room. He swiftly covered the distance to
the maître d’ station near the front door. On top of the podium sat a seating
chart with the next day’s reservations already filled in. <i>Rold Ajint, where are you?</i> He flipped through the beginning of the
chart until he found Rold’s name on three different days. Each time the table
was the same: the second private room on the right. The Inquisitor crossed the
room occasionally bumping into a table or chair and cussing under his breath. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Rather than
pulling back the privacy curtain, he lifted up an edge and waited. When nothing
happened, he pushed through the curtain, and found himself standing before a
large square table surrounded on three sides by plush bench seating. He
immediately bent over, shining his LED light under the table. At first he saw
nothing but a few pieces of ABC gum, and then, he suddenly caught a glint of
reflected light. Upon closer inspection the Inquisitor realized he was staring
at some kind of switch. The hair on his arms and neck rose. He stood up,
thinking, <i>what is that? This better not
be some kind of trick!</i> Using the flashlight, he slowly examined the entire
underside of the table and determined that the switch’s wires had to run
through the round steel tube holding up the table. He hesitated. If the switch
had any kind of current running through it, he could be electrocuted or otherwise
incapacitated. Of course, he had to know, and it was far better for him to find
out now than later. The Inquisitor reached out, closed his eyes, and flicked
the switch.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
To his
surprise, the entire privacy booth began to rotate clockwise. When the booth
stopped moving, he was inside a small windowless chamber. He gripped the
flashlight with his thumb and forefinger, allowing the full brilliance of the
single LED to light a circle around him. Aside from the booth, the only other
thing in the chamber was a thin wooden door. <i>What’s your game, Adonis? </i>he wondered as he slipped over to the
door. After picking its lock, he carefully opened it, holding his breath and
hoping it wouldn’t squeak on its hinges. The door hid an equally thin set of
stairs that led down at a precariously sharp angle. For the first time that
evening, the Inquisitor found himself wishing he’d brought at least one, if not
both, of the <i>duumviri </i>with him. He
couldn’t see any other choice but to continue on. There was no way he could
leave the restaurant without finding out what was at the bottom of the stairs. </div>
<script>
(function(i,s,o,g,r,a,m){i['GoogleAnalyticsObject']=r;i[r]=i[r]||function(){
(i[r].q=i[r].q||[]).push(arguments)},i[r].l=1*new Date();a=s.createElement(o),
m=s.getElementsByTagName(o)[0];a.async=1;a.src=g;m.parentNode.insertBefore(a,m)
})(window,document,'script','//www.google-analytics.com/analytics.js','ga');
ga('create', 'UA-66666100-1', 'auto');
ga('require', 'linkid', 'linkid.js');
ga('send', 'pageview');
</script>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550820395250501390.post-58480418421708127532016-09-03T04:20:00.000-07:002016-09-03T20:40:14.341-07:00Cui Bono<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The blond
nurse lightly knocked twice on the door to Kent Wheelock’s hospital room. After
waiting thirty seconds, he pushed the door open, saying, “I talked to the
doctor about giving you something for the pain…” Confused, the nurse stepped
back into the hallway and verified the room number, before reentering the room and
checking the bathroom. When he approached the bed, he found a pile of discarded
bloodied gauze and other random medical supplies. “Son of a bitch,” he
muttered. Back at the nurse’s station, he jotted down a quick note about the
missing patient as well as a reminder to make a complaint to the Mercury’s
Elite Guard liaison stationed in the hospital. He then continued his rounds, nearing
the surgery wing where he was forced to jump out of the way of the swinging
doors as Doctor Conway angrily shoved through, cussing up a storm. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“…no right to
interfere! I don’t care who he is. That man fucking dies it’s on General
Whistler’s head. Don’t think I won’t inform the Kaiser!” Doctor Conway
practically shouted over his shoulder at the pair of Regulars who stood just
inside the swinging doors. For their part, the two Regulars ignored the
surgeon’s outburst and maintained their posts.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Nurse Tippet!
Call Mr. Jones. Tell him what just happened,” Doctor Conway ordered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Uh. Sure. So.
What happened?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Oh, get out
of the way. I’ll do it myself!”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I can—” Nurse
Tippet swung around barely avoiding the doors a second time, when the General
of Ocean Region pushed through. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Doctor,
stop,” the general ordered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Why? You kill
him?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Ignoring the
jibe, General Nelson Whistler commanded, “finish the surgery.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I’m not one
of your little toy soldiers. You don’t get to give me orders.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The general
stepped into the doctor’s personal bubble, arching his back and puffing himself
up, Whistler said, “that man is a suspect in…” he paused to peer around Doctor
Conway’s shoulders, “the murder of Kaiser Rudolpho Imler. Get in there. Finish.
He <i>will not</i> die before telling us who
he’s working with.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Doctor Conway
deflated, “what?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Whether
announced or not, there’s a war going on. Right now,” General Whistler’s eyes
bulged with each word, “a <i>war</i>. We’ve
been attacked. Our leader assassinated and one of our towns destroyed. Step
down off your medical pedestal. Get your ever-loving ass back into that surgery,
and do your job. If he dies, we lose what may be our only lead. Do you
comprehend me?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Staggering
backward into the beige hallway wall, Nurse Tippet’s jaw dropped. He attempted
speech, but couldn’t get his tongue to cooperate. Neither the doctor nor the
general seemed to notice as both men returned through the swinging doors. <i>General Whistler didn’t mention Fintan. Does
he know?</i> He pushed his hands flat against the wall, closed his eyes for a
brief second, and took a few deep breaths. Once he’d regained control of his
thoughts, he followed the men through the swinging doors, calling, “General
Whistler! I’ve got to tell you something.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Outside of
Rainboy’s, the Inquisitor sat down on a vacant forum bench facing the fine
dining establishment he was scheduled to enter the next morning. By all
accounts, nothing was extraordinary about the facility, save for it being Chief
Justice Adonis’ choice of venues. Though it was far later than he’d intended,
he could still see the silhouettes of diners and wait staff moving on the other
side of the amber, blown glass windows. Staring at an eatery while spicy, sweet
aromas wafted over from a nearby meat pie vendor, reminded him of his hunger.
Without any qualms about the wait in line, the Inquisitor ordered a beer and a
half dozen of the spiciest meat pies available, and then topped them with a
sweet dill mustard sauce. He took his dinner back to the empty bench where he
deigned to enjoy his food while observing the surrounding area. For the first
time all day, he had a chance to relax and embrace the appearance of normalcy. Midway
through his second meat pie, a tuxedo cat jumped onto the bench next to him.
The Inquisitor glanced at the black cat’s white chest and matching boots,
smiled at it, and then cautiously relocated the rest of his food to the other
side of the bench. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Not that I
don’t trust you,” he explained, “but we just met. And, I don’t trust you.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The tuxedo cat
stared at him a moment, before replying, “mah raw ahwr.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Taking that as
an invitation, the Inquisitor slowly reached out one hand. Although its tail
jerked angrily, the cat laid down facing the Inquisitor, who absently petted it
while maintaining his surveillance and devouring the remaining meat pies.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“How much
further is it?” Kent asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Not much. I
told you, sir. We should have taken a car,” Balin answered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“And, I told
you to quit calling me that.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“He can’t,”
Fulco squawked. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Kent ignored
the bird, “it’s bad enough we’ve gotta walk there. Do you have to rub it in
too?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“No rubbing,
sir. Just stating.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“That’s a
shame,” Kent mumbled.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What’s that,
sir?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Nothing,”
Kent said. “Why’d you help me back there?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Seriously?”
Balin asked, scrunching his face, “you’re the Bard. It’s my duty.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Stopping
suddenly, Kent threw his right hand up, “what is this shit? <i>Duty?</i> Why is it your duty? Who in Iphi’s
name made it <i>your</i> duty? And, what the
fuck does any of that have to do with me.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Mercury’s
balls!” Balin exclaimed as the realization hit him, “you really don’t know
anything about you, do you?” The perplexed Merc shook his head, more to
himself, he said, “how can you be our new Bard?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I’ve been
asking that same question!” Kent yelled. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
For what
seemed like ages, Balin stared at Kent, while waves of conflicting emotions
passed between them. Finally, Balin bit down the hesitation and asked, “why
don’t you know, sir?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Why?” Kent
actually laughed, a full bellied, genuinely amused laugh. “My da—ad, uh, the
guy that raised me, died before he could tell me he wasn’t my dad.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“That’s not
funny, sir,” Ensign Balin sighed.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Snorting, Kent
replied, “no it’s not. Nothing’s been funny since the day I lost him. I was too
young to be on my own. Didn’t have a choice, did I?” Shuddering at the
memories, the one-eyed young bard weaved and Balin instinctively reached out a
steadying hand. The two stood still for a moment, while Kent regained his
balance. “Still don’t. Take me to your leader.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“He’ll live,
Captain,” the medical officer reported.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Is he awake?”
Captain Decker asked into the receiver.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Not right
now. I’ll page you when he is.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Good. In the
meantime, I need you to check out our other guests. Once you’ve verified that
they’re alright, we’ll be done for the evening. That is, unless anything
unexpected comes up.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Aye, sir,”
the doctor answered before hanging up. He loaded up a small bag with various
implements, and then headed to the cargo hold, where he found the cabin girl
desperately trying to calm two of the women. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Shh. Shh. I
know it’s confusing. Just please. Be quiet,” the girl begged a set of hysterical
twins. “I’m only trying to help. Please.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“We’re not
going to be quiet until you tell us what’s going on,” the least hysterical of
the twins demanded.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I don’t know.
I’m just a cabin girl. They told me to take care of you.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Cabin? We’re
on a ship?” the more hysterical twin shouted.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Barge,
actually,” the doctor stated from the main hatch. “Please listen to Miranda.
We’re in a bit of a pickle trying to get you to safety. As such, it is imperative
that you remain calm and let us do our jobs.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Wh-who are
you?” the twins asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Doctor
Winston Cooper,” he answered offering his hand to each twin, “at your service.”
He placed his bag on the nearest cot, while asking the cabin girl, “the
others?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Sleeping
still.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Get the smelling
salts out of my bag, Miranda,” he ordered. To the twins he asked, “what’s the
last thing you remember?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
They looked at
each other, eyes bouncing back and forth, before they turned to him and said in
unison, “flat tire.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Two guys,”
the least hysterical one began, and the other finished, “pulled over to help
us.” The hair on their bodies raised, their eyes opened and darted everywhere. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I hate to
break it to you,” Doctor Cooper whispered, “they weren’t there to help. But,
none of that matters now. You’re safe.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Safe? We
don’t know you,” the twins retorted.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Doc?” Miranda
interrupted.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“The old
lady’s waking up. She’s been hurt. Pretty bad.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Don’t you
touch her!” the twins shouted as the scrambled from their cots to put
themselves between the doctor and the lady.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I know this
is hard to believe, but you’re safe here,” Cooper coaxed. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“If we’re so
safe, then let us go.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I can’t do
that. I’m the doctor, not the captain.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Without taking
his eyes from the disheveled Dante, Willy Jessup helped up his cousin, Tiny. “Why
you here, sir?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I could ask
you the same thing,” Dante responded.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You could,
but it ain’t weird for me,” Jessup answered. “This is my crew. That’s Domino,”
he pointed to a young man with a series of dominoes tattooed on his neck. “Brothers
Peter, Piper, and Pecker,” pointing to three fellows on the opposite side of
the circle, their family resemblance was more than could ever be denied, “not
that it matters to you, sir.” Jessup said nothing for a minute as he judged
Dante and Musgrove. “So, what’s the job?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Not here,”
Dante said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Smiling,
Jessup said, “I can’t think of a better place. And, if you could, you wouldn’t of
come.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Do you trust them?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Better than I
trust you.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
While Dante
contemplated Jessup’s honesty, the goliath interjected, “we’ll take’em to the pit.
It’s secure enough to talk. Stay here Tiny.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Steele says
‘the pit,’ so, follow me,” Jessup said, shrugging as he led them to the opposing
team’s dugout. The bulk of the Hellions stayed in centerfield watching the
quartet disappear down the dugout steps. Once they were out of earshot, Jessup
asked again, “what’s the job?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“A hit,” Dante
said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Who?” Steele
rumbled.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Jessup, who’d
we talk about at lunch?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Without
vocalizing the answer, Jessup’s eyes lit. He nodded in certainty, before
saying, “you can trust Steele, sir. If you’re saying what I think, he can
help.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Steele, what
do you know about the Sons of Guru?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Anger flashed
over Steele’s face as he grunted, “worthless murdering snakes.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Glad to hear
it,” Commander Randle Dante, Sr. leaned in and whispered, “we’re going to cut
off their head.” </div>
<script>
(function(i,s,o,g,r,a,m){i['GoogleAnalyticsObject']=r;i[r]=i[r]||function(){
(i[r].q=i[r].q||[]).push(arguments)},i[r].l=1*new Date();a=s.createElement(o),
m=s.getElementsByTagName(o)[0];a.async=1;a.src=g;m.parentNode.insertBefore(a,m)
})(window,document,'script','//www.google-analytics.com/analytics.js','ga');
ga('create', 'UA-66666100-1', 'auto');
ga('require', 'linkid', 'linkid.js');
ga('send', 'pageview');
</script>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550820395250501390.post-53317561406111925212016-08-27T04:20:00.000-07:002016-08-27T17:17:55.756-07:00Sua Sponte<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
A buxom woman
sat in the shadow of the Pissing Puppy Statue just outside of Sentinel Cemetery
on the edge of the Forum Publicos. From her vantage point she could see the
heavy foot traffic going in and out of the forum shops while also maintaining
an ever watchful eye on the cemetery passage. She chewed her bottom lip as she
waited. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I’ll never
understand why you’d risk a public meeting,” a man whispered as he sat down in
the shadows next to her.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“The bigger
risk is meeting you in private,” the woman answered. “You’re lucky I waited.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I had no
doubt that you would,” the Inquisitor laughed.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Ignoring his
laughter she asked, “do you have it?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
He sat a small
beige tote bag on the cement next to her, saying, “everything you need to start
over.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Quickly sifting
through the bag, she mumbled, “good, good.” Once she was satisfied, she pulled
an envelope out of her back pocket, “here’s the map. Never speak in front of
the Eyes. They’re marked with triangles.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Do you really
believe all the hype about the Messenger?” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
She stared at
the random passersby, while chewing her bottom lip. For a minute the Inquisitor
thought she wouldn’t answer, and then she said, “I never should have told you
about it.” Looking him in the eyes, she added, “I’ve betrayed everyone I’ve
ever cared about because I thought they were crazy. I was wrong. But, I can’t
go back now.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
He placed a
hand on her shoulder, “no one knows you’re involved.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I know.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The Inquisitor
removed his hand, stood up, and said, “your instructions are in the bag. When I
finish, I’ll meet you in Merced.” He bent down, putting his face near her ear.
As his scruffy chin brushed her cheek, she shivered. He said, “don’t worry,
Clara. They’ll never find out.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Don’t lie,
Lawrence. We both know that my part will be discovered the minute Aunt Mary
sends someone looking for me. Sooner if the Messenger accesses Mercury’s Eyes.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“She’s been
difficult to locate,” he confided. “We’ve had some difficulties. I won’t trouble
you with the details. You still know what to do?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes, lover,” she
sighed.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Cupping her
cheek in one hand, the Inquisitor searched her eyes, and then whispered, “one
week.” He kissed her hard on the lips before he disappeared into the crowded
forum. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
With tears in
her eyes, she slipped the tote bag over one shoulder. Making her way to the
cemetery passage, Clara Darin decided to meander through Sentinel Cemetery one
last time before beginning her new life across the mountains in Poterit Dan.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The Stadium
had initially been built to hold 10,000 spectators. It hadn’t filled to
capacity in over 50 years. In fact, since the Hellions had claimed it as part
of their territory 12 years earlier, it hadn’t held more than 100 spectators at
any given time. From appearances, Dante figured the old box seating had been
converted into Hellion housing, though it was hard to really gauge anything
while standing in center field. They were surrounded by a loose circle of
20-plus younger Hellions, all glaring with their most menacing looks.
Musgrove’s arm hair stood at attention, as he shifted his weight back and
forth, in an unconscious movement that drove Dante to the edge. The next few
minutes depended on convincing this rabble that they were crazier than the
leadership. Nervousness was not the behavior of the insane. “For fuck’s sake,
stand still,” Dante hissed under his breath. Musgrove shot him a dirty look,
then braced himself.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You wanna
meet me?” a deep voice thundered over the loudspeakers.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Dante shrugged
and yelled, “depends. You the baddest motherfucker here?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“That’s what
they say,” the stadium speakers rumbled.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Prove it,”
Dante challenged.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
In response,
the circle of young Hellions hissed and stomped their feet. After a few
minutes, the circle opened to let in the leader and his retinue. The leader of
the Hellions, a heavily pierced and tattooed dishwater blonde with a scar
running down his left cheek, stepped close enough to Dante to get a whiff. “Damn,
you smell,” he shoved Dante’s chest. “I ain’t got time for a crack-head. Go on!”
He shoved again.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
In a flash,
Dante grabbed the Hellion’s hand, twisted it up and back as he dragged the man
closer. With his other hand, Dante gripped the man’s nose piercing. The leader
of the Hellions froze when Dante calmly said, “tell’em to back off or I rip it
out.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I’ll fucking
kill you,” he growled.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Laughing
hysterically, Dante ripped the piercing out of the man’s nose, and dropped the
jewelry on the ground. The leader stifled a screamed as blood poured down his
face. “I don’t like to repeat myself,” Dante stated. “Now, tell them to back
off or I kill you.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Back off,” he
hissed to his crew.<br />
“Good,” Dante said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
In shock, Musgrove
watched helplessly as the situation grew from bad to unbelievably impossible.
They weren’t just going to die, after that little incident they’d be drawn,
quartered, and their pieces would be left on the edges of Hellion territory as
warning to others. Nervous laughter erupted from Musgrove. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Let’im go,” a
deep voice ordered from just outside the circle.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“No,” Dante
replied. “I asked for the baddest motherfucker here and you sent out this,” he
pulled up on the Hellion’s arm and the man wailed. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The circle
once again parted and in walked two men. One was by far the largest man Dante
had ever seen. The goliath wore a black leather vest covered with patches,
faded denim jeans, and had more tattoos on one of his arms than the captive,
blood dripping Hellion had on his entire
body. The second man seemed oddly familiar, though Dante couldn’t place him. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I said let’im
go.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“No,” Dante
repeated.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Without
warning the giant ripped the bloody blond out of Dante’s hands and tossed the
screaming imbecile on the ground. “Get’im outta here,” he ordered as he stepped
closer to Dante. “You crazy?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Staring up,
Dante said, “no.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Curiosity
bested the enormous man, who asked, “what gives?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I’ve got a job
needs doing.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“So. Go do
it.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Not for me,” Dante responded.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Before goliath
could respond, the second man slipped around, asking, “what kind of job?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Shut up
Tiny,” the giant ordered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“But—” he
never finished the sentence as an enormous hand clamped over his mouth.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You come into
my house, fuck with my guys, then offer me work? You wanna die?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Dante smiled.
He flicked his wrist, releasing a small baton, which he slammed into the
colossal’s knee. The man’s face exploded with pain as he collapsed bringing Tiny
down with him. “Take one step toward me and he dies,” Dante said, the baton
raised over the giant’s head. The shocked circle of Hellions stood still, eyes
and mouths open wide.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Unable to
contain himself, Musgrove shouted, “what are you doing?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Ignoring him,
Dante said, “I bested three of you. Anyone else want to try me? I’m waiting.”
When none of them made a move, Dante relaxed his stance. “Good. Now, I’ll only
say this once. I’ve got a job and I want a volunteer.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I’ll do it,” an
unseen man said as he pushed through the circle. He froze when he saw Dante.
“Sir?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Jessup.”
Dante did a double take between Jessup and Tiny. Then, he glared at Musgrove,
“not ready, eh?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Captain
Prescott stood over the slumped former chief justice, while General Tomlyn unrolled
his sleeves and put his uniform coat back on. Normally, the general would have
passed the unpleasantries on to one of his enlisted lackeys. However, Fraunx
Adonis was not a normal prisoner and these were not normal times. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Captain, wake
him up. You’re to continue the interrogation until I return,” General Tomlyn
ordered. “I’ll be back shortly. If he gives you the names, send Caspian to Command.
I’ve got a call to make.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes, sir!” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Waiting for
the general to leave, Captain Prescott searched the basement for anything he
could use to wake Adonis. On one of the shelves he found a mostly empty medical
kit that contained two smelling salt capsules and an old bottle of sterile
eyewash. Snapping one of the smelling salts under Adonis’ nose immediately
revived him. Wild eyed and confused Adonis tried to look around, but nearly
passed out again with the movements. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Wakie. Wakie,” Prescott said, repeatedly
smacking Adonis in the face.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Wh-what?”
Adonis asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You can end
this nightmare,” Prescott said as he pulled the chair near the stairs closer to
Adonis. “It’s simple really. Just tell me who you’re working with. And, it’s
over. No more broken bones. No more burns. In fact, once you tell me the names,
I’ll bring the medics down and we’ll get you something for the pain.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I already
told Tomlyn that I’m innocent,” Adonis slurred.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“We all know
that’s a lie. Now, here’s the difference between me and the general,” Prescott
lifted Adonis’ head, “I’m not going to break your bones. I’m going to flay you.
I’ll hang the bits of skin I strip from your body all around your head so you
can watch the flies as they congregate on your missing flesh. Do you really
want that?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You wouldn’t
dare!” Adonis shouted.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Captain
Prescott snorted, “you don’t know me, so you don’t know what I’m capable of.
Perhaps, you need convincing?” Prescott dropped Adonis’ head, crossed the
basement to the shelf he’d found the medkit on, and picked up a couple kitchen
knives. “These aren’t my tools of choice. But, you work with what you’ve got.”
He tossed all the knives save one onto the chair, grabbed one leg of Adonis’
pants and began sawing through the fabric. “Quit struggling,” Prescott ordered.
Adonis did everything in his power to rip his leg out of Prescott’s grip. When
the rickety folding chair fell over and the knife pierced Adonis’ calf, the
former chief justice shrieked. “Well, it’s not perfect, but I do believe you’ve
just made my life easier,” Prescott laughed while ripping the knife out of the
wound. “The names?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I’ll tell you
whatever you want,” Adonis screamed.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I want
names,” Prescott said as he continued to saw through the pants leg.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I don’t know
their names.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Prescott set
the knife down, ripped the pants up to the knee, and said, “tell me what you do
know.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You have to
protect me. I tell you and they’ll kill me.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Looks like
you’re a dead man, either way,” Prescott answered. He picked up two of the
other knives, taking his time to examine them within Adonis’ line of sight. He
set the flay knife at Adonis’ ankle and pressed down drawing blood. “The
names?” Prescott asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“The
Inquisitor! That’s all I know.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Bullshit,”
Prescott drew the knife up slowly. “Who else?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“He’s got a crew,” Adonis wailed, “I don’t
know their names. I swear.”</div>
<script>
(function(i,s,o,g,r,a,m){i['GoogleAnalyticsObject']=r;i[r]=i[r]||function(){
(i[r].q=i[r].q||[]).push(arguments)},i[r].l=1*new Date();a=s.createElement(o),
m=s.getElementsByTagName(o)[0];a.async=1;a.src=g;m.parentNode.insertBefore(a,m)
})(window,document,'script','//www.google-analytics.com/analytics.js','ga');
ga('create', 'UA-66666100-1', 'auto');
ga('require', 'linkid', 'linkid.js');
ga('send', 'pageview');
</script>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550820395250501390.post-8925307838511797152016-08-20T04:20:00.000-07:002016-08-20T16:43:28.987-07:00Dum Vivam<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Sergeant
Caspian stood in the kitchen of Goldie’s Revenge arguing with the bar owner as
blocked the doorway to the basement stairs. The woman stared up at him, shoving
her forefinger into his chest. “I know what I heard. And, I’m telling you, it’s
going to stop right here and now.” She shoved the point of her half-inch
fingernail into his sternum. He grabbed her finger and held it in place. She
struggled to pull it back, “let me go.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Ma’am. You
will stop,” he practically threw her hand away. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I don’t care
who’s down there. This is my bar. Not a torture chamber. Either you go down and
put an end to it or I will.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“My orders are
clear. Back away from the door now, ma’am,” Sergeant Caspian ordered, his body
tensed.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I don’t give
a damn about your orders!” Goldie shouted as she reached behind Caspian to grab
the doorknob. He swung his hip into her arm while slamming down his own arm. He
grabbed her hip, dragging her with him. Off-balance, Goldie fell into Caspian.
With her free hand she pushed against his chest causing the militiaman to
bounce into the doorframe. During the tussle, neither noticed the kitchen doors
swing open as Captain Prescott walked in.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Well,” the
captain stated.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Both moved
with the awkwardness of teens caught making out, Goldie shoved off Caspian as
he straightened up. Their gazes never left Captain Prescott’s face. Both
stammered over one another, before Goldie raised her voice to a piercing level.
<br />
“Captain, they’re torturing someone
in my bar!”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Without changing the slightly annoyed
expression, Captain Prescott said, “I know, Goldie. That’s why I’m here.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“So you’ll
stop it?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Looking down,
he said nothing.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“If you’re not
going to stop it, why are you here?” she screamed.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Calm down.
You’ve already been through too much.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You don’t
tell me to ‘calm down.’”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“This is the
most secured location we could find on short notice.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
She glowered
at him, her pursed lips working of their own volition. After a moment, she gasped.
“You’re going to… Oh, you bastard.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Prescott
stepped forward, outstretched hands reaching toward her. She struggled out of
his grasp, once again landing on Caspian. Her eyes bulged as she tried to pull
away from the two men. Grabbing her elbows, Captain Prescott pulled her away
from Caspian, and up into his own face. She stood on her tiptoes, desperately
trying to get free. “Goldie, calm down,” he ordered. “I can’t give you details.
Suffice it to say, the man down there is responsible for Avalona.” He shook
her, “do you understand?” He shook her again. “I have my orders and so does the
sergeant.” Squeezing her in emphasis, he said, “if you don’t calm down, I’ll
have you detained.” When he let go of her, she dropped back on her heels.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Shocked, she
stood there rocking slightly. “Avalona?” she whispered the question. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes,”
Prescott replied.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“All m-my fam-family,
friends…”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“He’s the
one?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Kill him,”
she hissed, looking into Prescott’s face with a sudden viciousness that
surprised them both. “Kill him,” she repeated, spitting out the words. She
glanced back at the door behind Caspian, and then headed out of her kitchen. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
When she was
gone, Caspian opened the door and stepped out of Prescott’s way. As the captain
began to descend the stairs, Caspian asked, “should you have told her that,
sir?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“For your
information: yes, Sergeant. She’ll leave you alone now. Maintain your station.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes, sir.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Waking up face
down on an exam table, in a shocking amount of pain, naked save the sheet
covering his lower half, Bonnie Taylor screamed bloody murder. A hand clamped
down over his mouth and a masked face appeared in his peripheral. The masked
man harshly whispered into his ear, “<i>shut
up</i>. The hull isn’t <i>that</i> thick.
Someone <i>will</i> hear you.” Turning away
from Bonnie, the masked man ordered some unseen body, “get him something to
bite into. For Iphi’s sake, we’re about to pass the control. Last thing we need
is for one of those uniforms to get suspicious.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
A burly, hairy
knuckled hand roughly shoved a bit of leather into Bonnie’s mouth. No sooner
was the leather in place, then his back was racked with the worst pain he’d
ever had the misfortune of experiencing. As the doctor dug into him with some
unknown implement, Bonnie Taylor lost consciousness again.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Good,” the
doctor mumbled. “Maybe now I’ll be able to get this damned bullet out.”<br />
“Will he live?” the barge captain
asked from the hatch leading into the Medical office that was unsurprisingly
over-equipped for a standard shipboard medical facility. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Nodding, the
doctor kept his attention on his task, saying, “Captain Decker, sir, I’ll relay
what I know when I finish.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Fine. Fine. I’ll
be on the bridge.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Okay, sir.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Without
another word, Captain Nathaniel Decker swung his rotund belly around, and
headed down the hall to the cargo hold. Once he’d entered the hold, he stopped
a moment to take in the scene. In the middle of the hold were six cots each
supporting an unconscious woman. Two of his sailors were arguing about the best
way to rearrange the hold. Their orders: move the boxes full of contraband to the
hidden compartments on the bottom of the barge. The cabin girl, who was carrying
a steaming bowl, gingerly maneuvered passed the sailors. Sidestepping and
swiveling the bowl upward, she narrowly avoided dumping its contents. She
snapped, “heave to!” The two sailors stepped back, never stopping their
argument. On a normal day, Decker would have found the scene amusing, if only
slightly. Today, he was in no mood for petty antics. Of the questionable cargo
they typically carried, this was by far the most dangerous load they’d ever had
the misfortune of contracting and they acted like everything was business as
usual. One part of him longed to shout at them, but he held that part in check.
So long as the crew remained convinced that nothing was amiss, they’d continue
doing their work. No sense rocking the boat until it became absolutely necessary.
At which point, every one of them would prove their worth or die trying.
Satisfied that his guests were well-tended, Captain Decker, exited the cargo
hold, and made his way up to the bridge. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“We just
passed River Guard Post #1,” the pilot, a shaggy hair brunette said over his
shoulder.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Excellent,”
Decker said. “I’ll be in my office. Doc will call when he’s finished, patch him
to me. Maintain your heading. All is go for now.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Aye, sir,”
the pilot said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Ducking
suddenly, Commander Randle Dante, Sr. narrowly avoided the Hellion’s ¼ inch
steel pipe. Dante drove a knuckle into the kid’s receding bicep and then kicked
the teen in shin. The pipe clattered to the ground as the young ruffian landed
hard, crying out. With one hand, Dante grabbed the back of the kid’s head, the
other he clamped over the boy’s mouth. “I can snap your neck or you can shut
up. Choose.” Dante felt the teen’s mouth shut. “Good choice.” Swinging the boy around
by the head, Dante bent in until their faces were an inch apart. “You’re going
to help me find the biggest, scariest mother fucker in your gang. Do you know
who I’m talking about?” The boy nodded. “Of course you do,” Dante said as he
patted the boy’s cheek. He ordered, “go on. Tell him his 9 o’clock is waiting.”
The cat piss covered, raggedy commander laughed heartily as he pushed the kid
along.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
When the kid
was out of hearing range, Lieutenant Musgrove whispered, “I thought I was doing
the talking?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You did,”
Dante replied.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“When?”
Musgrove asked in all seriousness.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“At the car.
You expressed misgivings about this operation. I figured that was enough
talking.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Oh, great,”
Musgrove sighed as visions of their future demise ran across his mind’s eye. He
blindly stared up the road as they waited for the executioner. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
After a few
minutes, Dante ordered, “balls up, man. Here comes the kid.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Picking up the
dropped pipe, Musgrove turned toward the approaching Hellion. Musgrove stood
shoulder-to-shoulder with the commander, pipe in hand, his face as blank as he
could manage. The commander stood relaxed, a shit eating grin plastered to his
face, and a wild twinkle in his eyes. For the first time, Musgrove realized
he’d somehow aligned himself with a man who was either the best actor ever or
absolutely fucking insane. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The Hellion
wore scuffed up combat boots, holey jeans, and a cut off black t-shirt that
said, “Fuck Yourself!” in dingy white lettering across the front. The boy was
at that age where his voice cracked when he spoke, “come.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I told you to
bring him.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Come,” the
boy turned around, heading deeper into Hellion territory. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“We should
go,” Musgrove whispered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Come,” Dante
mimicked the kid, and then strolled purposefully after the young man. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
As they walked
down the road, Dante got the distinct feeling that they were being watched. The
further in they walked, the more eyes seemed to surround them. He struggled to
keep the grin firmly in place. In this situation, crazy was the only viable option
for survival. When the kid turned right on Stadium Avenue, Dante’s grin
genuinely grew. <i>Predictable. A challenge
spoken. A challenge met. Who says these kids don’t have a code.</i> For
appearance sake, Dante jokingly said, “who’s playing?”<i> <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You are,” the
Hellion answered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Good,” Dante
snorted. “I hate repeating myself.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Musgrove
listened in disbelief. If they were being taken to the Stadium, they’d never
make it back out. The Stadium was a kangaroo court that viewed justice as
punishments thought up by the leader and chosen by the whims of the majority. Musgrove
paled at the thought, <i>he doesn’t know
what he’s done.</i> The stadium was the only democratic aspect of the gang. In
all other business, they followed the strict regulation of a hierarchical
organization with all final decisions resting on their leader’s shoulders. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Upon
approaching the battered and graffiti covered Stadium, the young Hellion
pointed to Gate 4, “go.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Dante and
Musgrove quietly walked through the gate and into a dimly lit concrete hallway
that curved to the right. The angle was precisely enough to keep them from
seeing out the other side. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You ever seen
this before?” Dante asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes, sir,”
Musgrove muttered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Well?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Someone will
take us to the middle of the Stadium. We’ll be interrogated. Then, the gang
will decide our fate.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“So, we’re
fucked?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes, sir.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Dante’s
laughter echoed down the hall.</div>
<script>
(function(i,s,o,g,r,a,m){i['GoogleAnalyticsObject']=r;i[r]=i[r]||function(){
(i[r].q=i[r].q||[]).push(arguments)},i[r].l=1*new Date();a=s.createElement(o),
m=s.getElementsByTagName(o)[0];a.async=1;a.src=g;m.parentNode.insertBefore(a,m)
})(window,document,'script','//www.google-analytics.com/analytics.js','ga');
ga('create', 'UA-66666100-1', 'auto');
ga('require', 'linkid', 'linkid.js');
ga('send', 'pageview');
</script>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550820395250501390.post-3127578711985796632016-08-13T04:20:00.000-07:002016-08-13T18:45:54.812-07:00Fide Indigni<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Pointing to
the stolen cargo van, the Inquisitor ordered Jougs to pull in behind it. By way
of acknowledgement, Mr. Jougs jerked the steering wheel hard to the left. The
Inquisitor gave Jougs a dirty look, but said nothing as the car slammed to a stop
near the discarded shipping containers. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“They’re
gone,” Mr. Vorant murmured from the back seat. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
As the men
congregated next to the cargo van, the Inquisitor said, “get your boss back on
the line. The rest of you, spread out. Find them.” When the loader passed over
his silver phone, the Inquisitor said to him, “go.” Into the phone he growled,
“we missed them. Explain why you sent us the wrong way.” He listened for a
moment, then said, “enough. We’re not your errand boys, Top. As far as I’m concerned
we delivered the cargo on time.” Gripping the little silver phone tightly, the
Inquisitor hissed, “that’s your problem. I expect payment as arranged. Don’t be
late.” He hung up the phone, then shouted, “Misters Jougs and Vorant, attend
me.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><div class="MsoNoSpacing">
When the two
men reached him, the Inquisitor said, “we have a problem.” Jougs and Vorant
glanced at each other, then focused on the Inquisitor, who said, “we’re
leaving.” Once they were back in the stolen car, the Inquisitor growled, “Top
thinks this is a game. We’re late for our next appointment. Go.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Sir, do you
think the contact will even be there?” Jougs asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“She’ll be
there. Drive,” the Inquisitor ordered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“No,” the
middle-aged nurse said as he smoothed out his powder blue scrubs.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What do you mean, ‘no’?” Balin asked,
holding his balled up fists behind his legs. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I mean no.
What’s confusing you, son?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Your attitude
for starts,” Balin retorted. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You’ve got a
problem with my winning personality?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“That and your
ever-loving mouth.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Well, that’s
your problem.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Still
resisting the urge to punch the nurse, Balin said, “you have no idea who you’re
dealing with, do you?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The nurse ran
a hand through his thinning blonde hair, saying, “I know who you’re guarding.
It doesn’t change procedure. He’s in shock. If the doctor wants him doped up,
then and only then, will someone administer the dose. In the mean time, why
don’t you go back to the room and do your job, so the rest of us can do ours?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“He’s got
other injuries. Didn’t you see his eye? He’s a priority. Get the doctor, now.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Son, he’s not
a priority. You see that fellow,” the nurse pointed to a gurney being rushed
down the hallway toward the operating rooms, “that is what a priority looks
like. If the doctor doesn’t do surgery now that man dies. Understand life
versus death?” Balin nodded. “Good.” The nurse leaned in and whispered, “now,
go guard the new Bard. Mercury forbid, something should happen to him while
you’re out of the room.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Fine,” Balin conceded before about-facing
and marching down the hallway. Back inside the hospital room, Balin found Kent
and Fulco on opposite sides of the bed vigorously squawking at one another. The
body of Aeolus acted as a line of demarcation between them. He contemplated manning
his post outside the door, rather than victimizing his ears, but held fast in
horrified fascination, watching the bizarre face-off between man and falcon.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Enough!” Kent
ignored Balin and continued shouting at Fulco in the language of the birds. “I
know they’re dead,” he pointed at Aeolus, “I’m not blind. All I smell is
the—the burnt flesh of Fin—my—<i>father</i>,”
he spit out the last word with vehemence. “If you’re so damned certain that we
have to leave, I’ll open a window. Fly away, little birdie.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“‘We’ does not
mean me, idiot,” Fulco replied. “We’re in danger because you’re in danger. The
Kaiser and the Bard were murdered. You are in jeopardy.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Ooh, not that.
<i>You</i> don’t know what I’ve gone
through. We’re at a hospital. No one knows us. And, we’ve got a guard,” Kent
motioned toward Balin who stood with one hand on the door handle, body half
turned to leave. “We’re fine.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I know
everything about you. One guard cannot help. We’re exposed. The Merc has orders
to take us to HQ. We should go now,” Fulco insisted.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Bah! You
don’t know shit, birdbrain,” Kent huffed.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
A ruffled
Fulco puffed up his neck feathers, taking a few steps toward Aeolus, he calmly
said, “I know your heart as if it were mine. I know what you did to survive the
streets of Sanctuary City. I know what you did to that soldier before we joined
up. And, I know that if you’d stop wallowing in self-pity for five minutes,
you’d understand what you risk by staying here.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Blanched, staring
warily at the bird, Kent thought, <i>he
knows about the Admiral and that piece of shit West. How? </i>Kent’s cheeks went
from pasty white to bright red, <i>doesn’t
matter.</i> He angrily remarked, “tell anyone and I’ll kill you.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“That is
suicide,” Fulco stated.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Your point?”
Kent asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I will not
speak of it.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Spectacular.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“We must
leave,” Fulco repeated as his ruffled feathers returned to normal.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“If we leave,
will you shut up?” Kent asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“For now,”
Fulco answered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Turning to Balin, Kent squawked, “we’re going
to your HQ.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Without
changing his stance, Balin regarded Kent with confusion. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Wrong
language,” Fulco said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Glancing back
at Fulco, Kent’s head tilted sideways as he realized he’d once again been
speaking like a bird. A wave of memories pulsed through Kent, he recalled life
as Fulco: learning to fly and hunt, mourning Halcyone’s death, and the horrors
of initiation. Shuddering at the weight of Fulco’s knowledge, Kent bowed his
head. He forced his thoughts away from Fulco and once again faced Ensign Balin.
After a moment of working his tongue, Kent said to Balin, “we’re going to your
HQ.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Right. Soon
as the doctor clears you.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Wrong. Can’t
wait. We’re going now,” Kent ordered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“My orders are
unmistakable: hospital, doctor, clearance, and then, HQ.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You outrank
his boss,” Fulco screeched.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Covering his
left ear, Kent ignored Fulco while struggling to think in human speech. Finally,
he said, “I’m not staying here. I hate hospitals.” Swinging off the bed, Kent
spun around too quickly, forcing him to put out a hand to use the bed for
support.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Sir, please.
Sit back down,” Balin stepped forward.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I’m fine,”
Kent growled. “After I dig through those cabinets for something to wrap the
bird in, we’re leaving. You coming or not?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Gauging the injured Bard, Balin crossed the room to the cabinets and
started digging through them. He pulled out a variety of medical supplies
before turning back to Kent. “Sit down, sir. If you’re not willing to wait for
the doctor, then at least let me clean you up first.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Then, we
leave.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes, sir.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Please stop
it!” Adonis begged.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
General
Willard Tomlyn leaned next to Adonis’ burnt ear and yelled, “give me the
names.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Jerking his
head away, Adonis continued begging, “please stop. I’m innocent.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Fraunx,
you’re a lot of things, but ‘innocent’ isn’t one of them,” General Tomlyn
laughed. “You’re a murdering, slaving, wretched little shitbag. I don’t know
what game you’re playing, but you will give me the names of every fucker you’re
working with.” That said, the general snapped Adonis’ left pinky finger. Adonis
screamed as Tomlyn idly remarked, “funny that you had an opportunity to prevent
this type of interrogation and didn’t take it. I asked myself why a few times.
Ultimately, it doesn’t matter. My subordinates are well-trained in methods of
extracting information without leaving evidence on the body. I saw to it. That
was my fall back plan in the event that you and the other justices tied our
hands. Fortunately,” Tomlyn broke Adonis’ left ring finger, “you didn’t.” While
Adonis screamed again, the general asked, “the names?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“To me,”
Celatrix Verna said, standing in the front of the morgue door and waving over
her ministers. When they surrounded her, she began, “Kaiser Rudolpho Imler was
murdered this afternoon.” She paused for their collective gasp, letting the
news sink in. Before they started chattering amongst themselves, she continued,
“we’re to cleanse him, dress him, and pass his spirit to the Phoenix Rose. After
which, we’ll bury him in the Tomb of the Gryphons as all his line gone before
him. Ministers, you know your duties. Go to them. Scribus. Clericus. Attend me.
We have much to prepare.” She turned to the handful of people waiting in the
parlor, “those of you who were near the Kaiser after his death will wait here.
Have the new arrivals wait with you. We’ll need you all at midnight. Do you
understand?” She looked each person in the eyes. When she was satisfied that
they comprehended, she spun around headed for the morgue. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The Merc, whose
raised weapon pointed at the morgue entrance, relaxed when he saw the Celatrix.
He holstered his gun and stepped back from the exam table.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Scribus, use
that corner,” she pointed, “render him as exactly as possible.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes,
Celatrix,” the young woman bowed deeply, shoulder length auburn hair falling
around her face.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Clericus,”
Verna said, placing a hand on the overweight woman’s shoulder, “did you bring
everything?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Nodding, she
reached into her grey cloak and unfastened a large leather bag which she handed
to Celatrix Verna. “Your tools are in the front pouch and the Indigimenta is in
the main compartment,” the woman stated.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Good. Open to
the last entry,” Celatrix Verna said while unrolling the sheet over the
Kaiser’s body. The Clericus held the Indigimenta open and facing the Celatrix
who stood with her palms hovering over the Kaiser’s stomach. “Young man,” she
addressed the Merc, “this is your last chance to use the restroom until the
ritual is complete.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I will
maintain my post until properly relieved,” he replied.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Then we
begin.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Convinced that
they were about to get themselves killed, Musgrove whispered, “sir, are you
sure there isn’t another way?” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I’m sure,” Commander
Dante said. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“It’s
just—well—we’re about to cross that point, you know? See that chain-link?” He
pointed up the hill they were climbing. The street lights abruptly stopped on
the other side of a chain-link fence surrounding a huge undeveloped lot. “That’s
where Hellion territory begins.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Good.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I don’t think
you understand.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Dante stopped,
grabbed Musgrove’s bicep and stepped in, their faces only centimeters apart,
“Anthony, I understand perfectly. You’re nervous. Balls up. These people are
nothing to us, save a means to an end. We’re not moving in, we’re passing
through. You get me?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Grinding his
teeth, Musgrove closed his eyes and breathed through his nose in a feeble
attempt to stop the tick threatening his right eyebrow. When the commander
squeezed Musgrove’s arm, the driver opened his eyes and said, “I get you, sir.”
He yanked his arm away, adding, “that doesn’t mean I like it.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Chuckling,
Dante slapped Musgrove on the back, “who does?” Wrinkling his nose, Dante said in
all seriousness, “I can’t believe I let you talk me into wearing this rank
filth. I’m positive a cat pissed on them.” Sniffing at Musgrove’s shoulder,
Dante grinned, “you little son of a bitch. You don’t smell like cat piss.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Musgrove
shrugged, “I gave you first pick, sir.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Oh, I’ve got
you now. Damn joker,” Dante said while nodding his head. “Let’s go.”</div>
<script>
(function(i,s,o,g,r,a,m){i['GoogleAnalyticsObject']=r;i[r]=i[r]||function(){
(i[r].q=i[r].q||[]).push(arguments)},i[r].l=1*new Date();a=s.createElement(o),
m=s.getElementsByTagName(o)[0];a.async=1;a.src=g;m.parentNode.insertBefore(a,m)
})(window,document,'script','//www.google-analytics.com/analytics.js','ga');
ga('create', 'UA-66666100-1', 'auto');
ga('require', 'linkid', 'linkid.js');
ga('send', 'pageview');
</script>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550820395250501390.post-80668059204796349102016-08-06T04:20:00.000-07:002016-08-06T19:55:51.952-07:00Mihi Inimicus<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
From the
backseat of the Iago Citadel, Commander Dante calmly watched his surroundings.
The drop-off center’s rear loading dock doors gaped open, though the dock was
completely empty. Lieutenant Musgrove disappeared into the warehouse. A few
minutes later, he exited, clothes laden arms topped with two pairs of shoes.
When he reached the car, he tapped the backdoor with his foot and nodded. Dante
pushed open the door and was nearly buried in the stink wafting off the pile as
Musgrove dropped it in the seat. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Not sure if I
got you the right size, sir. Not a fucking tailor,” Musgrove said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Dante grunted.
He dug through the offensive pile, holding up various articles before dropping
them. “We need a place to hide the car and prep.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Got two
options. There’s a bridge with some abandoned buildings west of here. Plenty of
privacy, longer walk to Hell Hill. Or, a couple blocks north, there’s a car
park, less privacy, shorter walk. Up to you, sir.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“How much
longer?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Five
minutes,” Musgrove shrugged, “maybe more.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“That all? To
the bridge,” Dante ordered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Once in the
vehicle, Musgrove cranked it, and then flipped a bitch out of the parking lot. A
few minutes, he eased the Citadel to a slow crawl over bumpy, abandoned train
tracks. He took the right fork around to a dilapidated building that suffered
from obvious signs of ancient fire damage. In the relative safety of the
building’s shadow, Musgrove killed the Citadel’s engine. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What’s the
plan, sir?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Dante smirked
as he said, “you already know.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“All I know is
that you want to go in, find a guy, and get out. That can’t seriously be your
whole plan.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I see no
reason to make it complicated.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“We’re about
to walk into the worst neighborhood in the city, armed with nothing but our
good looks and these shitty clothes. Are you trying to get us killed?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Anthony, do I
look suicidal?” Dante asked fastening the buttons of his stolen stank nasty,
tattered shirt.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You look like
my cousin, sir,” Musgrove replied. “He got killed in a yard fight.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“That
certainly engenders confidence,” Dante sneered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Don’t talk
like that. I should go without you,” Musgrove said quietly.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Don’t worry. You’ll
do the talking.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
For the
umpteenth time, Musgrove wished he’d never gotten involved. Everything was much
simpler when he just drove for Dante. <i>Curiosity.
Damned curiosity, </i>he silently cursed the impulse that had pushed him to
leave the car back when the prisoner first escaped. Still cursing himself, he
asked, “are you sure we need to do this?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
In the dark,
Musgrove couldn’t see Dante’s annoyed expression, but he heard it when Dante
said, “get dressed.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Standing before
the door leading to the morgue, Ensign Osborne and Patrick Field faced off. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Let me
through. I’ve got to see her,” Field demanded.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“No one goes
in,” Osborne stated, “Celatrix’s orders.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I’ve got a
message from Colonel Dagon.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“So you said.
I heard you demand to see Commander Felis. Now, it’s Celatrix Verna,” Osborne
shook his head. “Who’s next?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Exasperated,
Field stepped up to Osborne and growled, “the message for Commander Felis
involves Celatrix Verna. He’s not here, she is. Fine. I’ll tell her. He shows
up, I’ll tell him. Let me through.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“No,” Osborne
said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
With his fist balled
up, Field reared back to sock Osborne in the gut. When Field stepped forward,
Osborne blocked the incoming punch with his left arm as he jabbed his extended
fingers into Field’s throat. The overeager groundskeeper collapsed on the
floor, gasping for breath, and protectively holding his injured throat. Colonel
Dagon’s little black bag lay next to him, forgotten.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Easy now,” Osborne
said, hovering over Field. “It’ll take a few minutes to get your breath back.
Take it easy.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Busting
through the front door, Colonel Dagon stumbled to a stop mere feet from Osborne
and Field. Glaring at the two men, he ordered, “desist.” Then, he stepped
forward, swiping his bag from the floor. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Colonel!” the
ensign snapped to attention.<br />
Reaching a hand out to Field, Dagon
asked, “did you see Felis?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Unable to
speak, Field mouthed, ‘no’ and gave Osborne a dirty look.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“He isn’t
here, sir,” Osborne answered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Great,” Dagon
snarled. “Celatrix Verna?” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“In the back.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Move,” Dagon
ordered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
For a split
second, Ensign Osborne contemplated his options, and then he opened the door.
Stepping out of the way, he whispered, “sir.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
In the middle
of the room, with eyes closed and hands raised, Celatrix Verna stood over
Kaiser Rudolpho Imler’s body, chanting, “requiem in pax.” The Merc guard
tightened up, hand on his service pistol. Sensing the sudden change, Celatrix
Verna slowly lowered her hands before opening her eyes. “This is precisely the
type of interference that we’ll have to avoid when my attendants arrive,
understand?” She said turning her head toward the Merc who stood stiffly stared
at the entry where Colonel Dagon waited. Focusing on the direction of the
Merc’s unwavering glare, she said, “Colonel Dagon. I didn’t expect you until
later.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“We need to
talk,” Dagon said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Go for it.
That’s your man,” she nodded toward the Merc.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Dagon ignored
the guard, saying, “they killed the Bard.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What!” she
practically shouted, before asking, “when?” in a more reasonable tone.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Chasing down
the Kaiser’s murderers.” Dagon shuddered, recalling the stench of burnt flesh
and hair. “Burned,” he added.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“It can’t be,”
Celatrix Verna sighed. She steadied herself by holding the exam table. Closing
her eyes, she clenched her teeth, thinking <i>two
today. It’s happening again. </i>After taking a few deep breaths, she said,
“this changes nothing. The Kaiser is our priority. I’ll tend to Bard Fintan
later. Have whatever’s left brought here.” With a slight twitch, she blinked away
her tears.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Celatrix,”
Dagon bowed.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Don’t turn,”
the Inquisitor ordered into the two-way radio, “pull over on the next block.”
The loaders in the maroon station wagon continued following them.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Mr. Jougs
glanced down the street where emergency vehicles and gawkers blocked oncoming
traffic. He chuckled, “looks like they got the fires out.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“That your
mess?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Had help,
didn’t I?” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You always
do,” Mr. Vorant chimed from the backseat.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“We wouldn’t
be the <i>duumviri</i> if I worked alone,
would we?” Jougs quipped. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Enough boys.
Something is wrong,” the Inquisitor said. “Either of you see the van?” With
both Jougs and Vorant shaking their heads in the negative, he holded down the
talk button, speaking into the mic, he ordered, “stay.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
A
static-filled voice came back with, “roger.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I’ll be right
back,” the Inquisitor said as he opened the stolen car’s passenger door. He
walked over to the station wagon, knocked on the driver’s window, and waited
for the window to roll down. “Get your boss on the line, now.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The loader
lifted up an ass cheek, straightening out his leg. He removed a slim silver phone
from his pants pocket, and then hit the speed dial. Once he heard it ring, he
passed the phone through the window. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“It’s not here,”
the Inquisitor stated. “Emergency services are everywhere.” Listening, he paced
to the back of the station wagon. After a minute he hissed, “quit wasting my
time. Do you have the van tagged or not?” He nodded, “good. The coordinates?”
Once he’d received them, he ended the call. At the driver’s door, he shoved the
phone through the window, “follow.” Once inside the stolen car, he ordered
Jougs, “south. Get on GV17.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Sergeant Caspian,” Adonis spit. “You’re
mislead. I’m not the enemy. This is treason.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“The prisoner
will shut his lying trap,” Caspian said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You have to
listen. I’m being set up. I haven’t done an—”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Crossing the
room in an instant, Caspian drilled a fist into Adonis’ face, “the prisoner
will remain quiet.” While returning to his station at the base of the stairs,
the kitchen door opened and General Tomlyn descended.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Sergeant,”
the general started, “why’s he bleeding?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“With respect,
sir, the prisoner needed an education.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Dismissed,
Sergeant,” General Tomlyn ordered, stepping into the basement. “Maintain a
position at the door. No one may enter, save Captain Prescott.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes, sir,”
Sergeant Caspian said before climbing the stairs. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“General
Tomlyn,” Adonis struggled to keep an even tone, “you’ve made a grievous error.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“That remains
to be seen, <i>traitor</i>,” General Tomlyn
roared.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“How dare <i>you</i>!”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Tomlyn rushed
forward. With his hands to Adonis’ throat, he growled, “how dare I? Did you so
easily forget your oaths?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Oaths!”
Adonis snorted, rolling his eyes. “Look at you. An oath means nothing.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Oathbreaker,”
the general said, hammering him with two swift blows to the temples. General
Tomlyn followed up with a jab to Adonis’ solar plexus. The former Chief Justice
rocked back in the folding chair, expelling all his air. He choked in gulps of
oxygen, while General Tomlyn slowly unbuttoned his uniform coat. “You will name
your accomplices.” He hung his coat over the white plank handrail and placed
his hat on the chair next to the stairs. Rolling up his sleeves, he smiled at
Adonis, “we’ve known each other a long time, Fraunx. I knew you were a piece of
shit. But, this…” He waved a hand, palm up, “this inexcusable devastation is
your doing.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Watching
Tomlyn’s every move, Adonis shied from the uplifted hand. “You know nothing.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“The Kaiser is
dead at your bidding,” Tomlyn said, walking over to one of the shelves. After
examining the contents, he picked up a cloth napkin, a candle, and a box of
matches. “The name of your hired gun?” Firmly shutting his mouth, Adonis stared
straight ahead. General Tomlyn crammed the napkin into Adonis’ mouth. He held
the napkin in place with one hand gripping Adonis’ face. He let go of Adonis,
lit the candle, and then whispered, “I’ve waited for this.” General Tomlyn moved
the candle flame close enough to Adonis’ ear to curl the surrounding hairs. When
the flame danced with Adonis’ earlobe, hot wax fell down his neck, his eyes
bulged, and he screamed into the cloth wad. Removing the napkin, Tomlin asked, “your
gunman?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You’re crazy!
You can’t do this!”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Laughing
heartily, General Tomlyn slapped Adonis in the burnt ear, “you’re a military
prisoner being interrogated for regicide. You have no rights.”</div>
<script>
(function(i,s,o,g,r,a,m){i['GoogleAnalyticsObject']=r;i[r]=i[r]||function(){
(i[r].q=i[r].q||[]).push(arguments)},i[r].l=1*new Date();a=s.createElement(o),
m=s.getElementsByTagName(o)[0];a.async=1;a.src=g;m.parentNode.insertBefore(a,m)
})(window,document,'script','//www.google-analytics.com/analytics.js','ga');
ga('create', 'UA-66666100-1', 'auto');
ga('require', 'linkid', 'linkid.js');
ga('send', 'pageview');
</script>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550820395250501390.post-28987886955682411352016-07-30T04:20:00.001-07:002021-03-01T19:25:14.265-08:00Umeris Suis<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Rector
Jameson, why haven’t you been relieved?” She listened to his answer while
bobbing her head up and down, “I see. Unfortunate. Can’t be helped. Have the
Order assemble in full garb along the route. Send my attendants with the duty
Scribus and Clericus to Sentinel Cemetery. Tell them to bring everything.
That’s all,” Celatrix Verna said into the handset. Hanging up the old fashioned
phone, she smiled to the Silvans and whispered, “too soon, you know? Weren’t we
just here with his father?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Seems like
it,” Jason whispered back.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Marcia bowed
her head and gripped Jason’s sleeve, she softly added, “I get the physics of
how. I don’t understand the why.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Only Mercury
knows,” Celatrix Verna replied, she shrugged her shoulders, and shook her head.
“You both are needed for the cleansing. Once we start no one can leave. Please
handle any urgent matters now.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Celatrix,
this is as urgent as matters get for us,” Jason swept his hand across the room,
“the dead have exemplary patience.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Point taken,” Celatrix Verna nodded. “You
recall the supplies we used for Kaiser Edward?” The Silvans both met her eyes
with slight indignation. Understanding the pride they took in their work, she
said, “good, we’ll need them again. Leave me a counter.” Standing at the door
to their office, she paused before opening it, looking back she said, “fear
not, Marcia. They will be avenged,” her voice dropped conspiratorially,
“tonight we witness the phoenix rise.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
With the force
of Celatrix Verna’s words, Marcia tightened her grip on Jason’s sleeve, pulling
him down on one side. He braced his left foot and pushed against Marcia’s added
weight. In silence the Silvans stood stalk still as the Celatrix slipped out.
They stared at the closed paneled office door covered in obituary notices. The
most recent snippet pertained to the distinguished service of retired Admiral
Richard Willard Tomlyn as well as information about his sudden death. As Marcia
wiped away a tear, her heart fell to her knees, “oh! Jason, we still have to
tell him. It can’t wait another day.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Well?”
Commander Dante asked from the relative safety of his backseat.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Not ready,”
Lieutenant Musgrove answered, glancing into the rearview mirror.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Are you
sure?” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“He’s still
pending.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“We can’t
wait. Who else do we know?” Dante spoke more to himself than to the lieutenant.
“What about that fellow that called it in?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Sir, we
shouldn’t use anyone who’s already been involved.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Dante grunted.
<i>He’s right. Sumbitch! </i>Running a hand
through his cropped hair, Dante stared out the window watching Sanctuary City
flash by. “You were raised here, yes?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes, sir.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Where’s the
roughest neighborhood?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“North. A
ways.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Does it have
a name?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Officially?
Fiery Heights,” the callous laughter emanating from the front seat told Dante
all he needed to know about the area. Even so, Lt. Musgrove’s final comment
sealed the deal, “unofficially? Hell Hill.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Perfect. Take
me to the nearest thrift store,” he ordered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Thrift store?
Sir, I don’t understand.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You heard
me.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes, sir,”
the confused lieutenant maneuvered the Iago Citadel into the left turn lane.
Once he’d made the turn, Musgrove said, “if you’re planning on going up there,
the thrift store won’t help.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What do you
mean?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Frankly, sir,
thrift clothes are too nice.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Too nice?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“If you don’t
mind my saying, sir, you need shit the drop-off centers throw away.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Are you
serious?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Have I ever
steered you wrong?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I suppose you
know where we can find one of these drop-off centers?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“We’re headed
there now. And, sir, the kids ‘roun’ heah call’em ‘clothes bins.’”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Amused, Dante snorted once, he kept the
smile from his lips. The next few hours would require complete self-control and
an open mind. Whatever his instinctual response, he’d soon need to display the
exact opposite behavior in a split second’s notice. He laughed outright.
“Musgrove what do you need to blend in?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Me, sir?”
Musgrove took a long look in the rearview mirror. Dante stared out the
passenger window. “A death wish and a reason.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Wish granted.
That’s your reason.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Sir?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“We don’t find
a replacement, we’re dead men.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
One hand held
the paddles and the other was in an iron grip around his crystal necklace, if
he ground his teeth any harder he’d need a dentist. The boat flowed with the
downstream current. Although a cool breeze chilled the early evening, sweat
rolled down Bonnie Taylor’s temples. The drugged women were still unconscious.
With luck they’d be on the barge before awakening. Since daylight had faded, a
handful of Muddy River pier lights had popped on, including the lights at the River
Guard Station where a slow white beam circled, river, sky, river, sky. Bonnie
bent over the paddles and held his breath as they silently drifted passed it.
Once clear, he slipped the paddles back into the water and picked up the pace. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Five minutes
later, through sheer determination, Bonnie Taylor brought the little boat to a
halt alongside a barge named, <i>D’ble V’sion</i>.
Using one of the paddles, he rapped on the hull three times, in quick
succession.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
A few seconds
later, a shadowed head appeared over a rail, in a gravelly voice he said, “’allo.
What’d’ya want?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Tell Captain
Decker that his guests are here.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Wait one,”
the watchman hissed. Bonnie Taylor could hear him walk off muttering, “like I’m
a damn messenger boy. Ain’t we got one already? Guests? What is th—” A pair of
crane arms appeared hanging over the side of the barge, the whispering watchman
asked, “know how to secure the rig?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yeah.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Good. I don’t
feel like climbing down. Two tugs when you’re ready.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Will do,”
Taylor answered through clenched teeth. Just a few more minutes, then he could
pass out. As soon as he had the chains secured, he yanked twice on the line.
The wench clicked to life and his boat slowly shuddered up out of the water. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
When the
paddle boat was even with the railing, the watchman whistled and three sailors
appeared out of the shadows. “Captain says, ‘State Room.’ Thinks that’s funny.
Let’s go, boys.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The soft and
warm pitter-patter suddenly turned into a freezing torrent that bit into Dagon’s
skin. He jerked up, dazed and hardly seeing, his head spinning in the opposite
direction from his guts. Holding onto the same corner of the bench which he
suspected nearly killed him, Dagon hefted himself onto his knees. Squinting
into the darkness that had swept over the little grove, he gently felt the lump
above his temple. <i>So close. </i>Closing
his eyes, he tried to orient himself by reaching across the aisle between the
two benches. At first he felt nothing, then his left fingertips slapped the wet
marble. He sighed. Once he’d turned completely around, he crawled forward on
three limbs, one hand a feeler sent to find the gazebo steps. By the time he’d
reached the relative dryness of the gazebo’s center, he was too wet to care. He
sat cross-legged, shivering while ringing out his sleeves, and wondering when his
ears would stop ringing. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Placing his
hands onto the gazebo floor, Dagon meant to readjust his posture, but found
himself frozen in place. Heat rose directly up his arms through the cold, wet
marble, instantly warming his whole body. Underneath him, the Eye of Mercury
blinked. Dagon’s heart jumped, though his body could not move. He held his
breath. The second the unrelenting pressure disappeared, pain exploded from his
injured head. Weaving back and forth with his eyes closed, he didn’t see the
floor pentagram glow first blue then white. He also missed the Eye of Mercury
scanning him. The steady heat suddenly vanished taking his pounding headache
with it. Crawling carefully, Dagon eased back down the gazebo steps. Once he
felt the cold squishy grass under his knees, he breathed again. Almost ten
minutes later, Dagon emerged from the little grove, squinting in the brilliant,
white LED lights that illuminated all the main paths inside Sentinel Cemetery. Breaking
into a full sprint toward the two story funeral home, he wondered how the
Silvans could live in this graveyard and not know about Mercury’s Portal.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The radio
operator held the headphone tightly, <i>that’s
it.</i> Her hand went to work furiously scribbling the series of long and short
beeps. When the message ended, the page was full. She closed down her station,
folded the code, and then slipped it into her back pocket. One of the other
radio operators, sat upright, fumbling with his pen. His eyes widened. He
stammered, “I—I can’t t-tell h-him th-that.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What is it,
Jones?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Jones shook
his head, chanting, ‘not me.’ </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
She grabbed
the page off his desk, read it over, folded it, and then stuck it in her back
pocket. She slapped his back, “I’ve got you, Jonesey. But, you gotta help.”
Changing the dial on his radio, she whispered, “hear anything, write.” Orders
were to go through Captain Prescott, who’d either be at the tavern or in the
Officer’s Barracks. Hoping to cut out the middle man, she headed for the Command
tent. She waited, listening for the captain’s voice. When it seemed safe, she
opened the canvas door and walked into the conference area where a single
sentry guarded the tent flap of General Tomlyn’s field office. “General in?” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Not to be
disturbed.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Can’t be
helped. Get him,” the radio operator pulled the two messages from out of her
pocket and waved them. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I’ll be the
judge of that,” he put a hand out.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The woman
moved his hand over, stepped into him, and huskily whispered, “Priority One
messages are Eyes Only.” She pushed on his shoulder as she swiveled under his
extended arm, “General Tomlyn?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What part of no disruptions?” the general
yelled.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The sentry,
shrugged and shook his head, “Priority One, sir.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Well, show
me,” General Tomlyn sat at his desk with one hand waiting.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
She opened the
two messages, putting the page of code on the bottom. <i>Better he learn about his father first,</i> she thought. To her
surprise, news of his father’s death was received with the slightest nod of the
head as the general flipped the page to read the second message.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Resume your
post,” he ordered. “Wait.” He stood up, saying, “tell Captain Prescott to get a
transport ready for the justices. Make sure they’ve got a full escort. And,
tell Captain Prescott the prisoner stays here.” </div>
<script>
(function(i,s,o,g,r,a,m){i['GoogleAnalyticsObject']=r;i[r]=i[r]||function(){
(i[r].q=i[r].q||[]).push(arguments)},i[r].l=1*new Date();a=s.createElement(o),
m=s.getElementsByTagName(o)[0];a.async=1;a.src=g;m.parentNode.insertBefore(a,m)
})(window,document,'script','//www.google-analytics.com/analytics.js','ga');
ga('create', 'UA-66666100-1', 'auto');
ga('require', 'linkid', 'linkid.js');
ga('send', 'pageview');
</script>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550820395250501390.post-75816775136570301492016-07-23T04:20:00.000-07:002016-07-23T18:26:32.517-07:00Pluere Mysteria<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Officer
Brimley, for the last time, put that gun down. You are seriously trying my
patience,” Celatrix Verna ordered from the morgue doorway. “We don’t have time
for games. Mercury’s Elite are required to patrol. You are not to challenge
them every two minutes. Your task is to observe and, if necessary, to defend.
Not to attack.” The Celatrix exhaled her frustration.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“But,
Celatrix, it’s not what you think…” Brimley’s plea trailed off as she holstered
her weapon. She pointed at the kneeling soldier, “he…nevermind,” Brimley
huffed.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Explain.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“He refused to
listen,” she blurted, “I told him no one was to enter while you were examining
Kaiser Imler.” Celatrix Verna waited. Ensign Osborne smirked looking up
slightly from where he knelt in the foyer. “I ordered him back, but he ignored
me. I didn’t pull my gun until he tried to shove me. Well, actually…uh…I threw
him onto the ground and then pulled my gun.” Brimley stared beyond Osborne,
hoping the Celatrix would understand.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Chuckling Ensign
Osborne stood up, “it’s true. She’s fast. I didn’t see it coming until I was
staring up at her.” The ensign bowed his head and said, “apologies, Celatrix.”
Then, he picked up the fallen supplies and asked, “now, may I return
these?” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You may,”
Verna said. “Be quick. Once the ministers arrive, no one will be allowed in
until the ritual is completed. Understood?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes’m,” he
answered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Good. I
assume you’re Ensign Osborne?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes’m.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“When you
finish, I need you and the Silvans.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What for?” he
snapped. She raised an eyebrow, then he quickly added, “my bad. I’ll get them.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Good,”
Celatrix Verna said. “Tell them I need the phone. We’ll be just outside. Come
get us.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes’m,”
Osborne said. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Brimley, with
me,” Celatrix Verna ordered as she strode to the front door. Once they were
several paces away from the posted guardsman, she whispered, “I have a task for
you. I’ll have no arguments. Understood?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes, Celatrix,”
Brimley said as lightning flashed.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“None.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes, Celatrix,”
the Amazonian woman stared warily up at the storm clouds.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Return to the
gardener’s house. Guard the occupants. Tell the lieutenant he’s to help you
escort them here for midnight. Make sure they all arrive here a few minutes
before midnight. Now, repeat the order.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Dammit, Dad!”
Captain Randle Dante, Jr. exclaimed as he slapped both hands on the table. “How
could you lose him?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“How?”
Commander Randle Dante, Sr. placed his hands on the table and pushed himself up
from the chair. “That damn fool boy believed what he saw. He waited until
Machine left to decapitate West and then made a run for it. We played the hand
too close.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Why did
Machine leave? You know what…I don’t care. Did you handle it?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I’ve got a
man on it.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Well, Dad,
don’t leave me hanging.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Locos took
Machine to hunt the boy down. After Machine identifies Wheelock, Locos will
kill him. Then, they’ll go directly to the pickup. I expect you to be available
at a moment’s notice. He’ll signal you when it’s time.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“So, you’ve
been acting up to get me pulled from duty?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Precisely.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“There wasn’t
an easier way?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“That was the
easy way.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Father and son
locked eyes in a battle of sheer will. The rules of the game had been
established when little Randy was an infant: no looking away, no blinking, no holds
barred. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The ambulance emergency
entrance at Ambrosia General Hospital was located on the south side of the
seven story complex. The aging hospital was as much a feature of Ambrosia as
was the Templus de Ambros, and though the hospital twice as tall, it only took
up a fourth of the space of the sprawling temple. The temple and hospital were
both filled with professionals intent on following their standard routines. Typically,
the paramedics would pop the back of the ambulance, pull out the stretcher, and
head directly into the drop off where they’d park the stretcher in front of the
nurse’s station in the waiting room. Given the delicacy of the situation, the
giant paramedic thought things would go smoother if they went straight to a
private room.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Wait with
him,” the paramedic ordered Balin. “I’m going to arrange a room. Then, we’ll
transfer him. Got it?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Balin nodded,
“sure. Wait here. I got it.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
When the
paramedic climbed out of the ambulance, thunder cracked. The tuxedo cat took
the opportunity to leave by jettisoning off Kent’s leg, causing the young man
to yell out, “stupid fucking cat!” Both Balin and the paramedic had to stifle
their laughter. The paramedic disappeared with the close of the rear door.
Balin bit his lower lip and turned his head away from Kent. If the young Bard
had been more observant, he might have noticed. As it stood, he pushed his head
further into the thin pillow and continued to stroke Aeolus with one hand while
Fulco nuzzled into the other.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
After a few
minutes, Kent said, “he’s dead.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Unsure of what
to say, Balin silently nodded.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Did you hear
me? He’s dead.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I heard. Yes,
he is.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I didn’t know
him. So, why does it hurt?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
To hide his
surprise, Balin coughed. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Don’t worry.
I don’t expect you to have the answers,” Kent said. “I just—he’s my—ah, sweet
Iphi! Fuck!” He used the hand he’d been petting Aeolus with to slap the gurney.
“What am I supposed to do now?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“We wait,
sir,” Balin answered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Don’t call me
that. What are we waiting for?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes, sir,”
Balin answered automatically. “We’re waiting for a room, the doctor, and
clearance. Then, we go to HQ. Once we get there, Colonel Dagon will help. You’ll
see.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I’m glad
you’re so damned sure,” Kent growled. “Quit calling me that.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Trust me, sir.
Colonel Dagon will help you,” Balin squeeze the disgruntled Bard’s shoulder.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Kent winced in
pain, rolled his eyes, and moaned, “whatever.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The cargo van
came to a stop two inches from an enormous oak tree. Hopping out of the van,
Bonnie Taylor rushed to the back, opened the doors, and then tapped his crystal
three times. He kicked off his shoes, tied the laces together, and hung the
pair from his neck. Inhaling a deep breath, he dug his toes into the ground and
gripped his crystal. On the exhale he relaxed his whole body. After repeating
the exercise ten times, he pulled and tugged on the top left shipping
container. Slowly, the container moved toward him. With great effort he yanked,
the container nearly flew out of the van. Using strength drawn from the earth
and his crystal, Taylor managed to remove all the containers. Once the last one
was down he ripped off the lids, revealing six unconscious and drugged women. <i>Bastards. I should have killed them. </i>Brilliant
white light filled the clouds, quickly followed by the ear-splitting thunder.
The hair on his arms danced in the growing wind. <i>Don’t worry ladies. You’re almost safe. </i>Heaving the two Darin women
over each of his shoulders, Taylor walked around the oak to a secret path which
he followed down to a tiny hidden inlet in the Muddy River. He unceremoniously
dropped the women into a waiting paddle boat, he muttered, “sorry ladies.” Then,
he made two more trips to do the same thing with the remaining women.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Before
climbing into the paddle boat, he unknotted his shoes, and put them back on. He
glowered at the offensive paddles, without the earth contact to ground him the
ache in his shoulder had grown commiserate with the efforts he’d just put
forth. Closing his eyes, he envisioned the route he’d take to reach the barge. Though
thankful for downstream currents, for the first time in ages he longed for an
engine. Once he’d sat down on the bench and secured the paddles, he began the
arduous and intensely painful process of shoving off. Any other man would have
passed out. Bonnie Taylor ground his teeth, tapped his crystal, and made it
happen. In a few minutes, he navigated through the stagnant inlet waters and
into the Muddy River current. With any luck they’d be on the barge before the
slavers found the van.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Though it had
begun to sprinkle, Dagon continued his slow and winding route to the main
offices of Sentinel Cemetery. Colonel Dagon finally had the opportunity and
privacy to breathe a little, rain or not, he meant to make the best of it. He
silently cursed the mess Adonis created, mourned the loss of a great leader,
and worried about his ability to protect the boy heir. His stomach knotted and
bile rose to his throat. He punched his hand and clamped his jaws closed to
resist the undeniable urge to scream out his frustrations. Recognizing how
inappropriate it would be for him to be seen flipping out, Dagon slipped into a
small grove down the left path leading further away from the funeral home. Inside
the grove was a beautiful small black marble gazebo surrounded by matching
black marble backless benches. As he approached the gazebo, he realized the steps
were etched. Upon closer inspection, he saw the entire front had been engraved
with a variety of vaguely familiar symbols. Curiosity got the better of him,
softly padding up the steps he stopped when he saw the giant pentagram engraved
in the black marble floor. At the center of the pentagram was the very familiar
Eye of Mercury. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Breath caught
in Dagon’s throat. He stiffened. His eyes darted over the carved columns, the
intricately designed railings, and the podium at the apex of the pentagram. <i>The Messenger’s Portal is real.</i> He
gingerly backed down the water slicked steps. <i>If the griffin king, messenger, and bard all exist and the bracelet and
portal are real…OH SWEET MERCURY!</i> Colonel Dagon slipped on the last step
and fell onto the grass, cracking his head on one of the benches. The impact
knocked him out. </div>
<script>
(function(i,s,o,g,r,a,m){i['GoogleAnalyticsObject']=r;i[r]=i[r]||function(){
(i[r].q=i[r].q||[]).push(arguments)},i[r].l=1*new Date();a=s.createElement(o),
m=s.getElementsByTagName(o)[0];a.async=1;a.src=g;m.parentNode.insertBefore(a,m)
})(window,document,'script','//www.google-analytics.com/analytics.js','ga');
ga('create', 'UA-66666100-1', 'auto');
ga('require', 'linkid', 'linkid.js');
ga('send', 'pageview');
</script>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550820395250501390.post-51719093525221780822016-07-16T04:20:00.000-07:002016-12-12T07:43:16.081-08:00Certa Arcani<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Karman Tunnel
ran parallel to the currently dry Paradise Aquifer,
in which generally flowed the runoff and floodwaters from Iphigenia. The
highway and the aquifer flowed on
an east-west axis through Sanctuary City toward the old capital. Staring over
the aquifer, using the highway
lamps to see, a kneeling Commander Dante carefully watched for any sign that he
should abort the night’s maneuvers. He followed the 5 minute rule by waiting an
extra two minutes before making his way through the brush alongside Paradise Aquifer. He staid in the shadows of
the great water oaks, the natural
sound barrier was meant to dull the noisesome traffic but actually served as
walls in a corridor for the winds rushing down from Iphigenia. The early evening
brought a chill that intensified each gust of wind that cut through his jacket.
For the umpteenth time that day, Dante cursed the unsavory politics forcing him
take covert actions. The commander of Camp Polkner, the desert hell of Poterit
Dan’s military-prison system, was sneaking through roadside brush on the way to
a clandestine meeting on the outskirts of Sanctuary City. He ground his teeth,
but kept moving. He had a schedule to maintain.<b><o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><div class="MsoNoSpacing">
When he neared
the rendezvous, he warily slowed his pace. In order to reach the abandoned
shack, he’d have to move through a small overgrown meadow which would render
him visible to passing vehicles. Since the meadow was the only break of the
tree line, passing drivers’ were likely to glance over. If he saw approaching
headlights, his best bet would be to duck into the waist high grasses. Once
again following the 5 minute rule, he watched and waited. When nothing untoward
revealed itself, he ventured to the stretch of open meadow. Though he desperately
wanted to be inside the shack, he knew better than to chance running through
the dimly lit field. Gophers, moles, snakes and Iphigenia knew what other
manner of ground dwelling creatures had long since claimed this as their home.
Which meant he could snap an ankle if he didn’t tread carefully. Ducking twice
for passing vehicles extended the amount of exposure, though not significantly.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
From a
distance the abandoned shack appeared as wooden ruins harkening to a distant
past where someone had imagined tending the land. Upon close inspection, the
wooden ruins proved a façade. Cautiously, Dante pushed the front door which
quietly swung open. He stepped into the shack and gently closed the door behind
him. The tiny bit of highway light, reaching through the door, disappeared. When
the door latch clacked, an interior light clicked. A dull red illuminated the
living area, where sat a single table with five chairs. Silently sitting in a
chair facing the door was a young man wearing the grey-blue uniform of the 69<sup>th</sup>
Motor Corps.
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Were you
followed?” Commander Dante asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Were you?” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The men gauged
each other, their similar cold green eyes locked. “No time for games, Randy,”
Commander Dante said. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Taking corners
slowly to keep the van upright though fast enough to expedite leaving the
warehouse district, Bonnie Taylor cautiously veered around the residential
areas. It wouldn’t due for him to draw suspicion now. He didn’t know if the
loaders had any kind of tracking device on the van, but he did know if
Ambrosia’s Enforcement Officers caught him no amount of truth would save him
from being arrested as a slaver. He couldn’t head directly to the boarding
house where he’d meant to take the girl, not with a bullet wound and a van full
of drugged up victims. Thinking of his wound caused the area around the entry
hole to flare. He gripped the steering wheel and ground his teeth. Using every
bit of energy he could spare he managed to keep his eyes from closing. The time
for clear thinking was quickly coming to an end. He needed to get the cargo out
of the van and somewhere safe, before he lost consciousness. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The Inquisitor
charged down the stairs, though stumbling in the process, he somehow managed to
skip the last three stairs without smacking his face on the concrete. “What
just happened?” he growled at the stunned group of men.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“The van…” one
of the loaders absently pointed to the empty dock.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“WHAT?” the
Inquisitor shouted.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Jougs said to
Vorant, “did you see that? The cargo drove off.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Vorant stared,
without speaking he gave Jougs a look that said <i>quit being an idiot.</i> </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Before Jougs
could respond, the Inquisitor was standing on the dock and waving them over.
“You,” the Inquisitor pointed to the man who had fought Jougs, “call it in. Van
got a beacon?” The loader shrugged. “Find out. If it does, tell’em to start
tracking it. And, let me know.” To the rest of the movers, he asked, “see
anything useful?” The men all shook their heads. “What a waste. Go commandeer a
vehicle. Something big enough to fit all of you. Misters Jougs and Vorant,
we’ve been compromised. One of you grab the area map out of the right top desk
drawer, the other get our bags together. I’ll be right back.” The Inquisitor knew
precisely where he could acquire a car. He’d passed a few only moments earlier
while looking for a temp to replace his missing cargo. Though he was irritated
beyond belief, he smiled as he left the warehouse. At least now, his team could
not be blamed for the fuck up. In fact, if they couldn’t locate the load, the
movers would take the fall. <i>Obviously,
someone followed them to the pickup.</i> His men were professionals, were the
other guys?</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Oh Rudolpho,”
Celatrix Verna whispered to the dead Kaiser. Her hand rested on his foot. She
held back tears as she took in the room. Kaiser Imler lay on an exam table, a
white sheet draped over his body. One of Mercury’s Elite Guardsmen maintained his
post on the opposite side of the exam table. He watched her every move. If she
wasn’t accustomed to having people watch her, she might have been creeped out.
As it stood, lack of privacy was one of the unfortunate realities of her
position. “Young man,” she said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes,
Celatrix?” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“How long have
you been with him?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Since he was
found.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Is anyone
available to relieve you?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Why? What
have I done wrong?” the guard asked defensively.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Because, dear
one, once I get started whoever is in here will be bound to remain throughout
the entirety of the ceremony. No bathroom breaks. No relief. Based on how
violently he died, I suspect we’ll be here until the wee hours, if not sunrise.
That means you’ll have to stay on duty and attentive far longer than a regular
watch.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Commander
Felis never said anything about that.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“He couldn’t
have known, dear. He wasn’t present during the last ceremony.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Oh.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“There’s time.
But, you must decide once my ministers arrive with the ritual equipment.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“The decision
is not mine. If I’m relieved before then, so be it,” he said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Are you sure?”
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
His chin lined
up perfectly with his chest as he directly faced her, saying, “I will remain at
my post until properly relieved.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Nodding once,
Celatrix Verna sighed. A determined Merc was practically unswayable; a Merc
following orders was unmovable. “When we begin, you’ll need to remain at the
back of the room.” As she turned to investigate the room, her hand dropped from
the Kaiser’s foot. “Has anyone else been in here, since he arrived?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“The Silvans,”
he answered. “And, Ensign Osborne.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Any others?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“No ma’am.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Good.” After
making a circuit around the room, glancing here and there, occasionally tidying
up a counter or shelf, she stopped in front of the door. “No one else may come
in here, until I return. Understood?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes, ma’am.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Sergeant
Caspian, when I get out of he—” the words stopped as suddenly as the slap delivered
across Adonis’ face. His cuffed hands involuntarily rose to his stinging cheek,
his mouth and eyes opened in shock, and he reeled backward from the impact. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“The prisoner
will remain quiet until questioned,” Sergeant Caspian ordered. He had no
intention of listening to a prisoner threaten him, regardless of who that
prisoner had been. The basement of Goldie’s Revenge, a well-stocked supply room
for the tavern, contained pickled and canned goods, shelves full of varied
wines and spirits, tablecloths and extra seating. Caspian shoved a hand against
Adonis’ chest, “the prisoner will remain here,” he pushed in emphasis, “until
ordered to sit.” Caspian released Adonis who stood still, glowering at the
soldier. Quickly crossing the room, Caspian grabbed two folding chairs from the
stack against the far wall. He set up one in the center of the basement, the
other he placed in front of the stairs. Motioning to the center chair, he
ordered, “the prisoner will sit.” With murder on
his mind, Adonis dropped his cuffed hands, and then slowly walked over to the
chair. Before he sat down, he asked, “any idea how long we’ll be down here?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“The prisoner
will sit.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Fine,” Adonis
mumbled. “There is no reason to treat me like this.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“The prisoner
will remain quiet unt—”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes, I know,”
Adonis hissed.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The two women,
dangling their legs over the edge of Sander’s Plateau, enjoyed the town
speckled view of the blackened valley below. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“It’s
beautiful,” Praline whispered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I don’t know
about that,” Carmel countered. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Oh common,
love,” Praline pointed, “those are lights. Which means people. And, way out
here in bum fuck…no one knows us.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“We’ve got to
be more careful here than anywhere else we’ve been. We kype shit from the wrong
person, they throw us in that work prison. I won’t do hard time,” Carmel said. “Not
here.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“So stay on
your game and it won’t matter,” Praline drawled.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Do you think
those boys will come looking for us?” Carmel asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Thinking about
it, Praline exhaled, coughed, and then said, “they might. But, right now? No You
heard all those questions and saw where we found them. Besides, I think they’re
looking for Jack. If he and Shadow made it to Divers City, then it’ll be a long
while before we have to worry about them.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Neither spoke
for a few moments. Silently and carefully, both scooted back from the lip
drawing their feet in. Once they were safely away from the edge, Praline turned
on a flashlight with a red lens. It provided enough light for them to pick
their way back to the dugout they’d made into a camp. Peak Darin gave way
enough for the dugout to block the majority of the wind, while the handful of
nearby trees and protruding rocks sheltered them from the rest. Though someone
below might see an occasional flicker of the tiny campfire, that person would
need a much higher altitude to glimpse the actual blaze and see the shadows
moving on the cliff wall. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Why do you
think they’re after Jack?” Carmel asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Remember the
night we met him? He was injured and freaked. That wasn’t a hunting accident.
Except. Maybe it was, what with those boys hunting him.” Praline shuffled half
of the double deck of playing cards, dropped a quarter and then grabbed part of
the other half. She repeated the shuffle with the last of the cards, put the
whole in front of Carmel and rapped on the top card, “cut.” With the cards cut,
Praline set most of the deck on their makeshift playing table, and dealt out 13
cards. “Rummy?”</div>
<script>
(function(i,s,o,g,r,a,m){i['GoogleAnalyticsObject']=r;i[r]=i[r]||function(){
(i[r].q=i[r].q||[]).push(arguments)},i[r].l=1*new Date();a=s.createElement(o),
m=s.getElementsByTagName(o)[0];a.async=1;a.src=g;m.parentNode.insertBefore(a,m)
})(window,document,'script','//www.google-analytics.com/analytics.js','ga');
ga('create', 'UA-66666100-1', 'auto');
ga('require', 'linkid', 'linkid.js');
ga('send', 'pageview');
</script>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550820395250501390.post-39503311529285418872016-07-09T04:20:00.000-07:002016-07-09T19:50:04.303-07:00Liceat Mihi<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Whipping the
Iago Citadel through Sanctuary City’s evening traffic, Lt. Musgrove watched the
mirrors for signs of a tail. He used every evasion method he could recall from
his questionable youth, and after 30 minutes of borderline reckless driving, he
resumed his regular driving habits. As ordered, he drove into eastbound traffic
headed for the Karman Tunnel. Once inside the tunnel, Musgrove hit his
emergency flashers and slowed down. At the midpoint of the tunnel, he stopped
the car, and popped both the hood and the trunk. He waited for a break in
traffic, then climbed out. From the trunk he removed two emergency triangles,
which he spaced out behind the car to give oncoming vehicles a warning. He
tapped on the rear driver’s side window, nodded to Commander Randle Dante, Sr.,
and then went about the business of tinkering with the engine. The moment
Musgrove’s head disappeared behind the hood, Dante slipped out of the passenger
side of the Citadel. The commander walked against traffic toward the nearest
emergency exit. While Dante disappeared through the tunnel door, Musgrove
recovered the emergency triangles, closed up the Citadel, and then drove off. Musgrove
had his orders: drive around aimlessly and in two hours return to the drop off
point.</div>
<a name='more'></a><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“If you’re
going with him, then climb in,” the titan paramedic said to Balin. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The pacing
ensign looked up at the paramedic, nodded once, and then clambered into the
back of the ambulance. “How long will it take us to get to the hospital?” Balin
asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“‘Bout ten
minutes. Depends on traffic,” the paramedic answered as he closed the rear
doors. He quickly verified the stretcher was secured, then slapped the wall of the
ambulance cab. The driver took the signal, started the engine, and began
maneuvering through the streets.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The young man
lay on the stretcher watching the ceiling, though still absently petting the
dead bird, his hysterical laughter had abated. While Fulco nuzzled Aeolus, the
tuxedo cat curled itself between Kent’s legs. “Wait!” Kent shouted. “You can’t
leave him!” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The giant
glanced at Balin who shrugged imperceptibly. “We aren’t,” the paramedic said
reassuringly, “there’s another crew that will bring the others.” He
contemplated adding<i> he needs a hearse,
not an ambulance, </i>but between the dead falcon and the prior hysterics, the
man refrained. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Where are you
taking me?” Kent asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“The
hospital,” Balin answered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I don’t need
a hospital,” Kent said. “I’m not hurt.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You’re in
shock,” the paramedic replied, placing a hand on Kent’s shoulder. “It’s okay.
After what you’ve seen, anyone would be.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Shock,” Kent
repeated. He closed his eyes, leaned into the hard pillow, and continued to pet
Aeolus.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The two men
glanced sideways at each other, but held their tongues even though both were
certain that Kent suffered from far more than shock. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Circling
inside the funeral parlor, a panicked Patrick Field wondered, <i>where the hell did he go?</i> The posted
guardsmen either didn’t know or refused to say where Commander Felis had gone,
and no amount of arguing made them see reason. He was told to wait in the
parlor until the commander returned. That he claimed to have information
straight from Colonel Dagon made little difference, most likely because he
wasn’t one of them. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You’re gonna
wear out the carpet,” the old man said from where he sat near the stage.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Continuing his
circuit, Patrick chewed his bottom lip and held tightly to Colonel Dagon’s
black bag.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I don’t think
he heard you,” Colonel Lara Thompson said as she turned her head to follow the
distracted groundskeeper. She kept one hand on the old man’s thigh. The two
injured and amused retirees watched as they waited for Ensign Osborne to return
with medical supplies. While under their observation, Field’s pace quickened
and his limp became more pronounced.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You really
ought to sit, son,” General Marshall Michaels said as Field passed by. “Give
yourself a rest or you’ll be done for.” Michaels knowingly shook his head. Having
commanded many soldiers in his day, Michaels knew the sign of oncoming shin
splints. If the gardener wasn’t careful, he’d end up unable to walk at all.
Instead, he’d suffer through the sheer magnitude of millions of pin pricks
overwhelming his nervous system. Michaels whispered to Thompson, “when the
ensign returns, I say we force that young man to rest. I’d do it myself, but
I’m already done in.” He glanced down at his throbbing, swollen ankle. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I’ll handle
it, love,” Thompson slowly stood up, her entire body protested. She took a few
steps toward Field who was nearly through another circuit. Timing it perfectly,
she wobbled, and then fell. Though distracted, Field managed to instinctively
reach out and stop the old lady’s descent. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You really
shouldn’t be walking around in your condition,” he mumbled as he helped her
back to her seat. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“One to talk,
aren’t you?” she asked clutching his forearm in a surprising iron grip. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Huh?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Don’t play
coy,” Colonel Thompson said as she pulled down on his arm. The action forced
him to put pressure on his sore leg. Field winced. “As I thought. Sit down,
young man,” she ordered. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Helpless to do
otherwise, Field looked to the general, who simply smiled and nodded. Caving
in, the groundskeeper plopped in the chair on the other side of the colonel. She
patted his shoulder and then leaned into her own chair, her feet sprawled out
in front of her. Recognizing the wisdom, the two men followed suit. About the
same time Field finally started to relax, the front door to the funeral home
opened. He jumped to attention.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Celatrix,
please,” the Amazonian officer pleaded.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I explained
what must happen, why fight it?” Celatrix Verna asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I’m not
fighting. I’m trying to protect you. How can I ensure your safety, if you
refuse to let me search places before you enter?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“None of us
are safe,” Verna sighed. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I don’t care
about others. My duty is to protect you.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Hush, before
you say something you regret. Be happy that we beat the rain.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“But, Celatr—”
Officer Brimley’s whine abruptly stopped as the mortuary door squeaked open. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Unaware of the
Celatrix’s entrance, Ensign Osborne shoved his way into the foyer, his arms
overloaded with gauze, slings, peroxide, and various other medical supplies. He
nearly dropped his load when he looked down the barrel of Brimley’s service
pistol. “Get that out of my face,” the pissed off soldier shouted.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Try and make me,”
Brimley calmly replied.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Stop it!”
Celatrix Verna and Colonel Thompson ordered. As their commands mingled, the two
women briefly locked eyes, raised their eyebrows, and then curtly smiled at one
another.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Brimley and
Osborne froze threatening action with their grimaces, yet unwilling to move. Placing
a hand on Brimley’s outstretched gun arm, Celatrix Verna shook her head. Exhaling
through her nose, Brimley relaxed her stance, but kept a wary eye on Osborne
who hesitated to turn his back. He side stepped into the parlor before striding
toward Colonel Thompson and the general who snorted once.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The pound of the bullet and sudden impact
of the sidewalk with dead weight on his chest had forced the air out of his
lungs. The thwap of his head onto the concrete must have knocked him senseless.
Feeling every one of his 64 years, Bonnie Taylor lay where he landed
simultaneously thankful the girl had been removed from his chest and cursing
that he’d lost her. Instinctively, his right hand reached for the crystal
necklace his son had given him—the boy’s last Saturnalia gift. He gripped the
crystal with all his strength and willed himself into a sitting position. He
groaned. The sky growled and the clouds flashed. The back of his head ached,
his shoulders were stiff, and his ribcage felt like it had lost the battle with
a leviathan. For additional kicks, the spot below his left shoulder blade
pulsed and a warm wet substance ran down his back. He tried to reach his left
hand to his back, but the action forced his body to convulse as his brain
violently objected. He let go of the crystal to feel his back with his right
hand. The effort pained him and rewarded him with blood smeared knuckles. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Get up old
man,” Bonnie Taylor muttered to himself.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
With his feet
under him, he stumbled to the nearest graffitied wall, where he stabilized
himself. Whole sections of Shipping Lane were gaping black holes in the dim
yellow light put off from the occasional working street lamp. In good weather
this street would be filled with every wonder imaginable; many most would
rather not imagine. He sighed, <i>so close.
We only had two blocks to go. Don’t worry girl, I’m not done yet.</i> Gripping
the crystal with his left hand, he stumbled down the street, and used his right
hand as a brace against each building that he passed by. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Hobbling
along took him longer to reach the warehouse than he preferred. Keeping to the
shadows, he eased up to the building whose front was still unguarded. Painfully
working his way around the building, he paused to watch for movement when he
saw the grey cargo van. Few good hiding
places existed alongside to the warehouse. Fortunately the nearby buildings lacked
lighting, offering plenty of shadows. Circling around the outside of the
parking lot, he timed his movements to the thunder, holding still during the
lightning. From fifty feet away and hidden in the dark of another warehouse,
Bonnie Taylor watched as one of the shipping containers disappeared into the
back of the grey cargo van. Like the storm, he closed in. Gripping his battered
cloak as he darted across the lot, he silently counted, <i>twelve, thirteen, fourteen, stop. </i>Two stops later he found himself
leaning against the front of the van. He snuck over to the driver’s side and
silently opened the door. Shoving his blade up into the surprised driver’s
throat, he then eased the body across the bench seat. Once he’d slid in, he
gingerly pulled the door closed. When one of the loaders closed the van’s
doors, he turned the ignition switch and gunned it. </div>
<script>
(function(i,s,o,g,r,a,m){i['GoogleAnalyticsObject']=r;i[r]=i[r]||function(){
(i[r].q=i[r].q||[]).push(arguments)},i[r].l=1*new Date();a=s.createElement(o),
m=s.getElementsByTagName(o)[0];a.async=1;a.src=g;m.parentNode.insertBefore(a,m)
})(window,document,'script','//www.google-analytics.com/analytics.js','ga');
ga('create', 'UA-66666100-1', 'auto');
ga('require', 'linkid', 'linkid.js');
ga('send', 'pageview');
</script>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550820395250501390.post-57924059897401983582016-07-02T04:20:00.000-07:002016-07-02T17:41:40.678-07:00Manus Iniectio<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Spinning
around a bit too quickly, Ensign Sebastian Balin wobbled on his feet. His eyes
locked onto a hysterical Kent Wheelock and the ridiculous scene in the bed of
the old militia truck. Tears rolled down Kent’s right cheek while he unseeingly
stared beyond the gathering of onlookers and he absently petted a dead falcon.
Hopping around in the truck bed next to Kent was a second falcon that
occasionally used its beak to nudge the dead one’s head. Finally, a tuxedo cat
with half-closed eyelids, lay sprawled out in the truck bed, watching the
falcon’s grief dance. Though his mouth dropped open, Balin’s eyes narrowed. Approaching
cautiously, Balin attempted to use his body to block the view of the truck bed.
Even over Kent’s laughter, Balin could hear the not-so-soft whispers of the
retirees.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“That boy’s
got two birds.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Reckon he’s a
baby Bard?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Kinda looks
like old Fintan, don’t he?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“It’s the
eye.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Caught between
the two camps, the gruff giant of a paramedic stared in disbelief. He’d once
heard an old saying about no genius without an element of madness, and while he
believed that Fintan had been a bardic genius, he incapable of seeing how the
obviously insane one-eyed boy could ever be anything but mad. He stalked over to
Balin, grabbed the soldier’s gun arm, and said, “he can’t stay here. He’s lost
it. We’ve got to shut him up.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Looking down
at the hand gripping his arm, then glancing up at the paramedic, Balin calmly
ordered, “remove your hand.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Sorry. I just…let’s
move him to the ambulance. He can’t stay here. It—it isn’t right.” The
paramedic bowed his head and closed his eyes. After a few seconds, he opened
them again, “any minute now, those people,” he used his chin to point to the
growing crowd of onlookers, “are going to drop to their knees. If they do that,
then he’s got to go over there and recognize each one. We didn’t say anything
to the crew because we didn’t want to push him over the edge. They’re already
talking. We don’t have time to argue. You want to protect him? Help me.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Okay,” Balin
sighed. “What do we do?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I’ll carry
him to the ambulance. You grab his stuff,” the giant paramedic answered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Uh…I
don’t…okay,” Balin caved. Stepping up to the truck bed, Balin said, “hey? Um.
We’re going to move you. So, just—well—just don’t fight, okay?” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
At the corner
of Beacon Street and Shipping Lane, the Inquisitor took a left and headed
directly into the warehouse district’s worn-out prostitution and drug
trafficking thoroughfare. The long abandoned buildings spoke of neglect with
each broken window and graffitied wall. Though tempted to grab the first girl
that he saw, the Inquisitor refrained. Most of the girls working this part of
the street were monitored by watchful pimps or their muscle. He needed some
girl no one would miss, perhaps a junkie trying to score her next fix. The
further in he walked, the greater the distance he’d have to travel back with
the temp. So, he also needed a nearby girl who could move quickly, which was likely
not a junkie. As he pondered his options and continued moving up Shipping Lane,
he nearly tripped upon seeing an old man with a goatee carrying an unconscious
woman who looked suspiciously like his missing cargo. If he acted now, he could
dispatch the old man, grab his cargo and make it back before the movers were
ready for the last container. That also meant that they wouldn’t need to go
looking for the missing girl. In fact, if he handled the situation correctly,
they’d be able to continue with Plan B and maintain the original schedule. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
He slowed his
pace and eased closer to the buildings where he’d be less visible in the fading
light. Any minute now, the street lights would whine and flash before turning
the darkening street into a dingy yellowed version of itself. The hair on his
arms rose, not from fear, but from a change in atmospheric pressure. The storm
front had finally reached Ambrosia. Thunder roared, though no lightening
struck. <i>Finally, something is going
right,</i> the Inquisitor thought. Running softly up Shipping Lane, the
Inquisitor closed the distance. A count of twenty and again the thunder roared.
When he was within range, he flicked his right arm causing his hidden gun to
slide into his waiting hand. <i>Seventeen.
Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty.</i> The sound of his gun fire was obscured by the rolling
growl of the thunder. Watching his prey drop, he quickly glanced up and down
the street. The few stragglers he saw were far too concerned with beating the
rain than with anything they might have seen or heard. A trickle of red oozed
out from under the old man. The doped up girl hadn’t moved at all after their
fall. He maintained a ready position with his gun hand as he approached.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Escorting the
Chief Justice from the Command Tent back to Goldie’s Revenge, Captain Prescott
did his best to maintain a stern expression, even though he was simultaneously
confused and ecstatic. From the moment the justices had arrived at Goldie’s,
Adonis had behaved as an arrogant ass accustomed to acquiescence. It brought
Captain Prescott no end of joy to have handcuffed Adonis. But, when his
thoughts wandered to why it was necessary, Prescott’s stomach wavered and his
head hurt. <i>How? How could he betray us?</i>
The questions repeated in the back of Prescott’s mind. The few whispered words
from General Tomlyn had only been enough for Prescott to grasp the gravity of
the matter that Adonis was somehow complicit in the destruction of Avalona. And
that, too, caused his stomach to flip. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“This is
untenable,” Adonis complained.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“The prisoner
will remain quiet until questioned,” Prescott ordered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I’m the Chief
Justice. You can’t do this to me,” he whined.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“The prisoner
will remain quiet until questioned.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Quit saying
that. You have to let me go. There’s been a terrible misunderstanding.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“The prisoner
will remain quiet…”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Easy boys!”
Jougs yelled at the two movers who teetered on the edge of the dock. Their
cargo van was parked as close as it could get with the rear doors wide open. A
single 4x6 plank acted as makeshift ramp that they were using to slide each container
to the two loaders who then stacked and strapped the containers in. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“He better get
back here soon,” Vorant whispered, checking over his shoulder to the dock where
half of the containers were waiting. He held one end of the second to last
crate.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“We never
should have moved those,” Jougs said as he picked up the other end.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“He ordered us
to move all but the one,” Vorant said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The two men
started toward the loading dock, when Jougs suddenly stopped. Staring across
the crate, Jougs smiled, and boisterously yelled, “it’s slipping. I’m gonna
drop it.” He yanked his hands from under the crate and jumped back as it fell.
Luckily for Vorant, years of working together prepared him to let go as soon as
Jougs said ‘slipping.’ The crash of the container laden with human cargo
resounded throughout the practically empty warehouse.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Easy boys,”
one of the loaders mocked. The man clapped his hands together, saying, “look at
you. Since we got here you’ve gotten in the way and barked at us. Far as I can
tell, you’re just a grunt like me. Well. Not like me. I don’t drop pay dirt.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What did you
say?” Jougs pivoted towards the loader.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You heard
me.” The man stepped through the bay door.
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Now, Jougs,”
Vorant half-heartedly warned.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Don’t,” Jougs
answered. He smirked at Vorant before he crossed the warehouse floor. “You got
a problem?” He stopped a foot from the yellow loading line painted onto the
floor to warn workers not to stack things in front of the doors. Just behind
the vocal mover, the rest of his crew had put down their crates. Jougs stood
with arms open, knees slightly bent, and his feet apart. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The mover ran
a hand through his thick hair, glanced over his shoulder at his crew, and then
took a step toward the yellow line, “yeah. I got a problem.” He shifted his
weight back onto his right foot and lifted his right fist in a round-house. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Stepping in,
Jougs threw a combo left-right-left, each undercut landing swift and solid on
the man’s ribcage. He staggered backward as Jougs came forward with a series of
jabs to the man’s neck and chin. In 40 seconds, the mover sat four feet from
the yellow line, his eyes crossed, and a hand holding his jaw. While the man
sat weaving, Jougs dropped his fighting stance, and glared at the rest of the
movers. “Anyone else got a problem with your foreman?” After staring down each
silent man in turn, Jougs said, “then get back to work.” He purposefully turned
from the dock, heading toward Vorant. Both his fists were balled up and ready
to strike.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Don’t even
think about it,” the Inquisitor’s voice boomed from the loft where he stood in
the office doorway. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The mover
dropped the crowbar. Steel bouncing on concrete echoed throughout the
warehouse. Jougs spun around, eyes widened as he realized that the mover had
nearly brained him with steel in the expected sneak attack. “Why you worthless
piece of shit!” Jougs shouted, stepping toward the man.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The Inquisitor
ordered, “stop!”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
From habit,
Jougs froze. He relaxed his balled up fists and waited. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The only noise
was the distinct sound of the Inquisitor’s impatiently tapping foot. “We’re on
a schedule, gentlemen. Get back to work.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What do you
mean by this?” Justice Cal Davies slurred while holding the table and chair to
keep from falling over. “Adonis is a member of the Antigone Courts. You can’t put
him in handcuffs.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Sir,”
Sergeant Caspian said as he grabbed the drunken justice’s elbow, “take your
seat. We’re under orders.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“This is
preposterous,” Justice Frederick Mayfield said from his chair. He knew better
than to try to stand. “What are the charges?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Fraunx?”
Justice Jo Casta asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Justices,”
Captain Prescott said, holding up a hand, “you’ll be appraised when General
Tomlyn orders it. For the time being, you’ll be escorted to the Officer’s
Barracks where the other justices are resting.” He pushed Adonis toward the
double doors leading to the kitchen. As they passed by the bar, Prescott
noticed Goldie still lying on the floor, though she leaned on her forearms and
stared at the spectacle. He winked at her before passing through the doors into
the kitchen. They walked to the left of the range, where Prescott opened a door
that led down to the basement cold storage. Flipping the light switch, Prescott
ordered, “Sergeant, accompany the prisoner into the basement. I’ll send relief
shortly. He is not to be left alone for any reason. Understand?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes, sir,”
Sergeant Caspian answered. “This way,” the sergeant said to Adonis. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Adonis held
his ground in the entryway, “I’m not going down there. This is a conspiracy.
I’m the Chief Justice!”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Either you walk or I shove you,” the
sergeant growled. </div>
<script>
(function(i,s,o,g,r,a,m){i['GoogleAnalyticsObject']=r;i[r]=i[r]||function(){
(i[r].q=i[r].q||[]).push(arguments)},i[r].l=1*new Date();a=s.createElement(o),
m=s.getElementsByTagName(o)[0];a.async=1;a.src=g;m.parentNode.insertBefore(a,m)
})(window,document,'script','//www.google-analytics.com/analytics.js','ga');
ga('create', 'UA-66666100-1', 'auto');
ga('require', 'linkid', 'linkid.js');
ga('send', 'pageview');
</script>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550820395250501390.post-75107561059206434422016-06-25T04:20:00.000-07:002016-06-25T20:15:15.756-07:00Me Miserum<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Plan B, like
the Inquisitor’s original Plan A, depended as much upon adequate personnel as
it did proper timing. With Gasoleo and Butano out of the equation, the
untenable Plan A had been ditched. The Inquisitor and Jougs split up to search
the outside of the warehouse, while Vorant took the inside. So far neither of
his men had let out the tale-tell whistles meaning they’d located the woman.
Glancing at his wrist watch, the Inquisitor cursed the last hour. The pickup
crew would arrive on the docks any minute. They expected six shipping crates
filled with six dosed and unconscious women. Time for Plan C. The Inquisitor
returned to the warehouse front entrance and let out one long shrill whistle. A
couple minutes later Jougs and Vorant ran up to meet him. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Any luck?”
Vorant asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You hear two
long whistles?” the Inquisitor roared.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Vorant shook
his head in the negative and kept his mouth shut. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Take the full
containers to the dock. Then, stay with them until the movers arrive. Keep the
movers busy with the preloaded cargo. I’ll be back with a temp to shove in the
empty. Soon as they’re gone with the whole load, we find this bitch and
whoever’s helping her. Got me?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The <i>duumviri </i>nodded in ascent and headed
into the warehouse. Once the warehouse door closed and they were certain the
Inquisitor couldn’t hear, Jougs whispered, “a temp?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Shut it,”
Vorant growled through clenched teeth.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Soon as the
shipment arrives, they’ll know,” Jougs continued.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“They won’t be
upset about the extra body. Cargo’s cargo, man.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“They’ll know
something happened,” Jougs insisted.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Something did
happen,” Vorant said. “You lost one. What were you doing upstairs? Huh?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
For the first
time in ages, Jougs really looked at Vorant. They were about the same height
and build, though Vorant was at least 20 pounds heavier and 5 years older.
Vorant’s dimpled chin and crow’s feet belied him as a man who enjoyed life; when
in reality, the man enjoyed taking lives. Shrugging, Jougs said, “looking for a
place to whack off.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Vorant’s eyes
narrowed, he pressed his lips together. After a heartbeat, he said, “how
long’ve we worked together?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I don’t know.
Wasn’t keeping track. Why, <i>sugar</i>?
Looking to celebrate our anniversary?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I’ve caught
you dick deep in cargo, what? 10-20 times?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yeah. So?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Six
unconscious sperm receptacles and you want me to believe you were upstairs
spanking your monkey?” Vorant leaned in and whispered, “I call bullshit.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Call whatever
you want, doesn’t change facts,” Jougs squared his shoulders and stared
directly at Vorant.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You saw a
chance, went up looking,” Vorant said as he matched Jougs’ stance, “what were
you looking for?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Don’t got
time for this. Gotta get the cargo on the dock before the movers get here,”
Jougs took a step forward, “you coming?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Vorant shoved
a hand onto Jougs’ chest, “you better talk while we load.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Fine,” Jougs
grumbled, pushing the hand away. While they crossed the warehouse floor to the
shipping crates, Jougs pondered his options. <i>Will he tell the Inquisitor I was up there nosing around? If he does,
I’m dead. He’s your partner. You gotta tell’im. But…if he don’t like what you
say… Saperstein took one to the head for acting suspicious. What was that? Two
years ago? </i>Jougs rolled his neck and shoulders, stretched his back and did
a couple squats before grabbing his end of the crate. After they’d both grunted
from the effort, he began, “this job’s been screwy from the start. Two men missing.
Bird stalking us. Inquisitor acting weird. Ain’t a normal op, is it? I’m just
trying to cover our six…”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Behind the
fence of the light blue house with the flaming shed, in a gully under an oak
tree, Fulco screeched and mourned his father, Aeolus. The young bird fluttered
and hopped, opened his beak and cawed. He nudged Aeolus’s body with his beak,
but the elder did not move. The grieving falcon did not hear the rustle as the
tuxedo cat quietly approached. Fulco was too wrapped up in his loss to notice
the crouching cat with its head between its front paws and its ass slowly wiggling
in the air. Fulco cried out, singing, “who am I? They all lied. I’ll never
know, that’s how it goes. Head hangs low, too many woes.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
At the squawky
vocals, the tuxedo cat paused, mid-pounce. His tail twitched. He dug his hind
feet in and settled down to watch. When it became apparent that the wailing
bird was oblivious to the lurking danger, the tuxedo cat edged forward, and
loosed a low-level rumbling, “mrhah, mrhah, mrhah.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Though caught
by surprise, Fulco leapt forward, screeching, “back! Back!” He puffed up his
feathers, flapped his wings, and kept up the squawking chant, “back! Back!”
Quite suddenly, Fulco’s puffy plumage deflated, his wings fell to his side, and
he completely stopped vocalizing. He turned his head, blinked a single eye at
the tuxedo cat, and then bobbed his head three times. The cat got up and
mimicked Fulco’s actions. They watched each other for a brief time. Then, the
cat padded over to Fulco, bowing down before the bird. The stance was eerily
similar to the pre-pounce. Fulco hopped onto the cat’s proffered back, saying,
“my father.” Turning, the tuxedo cat dipped his head down and picked up the
dead falcon just under the shoulders. With Aeolus draped from his mouth, the
cat headed toward the commotion from the fire crews still fighting the blazing
shed. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The Command
tent was twice as large as the tent housing the Officer’s Barracks. The main
compartment held an oversized table covered in area maps and surrounded by
enough chairs to fit all the Regional Generals and the Kaiser’s advisory staff.
A small contingency of young soldiers zipped around the room, oblivious to the
intrusion of the Chief Justice and his escort. In the rear of the tent hung a
makeshift divider, in front of which stood an enormous and well-armed sentry.
The sergeant directed Adonis to the sentry, who came to attention when they
approached. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Name and
business,” the gruff giant ordered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Adonis opened
his mouth, but before he could say anything, the sergeant answered, “Chief
Justice Fraunx Adonis. As requested by the General.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The giant
sentry half turned to repeat the information, when from behind the divider General
Tomlyn ordered, “bring him here. Then, clear my tent. Sergeant Caspian, tell
Captain Prescott his presence is required.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Caspian, eh?”
Adonis inquired of the sergeant. “We’re not done.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The younger
man, smiled, winked, and blew Adonis a kiss.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You son of a
whore,” Adonis barked as he attempted to grab the sergeant. Stopped cold by the
giant sentry, Adonis was spun around and shoved through the divider. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Pardon me?”
General Tomlyn said, “I must have heard you wrong.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Not you,”
Adonis hissed, whipping his head toward the divider, “that insolent sergeant!” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Good. The
last man that called my mother a whore still eats his meals out of a tube,”
General Tomlyn said casually. “Sit,” he indicated a metal folding chair in
front of his temporary desk. “We’ll begin once Captain Prescott arrives.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Begin what?”
Adonis asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Sit.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I’m Chief
Justice of the Antigone Courts of Poterit Don. Answer me!” Though the
temperature in the Command tent was cool, sweat formed on Adonis’ upper lip.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Sit down,”
Tomlyn ordered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Not until you
tell me what is going on.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You really
should take this opportunity, while it’s offered,” Tomlyn replied.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Adonis stared
at General Tomlyn’s dimpled chin, he thought about knocking it off the blowhard’s
smug face. He’d been so irked at the sergeant’s behavior, he hadn’t thought
about what it might mean. <i>Soldiers emulate
their leaders. Tomlyn’s been disrespectful from the outset. Which means…he
knows…or thinks he knows something.</i> He put a hand on the back of the metal
folding chair, for a split second he imagined himself smashing the general’s
face in with it, and then he gingerly sat down. Once seated, he steepled his
fingers, and took a couple deep breaths through his nose while his gaze never
wavered from General Tomlyn’s grey eyes. At the moment that Adonis opened his
mouth to speak, Captain Prescott entered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“They said you
needed me, sir?” Captain Prescott asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Come here,”
Tomlyn ordered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The captain
let go of the divider and crossed the room. When he reached the general’s desk,
he leaned over, saying “sir?” As the general whispered to the captain a wave of
shock quickly appeared and vanished from his eyes. He nodded once, spun about,
and purposefully avoided eye contact with Adonis. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Enough of the
games, General,” Adonis said, standing up.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You’re right,
of course.” General Tomlyn also stood up and rounded his makeshift desk. The
captain matched him step for step. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
All the while
Adonis watched the two men flank him, he realized whatever window of
opportunity he may have had for handling the situation left when Prescott had entered.
Sweat rolled down his temples. He nervously asked, “what is the meaning of
this?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
With a
satisfied grin, General Tomlyn ordered Captain Prescott, “arrest him.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Arrest? You
can’t arrest me! I’m the Chief Justi—” Adonis shouted. He knocked the metal
folding chair over as he tried to back away. In the process, he tripped over
and fell in a tangled mass of legs and metal chair. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“By the
authority of the Regular Militia,” Captain Prescott gleefully said, “true
Defenders of the Realm, I hereby place you, Fraunx Adonis, under arrest for
conspiracy, high treason, and murder. You will accompany me peacefully or I
will use force.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Sitting in the
bed of the old militia truck, Kent Wheelock kicked his dangling feet back and
forth. His head ached, his shoulder throbbed, and his throat burned. He watched
the nosy group of old people across the way trot up and down the street
hankering for a better view of the scene. Clenching his teeth, he fought back
the images of three charred men. When tears threatened to fall from his good
eye, he grabbed the seam of his pants by his thighs and balled his fists up. Holding
the denim tightly, he maintained the tension until his pulsing shoulder nearly
knocked him unconscious. Emergency workers skirted around the truck, as if he
were contagious. The paramedics kept glancing at him while whispering to each
other. The young soldier paced with absolute paranoia, his head darting every
which way and his right thumb caressing the leather snap holding his service
gun in place. Unable to stop himself, Kent cracked. The more the paramedics
averted their gaze, the funnier he thought the whole situation. As he sat
there, dangling his feet and laughing to himself, a tuxedo cat, with a bird on
its back and another in its mouth, leapt onto the tailgate. The cat dropped a
dead bird into Kent’s lap, which was the final straw. What started as a tired
chuckle built into the roaring laughter heard inside a comedy house. </div>
<script>
(function(i,s,o,g,r,a,m){i['GoogleAnalyticsObject']=r;i[r]=i[r]||function(){
(i[r].q=i[r].q||[]).push(arguments)},i[r].l=1*new Date();a=s.createElement(o),
m=s.getElementsByTagName(o)[0];a.async=1;a.src=g;m.parentNode.insertBefore(a,m)
})(window,document,'script','//www.google-analytics.com/analytics.js','ga');
ga('create', 'UA-66666100-1', 'auto');
ga('require', 'linkid', 'linkid.js');
ga('send', 'pageview');
</script>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550820395250501390.post-82343410771639559532016-06-18T04:20:00.004-07:002016-06-18T19:54:14.920-07:00Proelio Lacessere<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The perfectly
manicured lawn, well-tended vegetable garden, and mature orange trees sat in
stark contrast to the overgrown hedges in front of Patrick Field’s house. After
15 minutes of pacing the backyard, Santos’ stomach made the decision for him. He
chose the plumpest, juiciest looking orange he could reach, and ripped it out
of the tree. As he began the annoying task of peeling it, Brimley popped her
head around the side of the house.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What are you
doing, soldier?” she yelled in the deepest voice she could manage while
stifling laughter.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Startled,
Santos nearly dropped the partially peeled orange. He spun around, holding the
orange down by his thigh. “I should ask you the same thing,” he growled.
“You’re supposed to be guarding the front.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
She glared at
him. Aside from a couple bullies in grade school, she’d never wanted to beat
the crap out of someone like she wanted to beat Santos. “Orders change. We’re
moving out. Your Colonel wants to see you. <i>Now.</i>
Looks like you’ll have to save the snack for later, <i>sweet</i>heart.” Brimley relished throwing the word, tone, and
inflection back in his face. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><div class="MsoNoSpacing">
He grinned,
said “you’re learning,” and winked at her. Rather than dropping his orange, he
deftly plucked and tossed two oranges, yelling “catch!” as they flew through
the air. Reflex took over as Brimley stepped into the open to catch the flying
fruit. While she was busy, Santos removed three more. It’d been hours since
he’d eaten anything. And, if he was right, they all could use a little citrus
pick-me-up. “You gonna lead on?” Santos asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
With softball
sized oranges in each hand, Brimley about-faced and marched to the front of the
house. Celatrix Verna and Colonel Dagon stood speaking in the doorway, their
conversation stopped at the sight of the orange bearing duo. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Good to see
you put aside your differences,” Celatrix Verna commented. Dagon curiously
raised an eyebrow. Brimley blushed while Santos nodded and smirked. “It’s
nothing to worry about,” Verna whispered to Dagon as she placed a hand on his
arm. “Procedural dispute solved by food. If only that worked at the political
level.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Perhaps it
would if we spiked the politicians’ meals,” Dagon said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Without
assenting, Verna’s eyes narrowed. She said, “food for thought.” Then, motioned
Brimley to follow. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
As the Celatrix
and her escort disappeared behind the hedges, the two men silently watched.
When Dagon was certain the women were out of hearing range, he whispered, “stay
here. Keep watch. I’ve got to run to HQ. Time to update General Tomlyn.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Sir, Betsy is
closer than HQ,” Santos said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Where did you
leave my truck?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Sentinel’s
parking,” he answered. “If you start running you could catch them.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Careful,
Lieutenant,” Dagon warned. “I left my sense of humor in my rack this morning.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The nominally
fit groundskeeper limped up the cemetery path. He could finally see the main
office. While he longed to be home in his recliner relaxing with a beer, he
knew his home was not the refuge it once had been. Unmindful of the path, with
thoughts of home, Patrick Field almost didn’t see the tuxedo cat approaching. As
they neared each other, the black and white cat looked up at Field and yowled.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Oh? You think so?” Field asked. “Well,
fuck you, too!” He stomped his good foot and hissed. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The cat
stopped, hair raised in a ridge on its back. Its tail puffed out. A guttural,
“mwrrrr,” began in its throat as the man and cat glared at each other like a
pair of angry duelers. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Go on. Try me,
Cat. You don’t know the day that I’ve had. All over the countryside, running
circles for Colonel Dagon. Come at me. I dare you. You might get in a scratch
or two. But, I’ll have kitty and dumplings for dinner. It’ll look damn funny if
I show up to a funeral home with a dead cat hanging over my shoulder. You think
the Commander will care? Huh? He’s got more important things to do. Mark my
words.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The hair ridge
lowered and the growling stopped. The cat tilted its head, blinked both eyes,
and then let out a series of choked off meows that sounded suspiciously similar
to laughter. Just as the cackling crescendo caused the hair on the back of
Patrick Field’s neck to stand at attention, the tuxedo cat darted passed him
and down the path. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Asshole cat,”
Field muttered to himself before resuming his walk to the Sentinel Cemetery
mortuary.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The desk was
buried in file folders, loose leaf papers, and a stack of procedural manuals.
Sifting through the manuals looking for anything that would validate his
actions, Commander Randle Dante, Sr. exhaled sharply. He’d been at it since
returning from Sanctuary City Medical Center. Thus far, he’d located two
statues that confirmed his responsibility for lost prisoners, one that demanded
a full scale inquiry into any prisoner escape, and three that required the base
commander to coordinate recovery efforts. He’d logged the publication numbers
and brief descriptions of each regulation. He was about to alter his search
parameters to include anything that might tighten the noose around that
dickhead doctor’s neck, when his phone rang.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Damn it,
Ensign Baeckerei!” Commander Dante shouted. “I told you to hold my calls.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I know, but
it’s your son, sir,” Baeckerei said from the doorway. “He said it was an
emergency.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The commander breathed
through his nose and picked up his phone, saying, “this is Commander Dante.” He
absently waved a hand of dismissal to the ensign. “What’s the emergency?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What in
Iphi’s name is going on, Dad?” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“It’s good to
hear your voice, Randy,” Dante answered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Don’t play
me. Answer my question,” Randy demanded.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Show some
respect. I’m not only your father, I’m also a higher ranking officer,” Dante
spit. “I don’t answer to you.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Show—show
some respect? Are you kidding me?” Randy practically yelled into the receiver.
“I’ve been pulled from my duties, stuck on a desk, and watched like a hawk for
the last three hours. A little birdie told me you were sent to SCMC for eval.
So. I ask you again, what’s going on? </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Dante pulled
the phone away from his ear. “Is this a secured line?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Of course,”
Randy answered. “I’m not an idiot. I ditched the hawk and called in a favor.
You gonna tell me? Or, what?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Witch hunt.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What’s that
supposed to mean?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“It means, find
your babysitter. Get back to your desk. And, act like the man I raised you to
be.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“That’s all I
get?” Randy huffed.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Remember when
your mother died?” Dante asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Remember what
I told you?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes, sir.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Apply it.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes, sir,”
Randy sighed.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Anything
else?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“No, sir.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“If that’s
all, then I’ll talk to you later. I’ve got work,” Dante said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Watch your
back, Dad,” Randy said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“And you,”
Dante replied. He started to hang up, but as he put the receiver down he heard
the distinct sound of a third person’s breathing. <i>Secured line, my ass. Did Randy know?</i> he wondered. A second after
he placed the phone in the cradle he heard a similar plastic on plastic noise
come from his secretary’s desk. <i>That nosy
sumbitch. Baeckerei. I got your number now, boy,</i> Commander Dante thought. “Baeckerei!”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Sir?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“My car.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes, sir!”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Dante quickly
cleaned up his papers, locked the folders in the filing cabinet, and placed the
publications back on shelves. He had enough to credibly argue his point, should
it come to that. Of course, he also needed something better than speculation.
What he needed now, was some hard evidence pointing in the direction of his
would-be persecutors. The list of possible conspirators seemed to be growing by
the hour. Soon as Locos and Machine rounded up the escapee, some of the
pressure would blow over. But, politics are politics. Once the target’s been
painted, it’s easier to move mountains than to shift the focus elsewhere.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Lying in the
cot nearest to the exit Adonis had the perfect view of the entire Officer’s
Barracks, making it easy to watch the two cliques. In one corner Songtree and
Bayleaf chatted up Thibodeaux, while in the opposite corner Scott and Bohner
flirted. On occasion the trio would quickly glance at him and look away when
they realized he was watching. He bounced a leg as he lay there. <i>They can’t possibly know, </i>he thought. He
closed his eyes. Using his mental video player, Adonis put the morning on replay
and watched the scene of Kaiser Imler’s death. Though he was currently trapped
in Avalona, it was a temporary situation. By now, the Inquisitor’s team would
have disposed of the body. Mercury’s Elite would be scouring Ambrosia seeking
Kaiser Imler. The emergency crews in Avalona would be winding up the day’s
search and rescue ops. A decision regarding whether or not they needed to call
the people to war had to be made before the bells rang in the morning. Meaning Adonis
needed to convince General Tomlyn that the Kaiser was not coming and that the
justices were needed back in Ambrosia. As he contemplated the possibilities,
the barracks’ canvas door opened. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
A pimply faced
sergeant entered. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What are you
doing here?” Adonis asked impatiently. “We’re not to be disturbed.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I’m looking
for Chief Justice Fraunx Adonis,” the soldier replied.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Why?” Adonis
asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“General
Tomlyn would like a word,” the sergeant stared at Adonis. “You him?” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
It wasn’t the
lack of respect in the man’s voice that pissed Adonis off. It was the fact that
he had to ask. After a lifetime in politics and law that anyone should have to ask
who he was proved irksome. “I am,” Adonis hissed.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Good. I need
you to follow me, sir,” the sergeant ordered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Tell the
general I’m busy,” Adonis rolled over.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Sir, I’m only
going to ask you one more time,” the sergeant stated.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Oh, really?”
Adonis said to the canvas wall. “And, if I refuse?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I’m authorized
to use force,” the sergeant said. “It will adversely affect morale if you make
me, <i>sir.</i>”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Morale?
You’re worried about morale?” Adonis scoffed, “you’ve got to be kidding. I’m
not only a Justice of the Antigone Courts. I’m <i>the</i> Chief Justice. We’re being held against our will. And, you’re
worried about morale? I tell you what…fuck yourself. And, fuck your general. I’m
tired. I’ve got more important things to do than sit here twiddling my thumbs.
If you Regulars keep screwing with us, we’ll be forced to call a panel together
to investigate this impropriety. We shouldn’t even be here.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“If you’re
finished,” the sergeant pointed to the door, “I’d rather not drag you out of
here, sir.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Crimson Bohner
stood up, “just go with him. Maybe General Tomlyn’s gotten word from the
Kaiser. I’d like to go home sometime today, Fraunx.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Adonis
resisted the urge to mutter <i>not likely.</i>
He rolled back over, swung his feet onto the ground, and asked, “what’s your
name, soldier?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Sergeant,”
the man answered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You think
it’s fun to play games?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I’m done
playing games with you, <i>sir.</i> This
way,” the sergeant motioned to the door.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
When Adonis
stepped outside of the Officer’s Barracks he found himself surrounded by a
semi-circle of armed Regulars. “What? What is this?” He attempted to step back,
but ran into the sergeant.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“As I said,
I’m authorized to use force,” the sergeant whispered into Adonis’ ear. </div>
<script>
(function(i,s,o,g,r,a,m){i['GoogleAnalyticsObject']=r;i[r]=i[r]||function(){
(i[r].q=i[r].q||[]).push(arguments)},i[r].l=1*new Date();a=s.createElement(o),
m=s.getElementsByTagName(o)[0];a.async=1;a.src=g;m.parentNode.insertBefore(a,m)
})(window,document,'script','//www.google-analytics.com/analytics.js','ga');
ga('create', 'UA-66666100-1', 'auto');
ga('require', 'linkid', 'linkid.js');
ga('send', 'pageview');
</script>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550820395250501390.post-63274596327451247272016-06-11T04:20:00.000-07:002016-06-17T11:40:38.282-07:00Suis Moribus<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
At the door to
Patrick Field’s house, 1<sup>st</sup> Lieutenant Santos addressed the two women
he’d escorted from the Templus Ministrae, “one moment while I inform Colonel
Dagon that you’re here.” Turning the knob and pushing the door, resulted in
nothing. He shoved again, then looked over his shoulder and half-heartedly
smiled as he knocked. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
When the door
opened a crack, Santos declared, “tell Colonel Dagon I’ve returned with the
Celatrix and one of her officers.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><div class="MsoNoSpacing">
From the other
side of the door, Colonel Dagon barked, “don’t tell me. I can hear. Invite the
Celatrix inside. Tell Santos and the officer to guard the front and back of
this house.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Did you catch
that?” Cassie asked Santos through the slightly opened door.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
He nodded and motioned to the door, “Celatrix,
if you will.” Both the Celatrix and Officer Brimley approached the door. Santos
held up his hand, “not you. We’ve got guard duty. You want the front or the
back?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Celatrix?”
Brimley asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“She’ll take
the front,” Celatrix Verna answered before disappearing into the house. Brimley
stepped forward as she heard the Celatrix exclaim, “O’ Mercury! Do my eyes
deceive?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Whoa,
sweetheart,” Santos said. “Your orders are to guard the front. Not to enter it.
I’ve got to cover the back. Can I leave you here unsupervised or do you have a
problem?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I’m not your
sweetheart, Merc,” Officer Brimley spit. “Do your duty. I know mine. My orders
are to protect the Celatrix.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“And, she
ordered you to guard the front,” Santos smirked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Get out of my
face,” Brimley growled.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You’ll know
when I’m in your face,” he said, picturing his tongue down her throat. Santos snickered
his way around to the back of the house where he was astonished by the simplistic
beauty of the gardener’s landscape. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Rise,
Celatrix,” Cassie said softly. Her first full day on the job and she was
already sick and tired of protocol. She recalled Kent’s outburst when Ms. Darin
had knelt before him, which immediately brought forth thoughts of Kaiser
Imler’s amusement, followed by the Kaiser’s head exploding. She ground her
teeth together, closed her eyes tight, and fought back the tears. Pain raced
through her heart and a twitch formed just under her left eyebrow. <i>Hold it together. Hold it together, </i>she
chanted. In the time it took her to ride the emotional wave, the Celatrix stood
up, and the griffin, Kaiser Archel, slumped onto the couch. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Colonel?”
Verna asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“As you can
see, we’ve a number of problems,” Colonel Dagon used his eyes to indicate the sagging
couch. Verna scoffed as Dagon continued, “I’ll be brief. Kaiser Imler has been
murdered. This is his heir, Archel. Er. Um. Kaiser Archel.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Archel? Chief
Justice Adonis’ servant?” Verna stared at Archel.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes,” Archel groaned.
“Not anymore,” the griffin laughed. “Not anymore.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Verna shivered
at the sound. Then, she asked, “does Adonis know?” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I don’t think
so,” Dagon answered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“He knows,”
Cassie said. She sat on the arm of the couch, biting her lower lip, and
fighting the twitch under her left eye. “He—he’s…responsible,” she heaved. “I—I
saw,” she couldn’t say it. Her tongue quit working as her twitch involuntarily
closed her left eye. “He hi—hired a guy,” she blurted.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What!” Dagon
and Verna exclaimed.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I saw
ev—everything,” the words came in bursts as Cassie struggled to breathe.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
From the
middle of the warehouse floor, Vorant yelled, “Jougs!”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Shut up!”
Jougs replied from the doorway of the warehouse manager’s office. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Vorant
swiveled around to glare at the loft. Without waiting for an invitation, Vorant
carried himself to the stairs. He proceeded up them two at a time. At the
office door, he expected to find Jougs and the Inquisitor, but saw only Jougs. “What
are you doing?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Nothing,”
Jougs said leaning back in the office chair, his feet resting on the
Inquisitor’s desk.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Where’s the
old goat?” Vorant asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Went out. You
done?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Just
finished. What’s going on?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Need your
help moving the shipment to the loading dock.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You got them
all ready?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yeah. All we
gotta do is relocate the whole mess.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Well, let’s
get to it. Sooner done, sooner we can get dinner.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Man, you’re
always fucking hungry,” Jougs laughed.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“And you’re
always sitting down on the job,” Vorant retorted.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Don’t be mad
just because you got the shit job,” Jougs grinned.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Vorant raised
an eyebrow, “oh, do I look mad?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“No. You look
like an ugly son of a bitch.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Better ugly,
than dumb as fuck.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The two men
continued their tit-for-tat down the stairs and to the middle of the warehouse floor
where they found one of the shipping container lids slightly askew. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I thought you
secured them,” Vorant said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I did.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Then, what’s
this shit?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Is she in
there?” Jougs asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“It’s empty.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Fuck!” Jougs
exclaimed. “We’ve gotta find her.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Which one was
in this crate?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Uh,” Jougs
ran a hand over his stubbly chin. “Let me think,” he tapped the first crate to
his right, “the blonde. And, here,” touching the one stacked on top of it, “is
the old lady.” The next two crates he slapped, “the twins.” As he stared at the
last two crates, it dawned on him, “oh, shit! Shit! Shit!”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Don’t tell me,” Vorant sighed.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“The daughter,”
Jougs kicked the nearest shipping container, then jumped back hopping on one
foot. “How the hell did she get out?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Like I know,”
Vorant replied. “We better find her.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“She can’t get
far. I double dosed them all.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“We don’t find
her before he gets back…” Vorant trailed off. The <i>duumviri</i> froze.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Find who?”
the Inquisitor asked. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Jougs
answered, “the daughter.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Even though
all the women in the crates were someone’s daughter, they only had one
mother-daughter set in the load. <i>This day
just keeps getting better.</i> “Find her.” The Inquisitor started toward the
stairs, and then stopped. <i>It can’t be,</i>
he thought. “You drugged them all, right?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Double doses
like usual,” Jougs said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Then she
didn’t walk out of here,” the Inquisitor pointed out.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Someone carried
her out?” Jougs asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What do <i>you</i> think?” the Inquisitor hissed. “Mister
Vorant, search the containers, the cold storage, and the office. You find her,
give two long whistles. Mister Jougs, with me. We’re searching the perimeter.
One itinerant girl is not going to cost us this entire operation. I don’t give
a flying fuck who’s helping her.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Justice Jo
Casta held the mostly empty beer glass to her temple. After thirty solid
minutes of Mayfield and Davies bickering, she found herself wondering how the
bartender was still unconscious. Entertaining the thought of a walk ended as
she recalled the destruction she’d seen when they’d first arrived. Contemplating
her options, Casta realized she had the choice between two levels of stupid.
She could either continue drinking while the men squabbled like children. Or,
she could retire to their temporary quarters and listen to Adonis bitch. She
stood up from the table, “excuse me,” she said rocking her glass in the air. “Anyone
need?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Another
bottle,” Davies slurred, turning the black label towards her, “and some
cherries.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I’m good,” Mayfield
said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Nodding, Jo
Casta walked behind the bar. She stepped over Goldie, muttered, “pardon me,”
and placed the whiskey on the counter. “Now, where in Mercury’s name do you
keep the cherries?” Casta asked without expecting an answer. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
She nearly pissed
herself when Goldie whispered, “left of the rack, under the bar.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Casta spun
around and asked, “are you awake?” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Seems like
it,” Goldie said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You want some
help up?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Not really.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You can’t
just lie there,” Casta said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Why not? It’s
my bar,” Goldie replied.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Jo Casta
stared down at Goldie, shrugged her shoulders, and exhaled. For a moment she
wanted to argue, but the woman had a valid point. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Who’s paying
for all your drinks?” Goldie asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I—I didn’t
even think about that,” Casta confided. “We didn’t come down with any money.
Never thought I’d need it here.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I see,”
Goldie said. “I don’t mind running a tab, but that Captain Prescott refused to
answer who should get the bill.” She turned her head up to look at Justice Jo
Casta, “I lost everyone and everything I care about, save this bar. I’m not
greedy. I’m not unscrupulous. I’ve always charged a fair price for my spirits. As
the only functioning bar left, I’d be in my rights to raise prices. But, I
won’t do it. Since the Antigone arrived my bar’s been cut off from the
emergency workers who could probably use a drink about now. So, who’s paying?” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I’m not
actually allowed to,” Casta began, and then abruptly changed her mind, “run the
tab for the Antigone Courts. I’ll sign whatever you need signed. And, just so
we’re clear, I’ll need you to double your prices for all of our drinks.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I couldn’t,”
Goldie argued.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You most
certainly can and will,” Casta leaned down, grabbing the cherries from under
the bar, “call it the price of doing business with a justice.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Jo!” Davies
called out. “What’s the hold up? My throat’s dry.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Casta popped
her head above the bar, “had the damnedest time finding your cherries.” She
looked down at Goldie and whispered, “don’t get up until you’re ready.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Closing her
eyes, Goldie sighed.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
In shock,
Celatrix Verna listened to everything Cassie and Archel said. She struggled
with the opposing parts of her brain. One side tried to deny everything she
heard, while the other recognized the children’s pain as proof of the truth.
With the death of a Kaiser, the Templus Ministrae became responsible for
administering the solemn funeral rites and for verifying the legitimacy of the
heir. Since Archel remained in griffin form, she had no doubts as to his
legitimacy. As for the Messenger’s claim that the Chief Justice of the Antigone
Courts was complicit…that she could not stomach. Unfortunately, having known Fraunx
Adonis for over 20 years, she believed it, even knew he was quite capable of
it. Her stomach soured. Bile rose in her throat. She coughed. Clenched her
teeth and continued listening as Colonel Dagon began to explain Kaiser Imler’s
suspicions and his decision to send the Antigone to Avalona. Unconsciously, she
began pinching the fleshy part of her hands between her thumbs and forefingers,
an old trick she’d learned to lessen headaches. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<script>
(function(i,s,o,g,r,a,m){i['GoogleAnalyticsObject']=r;i[r]=i[r]||function(){
(i[r].q=i[r].q||[]).push(arguments)},i[r].l=1*new Date();a=s.createElement(o),
m=s.getElementsByTagName(o)[0];a.async=1;a.src=g;m.parentNode.insertBefore(a,m)
})(window,document,'script','//www.google-analytics.com/analytics.js','ga');
ga('create', 'UA-66666100-1', 'auto');
ga('require', 'linkid', 'linkid.js');
ga('send', 'pageview');
</script>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550820395250501390.post-30840797653287028682016-06-04T04:20:00.000-07:002016-06-04T17:57:15.685-07:00Ne Desperemus<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Celatrix
Julianne Verna would have passed for a school teacher, if not for adornments of
her office. She wore blindingly white robes, a silver and gold gryphon
necklace, and a silver circlet holding down her slightly grey and exceedingly
curly brown hair. Her role as Celatrix of the Ministrae meant she kept the
secrets of Mercury’s Indigimenta, a book which included all the rites and names
of gods met during Mercury’s travels. However, hers was a dual role, for she
was also the Archeireus of the Templus de Ambros, charged with maintaining the
spiritual health of the kingdom. She monitored the Ignis Fatui and taught the
rites of Mercury. She had a bad habit of thinking before acting and nearly
always acted rationally. Both behaviors caused problems during her ascendency.
Problems which magically disappeared once she’d assumed her role as Archeireus
et Celatrix Ministrae. All in all, she was a busy lady, laden with heavy
responsibilities, and quite unaccustomed to receiving orders. At the opening of
the gallery doors, she was blasted with the unbridled hostility emanating from
Brimley and openly reflected by Santos. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“At ease,”
Celatrix Verna ordered. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Though Santos
was under no obligation to obey orders from the Celatrix, he immediately
stepped into parade rest, with his feet shoulder width apart and his hands
clasped behind his back. Brimley glared at Santos, then mimicked his actions.
The young rector watched the exchange with mild interest, far more interested
in watching Celatrix Verna handle the impertinent Merc. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You’ve a
message?” Verna asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Colonel Dagon
requests your presence,” Santos answered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Is that all?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“All I’m allowed
to say.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“How very
cryptic,” she said with a hint of amusement.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“My orders are
to escort you to Colonel Dagon,” Santos said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“And, what
made him think that I’d drop everything I’m doing for a soldier who’s ignored
every protocol we have in place?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You’ll have
to ask him, Celatrix,” Santos bowed, “for I’m a lowly runner.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“May I?” she asked while taking Santos’
hands. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Of course.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
She examined
the front, back, and sides of both his hands. When she was thoroughly
satisfied, she nodded to him. “Brimley, with me. Rector Jameson, make sure that
a new duty officer is posted. Clericus Reston, maintain the post until your
relief arrives. Young man, can you tell me how long I’ll be gone?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Santos stared
at her a moment, thought about it and shrugged. Then, with all seriousness, he
said, “that will be for you to decide after you meet with Colonel Dagon.” He
started to say more, but stopped himself. His orders were to bring her to the
colonel, not to run his mouth. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Two shots.
Close range. Small caliber,” Marcia Silvan said, pointing to the entrance
wounds. Her husband, Jason Silvan, held a ruler next to the wounds and snapped
two quick photos. Together, they had prepared hundreds of bodies for burial,
most died of natural causes. Even Kaiser Edward Imler had succumbed to
nature—heart attack. “Damn it, Jason,” she whispered, holding back her tears,
“what’s going to happen now? He didn’t have an heir. Why would anyone murder
him? He was a good man.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Putting down
the camera and the ruler, Jason walked over to his wife. He wrapped his arms
around her and murmured, “I don’t know, love. The Antigone’s got procedures for
this sort of thing. I’m sure the Justices will find a solution.” He glanced at
the silent guardsman who kept an unwavering eye on everything that they did.
“Regardless, we’ve got work,” he squeezed her shoulder, and then returned to
his camera. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The Inquisitor
stood in the doorway of the warehouse manager’s office. The loft was created
for the manager to have a bird’s eye view of the entire warehouse floor. From
there, the Inquisitor could see Jougs strapping unconscious women into shipping
crates. He could also see the open cold storage door and hear Vorant’s bone saw
at work on the evidence. Thirty-two minutes since the <i>duumviri’s</i> arrival and still no Gaseleo or Butano. Without his
entire crew, Plan A was shot to shit. No other choice but to act as if the team
were compromised, which meant Plan B was in full force. Walking down the stairs,
he thought about the loss of half his team. <i>A
set up? Adonis? He has to know that I’ll kill him. The meeting tomorrow…a trap?
With half the team gone, there’s no way we can move the merch and cover the
meeting. I’ll be there alone. Unless… Yes. That’s it. </i>He smirked. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Mr. Jougs,”
the Inquisitor called, “when you finish with the cargo, get Mr. Vorant to help
you move it to the loading dock. Go for Plan B. I’ll be back in an hour,
there’s something I’ve got to handle.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Glancing up, Jougs
raised an eyebrow. Upon seeing the Inquisitor’s smirk, he said, “roger.” Over the
years, Jougs had seen that expression plenty of times, though usually right
before a session. That look meant someone was about to have a very unpleasant
evening and the Inquisitor was about to get off on every second of it. Jougs
had no qualms regarding the men he worked with. And, they had none about him.
All were psychopaths with a penchant for torture, dismemberment, and murder. Jougs
was certain none enjoyed their work quite as much as the Inquisitor. With the
boss gone and his cohort busy, Jougs had time for a little extracurricular
activity. While he wanted to pull one of the girls out, he knew screwing
sleeping beauty wouldn’t be fun. Instead, he marched up the stairs to the
warehouse manager’s office. If he could find out what the Inquisitor was
hiding, he might be able to cover his losses when the shit hit the fan. Judging
by the way this job was running, that seemed the likely outcome.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Shh,” Carmel
hissed at Praline who rolled her eyes. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“They’re out
cold,” Praline giggled while digging through Loco’s trouser pockets.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Anything?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Nothing,”
Praline stood up, scrunched her face, and then bent down to rifle through
Machine’s pockets. “Who travels without money or docs?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Dangling the
two sets of dog tags in front of Praline’s face, Carmel answered, “soldiers.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
They both
giggled. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Give me the
lipstick,” Praline ordered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Complying,
Carmel asked, “what are you going to do with it?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You’ll see,”
Praline chuckled as she leaned over the bed where they’d placed the two
unconscious men. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
A fire truck and ambulance arrived on Anna
Caliber Drive within minutes of each other. The retiree viewing gallery was
pushed across the street to give the emergency crews room to work. The fire crew
quickly set a water barrier around the smoldering corpses, before dragging
their hoses into the backyard where the shed and wooden fence were still in
flames. Ensign Balin stood off watching the paramedics attend to Kent Wheelock,
who was utterly insensible ranting about a bird. The paramedics tried to calm
him, but nothing they said or did helped. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Sweat streamed
down Patrick Field’s face. Although he received a regular work out doing
landscaping under the hot sun, he hadn’t run this much in years. His shins thrummed
in agony with each footfall, he had a stitch in his side, and his throat ached.
He breathed heavily, continuing to jog up toward Ensign Balin, who was absorbed
in his observations.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“En-sign,”
Field wheezed. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You!” Balin growled,
“where’s Colonel Dagon?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“He’s fine.
Wants his bag.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“How do I know
you’re not making it up?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Field ran a
hand through his sweaty hair, “are you kidding me? Like I’d even know about the
damn bag if he hadn’t ordered me to fetch it. I don’t have time for this.
Where’s it at?” He pushed passed Balin headed for the military truck. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
As Field
approached, a giant wearing paramedic coveralls yelled, “who the hell do you
think you are? Get back. Nothing to see!”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I don’t want
to see anything,” Field huffed. “I just need something out of the truck.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Oh, really?”
the big man sneered, “and, I need the rest of my day off. Doesn’t look like
that’s happening though, does it?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Let him by,”
Balin ordered. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Under who’s
auth—oh,” the large paramedic backed up, tossing his hands in the air as he
went.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Balin’s right
hand rested on his service pistol. “Under the passenger seat,” he said as he
dropped his hand and nodded to the paramedic.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Walking around
the truck, Field overheard Kent rambling, “he’s gone. Fulco? Where’s my bird? I
need to find him. If he’s crispy chicken, what am I?” Kent laughed, a hollow
sickly laugh, “I’m the bard-tender.” Without stopping, Field hurriedly opened
the passenger door, and grabbed the black bag. As he passed back by, Kent sang,
“ate my eye, then daddy died. Who am I? They all lied. I’ll never know, that’s
how it goes. Head hangs low, too many woes.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
When Field
made it back to Balin, he whispered, “you know who that is, don’t you?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The annoyed
ensign glowered at Field, “no.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Saw him with
Fintan the Bard earlier. He’s in training. I wonder where Fin—ahh. Oh,” Field
suddenly felt sick.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Balin visibly
paled. He looked from the charred remains to the young man in the bed of the
truck and back again. In that moment, everything clicked into place. He waved
the giant paramedic over. When the big man stepped in front of him, Balin
struggled with how much to say. Finally he decided blunt, but minimal, “radio
the Templus Ministrae. Fintan the Bard is dead. Tell them to send the Celatrix.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What are you
on?” the giant asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Balin pointed
to the charred remains, “he’s there. And,” pointing to Kent, “that fellow is
the next Bard.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You can’t be
serious,” the paramedic did a double take, “he’s insane. Have you heard
anything he’s said?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Do your
duty,” Balin ordered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The
incredulous paramedic glanced at his crew, “we can’t tell them. He’s in shock.
Damn near lost it. They take a knee before him, he may never come out of it.”<br />
“Whatever you think is best,” Balin
conceded. “When you clear him, I’m to take him to Merc HQ.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I can’t clear
him. Has to be cleared by a doctor.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Uh, while you
two discuss it,” Field interrupted, holding up the bag, “I’ve got to go.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Wait,” Balin
leaned toward Field, “when you deliver that to the colonel, tell him,” Balin
waved a hand, “about this.”</div>
<script>
(function(i,s,o,g,r,a,m){i['GoogleAnalyticsObject']=r;i[r]=i[r]||function(){
(i[r].q=i[r].q||[]).push(arguments)},i[r].l=1*new Date();a=s.createElement(o),
m=s.getElementsByTagName(o)[0];a.async=1;a.src=g;m.parentNode.insertBefore(a,m)
})(window,document,'script','//www.google-analytics.com/analytics.js','ga');
ga('create', 'UA-66666100-1', 'auto');
ga('require', 'linkid', 'linkid.js');
ga('send', 'pageview');
</script>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550820395250501390.post-36137967814061400392016-05-28T04:20:00.000-07:002016-05-28T17:49:13.410-07:00Me Piget<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You are <i>late,</i>” the Inquisitor said without
looking up from the solid oak desk in the warehouse manager’s office. He
flipped a paper over, before entwining his fingers, and resting his forearms on
the edge of the desk. Slowly, he turned his attention to the two men, “explain.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The <i>duumviri </i>hazarded a glance at each
other, silently deciding on who would respond. Jougs answered, “we met
trouble.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Took care of
it,” Vorant added. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The Inquisitor
waited, calm brown eyes boring into them.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“We were
followed…” Jougs hesitated, “by a bird and some Mercs.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Got away,
though, didn’t we?” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“How?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Firebombs and
a smokescreen,” Jougs said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Dead?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Iphigenia
knows, I hope so,” Vorant chuckled.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Something
humors you?” the Inquisitor asked. “You were late. Misters Gaseleo and Butano
have yet to arrive. We’ve a shipment to transfer, evidence to destroy, and a
job to finish. How do you plan to accomplish our goals now that Ambrosia will
be on high alert?” Neither answered, both stood silently staring at points just
beyond the Inquisitor’s head. “Precisely as I thought,” he hissed. “You didn’t
think it through.” Placing both hands on the desk, the Inquisitor raised
himself up and with a backward kick pushed the rolling chair away. He leaned
forward, “Mister Jougs, the cargo must be prepared. Mister Vorant, in the cold
storage, you’ll find the evidence. Now, Gentlemen, you know the drill. Time to handle
business. If the others show before the half hour, I’ll dispatch them to
assist. If they do not, Plan B. You do remember Plan B?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes,
Inquisitor,” they agreed.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Go!”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The two men
immediately exited the office, destined for their respective assignments. The
Inquisitor grabbed the piece of paper, eyes gliding over the dots and dashes. After
he’d read it twice, he balled it up, and slammed a fist onto the desk. <i>One more thing goes wrong and we’ll have to
go to Plan C. Damn fool, always rushing artists. </i>Closing his eyes, he
leaned his head back, breathed deeply through his nose, and briefly envisioned
a future that didn’t include incarceration or electrocution. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Mars,”
Colonel Thompson cried when she saw the old general leaning back on the marble
bench outside of the Caliber mausoleum.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Doing his best
to set her down carefully, Ensign Osborne nearly dropped the retired colonel as
she swung her head and shoulders to keep General Michaels in view. When he let
go of her, the two retirees slumped into each other.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Lara, you’re
bleeding,” Michaels said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Not anymore,
Mars,” she smiled sheepishly. As she caressed his right arm he winced and
pulled the injured wrist up to his chest. “What did you do?” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I was
attacked by a rabid beast,” Michaels winked his left eye at Ensign Osborne who
rolled both of his eyes and shook his head.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Will you two
be okay, while I go for help?” Osborne asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Just leave it
open,” Michaels said, “we’ll use it if the storm hits before you return.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Nodding, he
said, “just give me a few minutes.” Then, he took off for the main office. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I am not
going back in there,” Thompson asserted. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“But, Lara,
we’ll catch our death if we’re out here when the front rolls in.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Mars, love, I
almost caught my death in there,” Thompson exhaled sharply, “I’d rather feel
the cold tickle of water sliding down my back, than spend one more minute
inside that crypt.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Point well
made,” Michaels replied.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Besides, look
at me,” Thompson gestured to her face, “I need a shower.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What
happened?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Unlike your
rabid beast,” Thompson smiled weakly, “I was attacked by a human. I was so
focused on following those four fellows with the body—you know, they buried it
in that empty grave? Anyway, I didn’t see who was following me. It must have been
their lookout. Really rang my bell. I woke in the mausoleum, head aching and
blood flowing. Wadded up my hair and applied pressure to stop the bleeding.
That’s something, Mars, long hair is useful, might want to recommend to the war
council… Heard a noise—suppose that was you two—thought I should play possum. Oh,
that poor ensign, I jabbed him something awful.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Ensign
Osborne? He’ll be fine. One of yours,” Michaels said. “Doesn’t know a damn
thing about tracking. What do you teach in that school of yours?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You know I
can’t tell you that,” she laughed at the jab, typical service rivalry. “Unless…
Well, you’re a bit old to become one of Mercury’s Elite. I suppose I could pull
some strings to get you an age waver. But, you’ll have to be vetted, trained,
and then go through probation as an ensign.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Bah!” he
growled. “I did my time. I’m retired, lady.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Justice Jo
Casta leaned over the unconscious bartender who was laid out on the floor
behind the bar. “She seems to be breathing.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“How long do
you think she’s been back there?” Justice Mayfield asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Shrugging his
shoulders, Justice Cal Davies swigged from the whiskey bottle, then said,
“before we had the place cleared out, I imagine. Unless she snuck in for a nap.”
<br />
“Does it matter?” Casta asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Not to me,”
Davies replied.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“If she’s been
here the whole time, then we weren’t in closed chambers,” Mayfield said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“So?” Davies
asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“It’s a
security breach and negates the session.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“How does an
unconscious woman’s presence negate a session where nothing was decided?” Casta
hissed.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“It just
does,” Mayfield answered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“That’s ridiculous,”
Casta stood up, glaring across the bar where Mayfield was grappling with a glass
in the hanging rack. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Us being here
is ridiculous,” Mayfield retorted. “Holding court in a bar is ridiculous. She
could be faking it.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Why would she
do that?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I don’t
know,” Mayfield whined. “Why would someone attack this town? Why would the
Kaiser send for us, but not meet us? Why would the general refuse us
transportation back?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Why don’t you
have a drink and calm down?” Davies asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Why don’t you
fuck off?” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Gentlemen,
why don’t we all have a drink?” Casta asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
After taking
the shortcut through the kitchens, Santos hung a left in the main foyer, and
made his way to the north side of the Templus de Ambros where the inner gallery
doors to the Templus Ministrae offices were located. The gallery was strictly
for use by visiting officials, celators, and the Kaiser. Unannounced visitors
and the general public were expected to use the main entrance on Templus
Street. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“State your
business,” the Templus Ministrae duty officer said. Obviously bored, she
refused to look up from her desk. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
By Santos’s
guess, she was far more interested in the crossword puzzle she’d hidden under
an appointment book. “Celatrix Verna,” he replied.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Name on the
appointment?” she asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“No
appointment. Official business. Bring Celatrix Verna. Now.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
She finally saw
Santos’ hostile expression and his Merc uniform dark from sweat. While his
condition aroused her curiosity, his tone pissed her off. Deciding to play it
by the book, she asked, “official papers?” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“No.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Then, I’m to
take your word for it? I think not. Without sealed papers, I cannot let you
pass.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Obviously,
you didn’t hear me. Bring Celatrix Verna. Now.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“And, what am
I to tell her?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Tell her Colonel
Gawain Dagon requires her presence.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I repeat,
without sealed papers, I cannot let you pass.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Damn it. I don’t
want to pass,” Santos barked. “Send for Celatrix Verna.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“When you
return with the appropriate paperwork, I’d be happy to do that for you.
However, without it, I simply cannot.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Get your
supervisor.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“If you
persist, I’ll be forced to call for back up.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Little girl,
if you don’t call your supervisor right now, I swear to Mercury, you’ll be
reassigned to the pastures where you can spend the rest of your time in service
shoveling shit with the work release prisoners. I do not have time to play
these games with you.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
At first her
mouth and eyes widened, then she clamped her mouth shut while squinting at him.
She discreetly pressed the desk alarm as she stood up. She towered a full foot
taller than Santos, who was an averagely built Merc. “How dare you!” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
She stepped
around her desk, her right hand dropped to her baton, her left raised back to
slap him. Santos blocked her backhand and smiled, “nice to see a confident
woman. I don’t have time for foreplay. Now, go do your job.” He dropped her
hand and pointed to the door as two Ministrae officers emerged.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Brimley,
what’s this?” the elder of the two officers asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The Amazonian
woman turned, defensively saying, “he’s got no appointment, no paperwork, and he’s
insulted me.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I’m on
official business. Sent by Colonel Dagon to retrieve Celatrix Verna. I don’t
have time for this.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Celatrix
Verna is a very busy woman. She’s currently unavailable. Perhaps, I can help,”
the younger offered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Unless your name is Celatrix Verna, I don’t
see how.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Perhaps if
you can explain…” the elder said as he shrugged.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Santos fought
the urge to throw down with them all, he ground his teeth, and then repeated
himself, somewhat calmly, “I’m on official business. Sent by Colonel Dagon to
retrieve Celatrix Verna. That is all you need to know and exactly what you
should tell her.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Clericus Reston, relay the message,” the
younger officer ordered. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“At
once, Rector,” the elder said before disappearing behind the gallery doors. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Though the
cold storage was not Vorant’s favorite place to be, it did give him time to
himself. Vorant was capable of hacking up a body as mindlessly as a busser
cleans a restaurant table. Today, however, he contemplated the deeply
disturbing possibility that one of his crew was a traitor. Of course, the
client was the only one who’d known where they were hiding the body, had in
fact, chosen the place for them. Not their typical style. Generally speaking,
the Inquisitor knew where and how they’d dispose of a body far enough in
advance that they’d stake out the location and verify its suitability. For
instance, after Martin’s dissection, Vorant would dispose of the pieces in a
nearby lime pit. Since taking this job, they’d fallen away from their tried and
true methods, and into doing whatever the moment called for; it is one thing to
be flexible in your planning, it is a wholly different thing to have no plan at
all. Perhaps the Inquisitor had lost his edge. If that was the case, then this
gig could land them all in Raven’s Drop. He winced at the thought of a rope
around his neck. <i>Maybe it’s time for Plan
C,</i> Vorant smiled. From the first time he’d met the Inquisitor, he’d been
working on a private little escape plan just in case shit went south.</div>
<script>
(function(i,s,o,g,r,a,m){i['GoogleAnalyticsObject']=r;i[r]=i[r]||function(){
(i[r].q=i[r].q||[]).push(arguments)},i[r].l=1*new Date();a=s.createElement(o),
m=s.getElementsByTagName(o)[0];a.async=1;a.src=g;m.parentNode.insertBefore(a,m)
})(window,document,'script','//www.google-analytics.com/analytics.js','ga');
ga('create', 'UA-66666100-1', 'auto');
ga('require', 'linkid', 'linkid.js');
ga('send', 'pageview');
</script>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550820395250501390.post-43218948261574289362016-05-21T04:20:00.000-07:002016-05-21T16:59:02.975-07:00Omnium Opinionem<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Can I help <i>you</i>?” Colonel Dagon asked in confusion.
“How?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Leaning close
to the colonel, Cassie whispered, “we’ve never done this before.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Perplexed, the
colonel’s eyes darted back and forth from the young griffin king to the adolescent
messenger. After thirty seconds, he sighed, “I see!” Nodding, he contemplated
the best way to break the news to them, he finally said, “I don’t think that’s
going to be a problem. My liege, how old are you?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Uh. I,”
Kaiser Archel shrugged his furry golden shoulders and ruffled the eagle’s
feathers of his neck, “thirteen. I think.” His irritated python tail twitched.
“Why?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Law, my
liege,” Dagon answered. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Law?” Cassie
asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Turning to
Archel, Dagon said, “you’ve got two years to learn.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Learn what?”
Archel asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“How to rule
your kingdom,” Dagon responded with a bow.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“M-my
kingdom?” Archel whispered more to himself than the others. “I. I can’t.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Not right
now. But, in time,” Dagon said. “There are formalities, of course.” Raising a
hand to his chin, Dagon rubbed his jaw, gritted his teeth, then said, “Santos,
bring Celatrix Verna here. Do not explain, just bring her.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes, sir,”
Santos said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Wait,”
Patrick Field said. “Commander Felis wanted me to bring her to Sentinel.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Well,
fortunately, your house is on the way there,” Dagon replied. “Mr. Field, I have
another assignment for you, if you’ll take it?” To Santos, Dagon looked at the
door while raising his eyebrows. Santos took the hint and exited with haste.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What is it?”
Patrick asked, unable to conceal his concern.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Take a
message to Commander Felis,” Dagon said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Another one
of those silly codes?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“No. No code.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Good. The
message?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Tell him I’ve
arrived, he’s still in charge, and that I’ve met with Santos.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“That it?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Actually,”
Dagon squinted at Fields, “when you’re done with Felis, go back to where you
found me. If Balin’s still there tell him I want my bag from the truck. Then,
bring it here.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“So, tell the
commander you’re here and fetch your bag?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Got it.”
Field muttered, “I’ve gone from gardener to errand boy.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“We call
errand boys ‘runners,’” Colonel Dagon offered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Euphemism for
go-fer,” Field chuckled as he grabbed the door knob. He took one look over his
shoulder, saw the young griffin king staring at the floor, and said to himself,
“I’ll be a go-fer. If I ever get fired, I’ll have an employment option. And, at
least two references.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
As the door
closed behind Field, the colonel stretched his hands, popped his wrists, and
said, “well, that’ll keep them busy for a little while. Uh, Arc—Kaiser Archel,
don’t you think it’s time you change back?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The eagle’s
head tilted, Archel blinked rapidly, then screeched, “what do you think I’ve
been trying to do since this happened?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You mean you
can’t?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I don’t know
how it happened. So, how am I supposed to change back?” the boy’s voice cracked
as he held back tears.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Oh.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Um,” Cassie
mumbled, “we could use some help with that, too.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“But. I mean.
I don’t,” Colonel Dagon sat down on the couch. “I only saw Kaiser Imler do it
that one time. You remember, Arc—uh—Kaiser Archel?” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“He has no
right to hold us here!” Justice Frederick Mayfield exclaimed.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“He’s under
orders,” Justice Jo Caste hissed.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“We never saw
his orders,” Mayfield retorted.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“And, he never
saw ours,” Justice Cal Davies said. “Point of fact,” he raised his right hand
with his thick index finger extended, “we haven’t seen them either.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Pinching the
bridge of his huge nose, Mayfield glared at Davies. “The Chief Justice broke
the seal in front of us.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“True. But,
did anyone else actually read it?” Caste asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
A palpable
silence overcame the nearly deserted tavern as the three justices held their
tongues. Regardless of the orders, they were stuck in Avalona until the Kaiser
showed up. Davies stretched his back, groaned, and then stood up. Alcohol was the
only reason he’d decided to remain in Goldie’s while the other six justices were
escorted to the Regular’s Tent City. He walked up to the bar and read over the
bottles. Once he saw the black label he wanted, he leaned over the bar and
stretched one long arm across the gap. From that awkward position, he
involuntarily glanced down. With bottle in hand, he slid back, and turned to
Mayfield and Caste. He indicated to the bar with his head and thumb, mouthing,
“a lady on the floor.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Who is it?”
Caste whispered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“How should I
know,” Davies said as he wriggled the plug out of the whiskey bottle. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Captain
Prescott was tasked with making the unhappy announcement that the justices
required the use of the Officer’s Barracks. As with all military operations,
shit travels downhill. The temporary relocation of the officers meant that the
enlisted would experience a similar move. The affected soldiers were told to
take shifts on the available cots. With the tension between the justices and
the general at an all time high, Prescott had hoped to drop them off and return
to Goldie whom he’d left unconscious on the floor behind her bar. However, his
desire was made secondary when Chief Justice Adonis saw the Officer’s Barracks.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Untenable!”
Adonis barked. “Undignified!”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Sir?” Captain
Prescott asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“We can’t stay
here.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“It’s only
temporary,” Prescott said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“This is no
way for the Justices of the Antigone Courts to be treated.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Haven’t you
ever camped before?” Justice Bayleaf interrupted. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Camp?”
Adonis spit the word out and stared at Bayleaf with disgust. “I do <i>not</i> camp.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You do
tonight,” Bayleaf said as he clamped a hand on the captain’s shoulder. “Thank
you. These quarters will be fine. Please express our apologies to the troops
we’ve displaced.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Captain
Prescott did not need to be told twice, he spun about, immediately vacating the
Officer’s Barracks. <i>Pompous, arrogant,
unappreciative jerk! </i>He glanced over his shoulder and heard the Chief
Justice’s raised voice.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“This is
ridiculous!”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Bayleaf shot
back, “your behavior is ridiculous. I’d expect this out of Travis or Mayfield.
They’ve been going at it for years. But, you? Fraunx, you’re the Chief Justice.
Act like it.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Rather than sticking around, Prescott verified
that the Officer’s Barracks was well-guarded, before he headed for the Command
Tent. After this night, the soldiers on watch would have a whole different view
of the Antigone Courts. <i>Not my problem.
First, find out if there’s anything else the general needs. Then, back to the
bar, check on Goldie. Poor woman, I can’t believe she just passed out like
that, </i>he sighed.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Standing in
the doorway to the Caliber mausoleum, Ensign Osborne, whistled. “Looks like
it’s your lucky day,” he said.<br />
“What are you talking about?”
General Michaels asked from the tombstone bench, where Osborne had placed him.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Sir, we found
her,” he answered. Osborne stepped into the mausoleum, disappearing from the
general’s sight.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Is she
alive?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Osborne
ignored the question, “ma’am?” On the ground, next to an altar with plastic
flowers and a brand new candle, lay Colonel Thompson. Pooled blood made a halo
around her head. Kneeling down, he put two fingers to her throat, then yelled,
“ow! Damn it! Stop. I’m here to help. Stop it.” He yanked his hand back,
holding tightly to his injured wrist while a line of crimson rolled down his
arm. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Her left eye
was swollen, her right temple was a congealed mess of blood and hair, and in
her left hand she was wielding a hairpin. She flashed a toothless grin at
Osborne and said, “you should have killed me when you had the chance.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“But, Colonel
Thompson,” Osborne began, “I’m here to help you.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Come near me
again, I’ll blind you,” she screamed.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Lara?”
General Michaels called. “Lara, honey? Are you okay?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Mars,” she
whispered the general’s name.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“That’s
right,” Osborne said. “General Michaels is outside. He’s injured, too. Please
let me help you.” Once again kneeling down, Osborne said, “please, Colonel. I’m
just going to pick you up and carry you out to him. But, you can’t stab me
again or I’ll drop you.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Don’t come near
me!” she bellowed.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Now, Lara!
Listen to me,” General Michaels said, “let the boy help. I’ve broken my ankle
and I can’t come to you.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“How do I know
it’s you?” Colonel Thompson asked while holding Osborne back with her hairpin.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Stargazer’s Cove,”
he replied.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Mars!”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Chancing a
pointless look out the mausoleum door, Ensign Osborne could do naught but wait
and wonder what the favorite make out spot for young lovers had to do with
these two old timers. Then he grinned. “Ma’am?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Alright. I
won’t stab you, unless this is a trick,” she warned.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“No trick,
Colonel,” Osborne said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“We’re gonna
be late,” Jougs growled.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“The party
doesn’t start until we get there,” Vorant replied. “You know that.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You and your
damn sandwiches.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You weren’t
complaining when you were shoveling one in your mouth.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“We didn’t get
breakfast,” Jougs chuckled.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What’s really
eating at you?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Jougs stopped
walking, leaned toward his compeer, and said, “a bird followed us. You don’t
think that’s weird?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Weird? Well,
yeah, that’s one word for it.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Looking at the
trees, Jougs shivered, “there could be one watching us, right now.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Now, don’t
get all paranoid on me. We lost it back there. Nothing showed at the safe
house. We keep our eyes open, make for the rendezvous, and if anything’s off,
we abort. Same procedure as always. You know the routine.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Nothing’s
been routine since we picked up this gig.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
They started
walking again. As they turned the corner, Vorant said, “you’re right about
that. What do you suppose the old goat’ll do once we tell him about the bird?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Fuck if I
know.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What would
you do, if you were him?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Proceed with
caution.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Both laughed,
nervously. The streets were quiet, as expected. The citizens of Ambrosia City
were nothing if not punctual and prone to regular dining schedules, which made
meal times perfect for getting around undetected. The <i>duumviri</i> walked quickly, keeping alert to any suspicious movements
on the street and in the sky. At Beacon Street, they paused on the corner,
pulled out a sheet of paper and acted like a couple of lost tourists. Finally
convinced that they were in the clear, they headed up Beacon Street and toward
the warehouse district.</div>
<script>
(function(i,s,o,g,r,a,m){i['GoogleAnalyticsObject']=r;i[r]=i[r]||function(){
(i[r].q=i[r].q||[]).push(arguments)},i[r].l=1*new Date();a=s.createElement(o),
m=s.getElementsByTagName(o)[0];a.async=1;a.src=g;m.parentNode.insertBefore(a,m)
})(window,document,'script','//www.google-analytics.com/analytics.js','ga');
ga('create', 'UA-66666100-1', 'auto');
ga('require', 'linkid', 'linkid.js');
ga('send', 'pageview');
</script>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550820395250501390.post-70299923078997393342016-05-14T04:20:00.000-07:002016-05-14T17:33:11.416-07:00Me Taedet<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Peeking out a
slit in the window blinds, Jougs stared up the empty street. He ran a hand over
his cropped hair and exhaled heavily through his nose. When he turned from the
window, he found Vorant watching him. “What?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Just sent the
old boy a message.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“And?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Plan A is a
go,” Vorant said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Still? Okay. He
hear from the others?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I didn’t ask.
He didn’t tell.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“We’ll know
soon enough, won’t we?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Without doubt.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Should we get
moving?” Jougs asked.</div>
<a name='more'></a><div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Takes ten
minutes to get there. We got time for a snack,” Vorant said as he used his head
to motion toward the kitchen.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Man, you’re
always fucking hungry.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You know when
we’ll get another meal?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“No.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Then, shut the
fuck up. Have a sandwich.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Jougs laughed,
“already made them, eh?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Of course.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Always
hungry,” Jougs muttered to himself. He followed Vorant into the kitchen and
found his partner in crime had set up a veritable feast. On the dining table
sat two plates covered by submarine sandwiches crammed full with four inches of
sliced beef, onion, and spinach leaves, as well as a handful of potato chips
each. “What the hell?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“We didn’t get
breakfast.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Dude, there’s
enough food here to feed half the Poterits.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“We didn’t get
breakfast,” Vorant repeated.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Smiling, Jougs
sat down at the table. He picked up his opened bottle of beer, raised it in
salute, and then downed a quarter of it. Taking a minute to decide on the best
way to attack his sub, Jougs smashed the sandwich and ripped it in half. Then
he bit in, with his mouth full, he said, “damn, that’s good.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Shaking his
head and rolling his eyes, Vorant said, “thought you weren’t hungry.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“We didn’t get
breakfast,” Jougs retorted.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The light
breeze rattled the piece of paper in General Tomlyn’s hand. His eyes narrowed,
his nose wrinkled, and he pursed his mouth. <i>I
know these marks</i>, he found the dots and dashes familiar somehow, but
couldn’t place them. He took a moment to study the radio operator who wore her
jet black hair in a regulation bun just below her olive green cap. Her uniform
was overly starched, perfectly pressed, and still managed to accentuate her
every curve. She held herself with a confidence that bordered on defiance. Approximately
the same age as his two nieces, but quite unlike them, her eyes reflected profound
sorrow. <i>Perhaps it’s this place,</i> he breathed
in the putrid musk of Avalona’s recent destruction. “How many times have you
heard this…this signal?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Twice, sir.
But, it’s been different each time. I wasn’t prepared for the first,” she
winced, before adding, “so, I didn’t write it down.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Not your
fault, soldier,” General Tomlyn reassured her. “Be my ears. Keep listening.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
She perked up,
“sir?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I don’t know
what that message was, but the colonel looked sick after hearing it. I stepped
out for a smoke and saw him with the soldier that brought the Justices here. They
both took off after that. Uh, sir, you probably don’t need me to tell you this,
but something ain’t right.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Ignoring her last
comment, General Tomlyn ordered, “keep listening and logging these,” he waved
the paper at her. “You hear more, run the log to Captain Prescott.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes sir!” she
said, knowing well the sound of dismissal.
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“And, PFC,” he
waited until she looked him in the eyes, “only myself or Captain Prescott. No
one else. Understand?” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Uh, I do sir.
But, I can’t…I can’t monitor the frequency by myself. I fall asleep, I could
miss another message.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The general’s
lips curled, in a curt little smile as he nodded understanding. He ran the
rosters through his mind, without luck. “Who’s your supervisor?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Immediate is
Reggie, uh, Corporal Bradley. And, overall is 2<sup>nd</sup> Lieutenant Carson.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“How well do
you know them?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Oh,” she
blushed, ducked her head down, and stifled a grin, “I know the corporal. We
just met the lieutenant.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You trust
him?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Reggie? I
mean Corporal Bradley?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The look of
annoyance that crossed General Tomlyn’s face, matched his tone, “<i>yes</i>, the corporal.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“With my
life,” she said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Good,” the
general replied, “you two just got reassigned. Anyone give you grief, tell them
to take the matter up with Captain Prescott. Get me?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I get you,
sir!” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Slowly, Ensign
Osborne raised the baton in his right hand, while his left hand parted the shrubbery.
A pissed off squirrel darted passed him, up a nearby tree, and from a low
branch turned to confront Osborne. Then, the flying rodent let out an indignant
string of chirps that made Osborne chuckle. To the squirrel he said, “I hear
that!” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Well? What is
it?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Osborne turned
back to the prone general, with vindication he said, “just a squirrel, sir.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Groaning,
General Michaels rolled his eyes and heaved himself into a sitting position. <i>This gets out and they’ll send me to the old
folks home, </i>the general shook the thought off. “Osborne, what did you see?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Back there?” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Like I said,
another arrow, then nothing.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Go back. Keep
looking.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Back, sir?
There’s nothing else to find.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Find Lara,
damn you!” General Michaels shouted. “Find her! Find her! Find her!”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Please, calm
down,” Ensign Osborne said. “I’ll find her, sir. Just calm down.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Calm down? I
can’t walk. My wom—friend is missing. A storm’s coming. And, you don’t know
shit about tracking! That storm hits before we find her, we lose the trail. Tell
me to calm down again, boy, and I’ll shove my cane so far up your ass they call
you ‘Scarecrow.’”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
In that
instance, the puzzle pieces flew together and Ensign Osborne knew he wasn’t
searching for Colonel Lara Thompson, retired leader of Mercury’s Elite Guard.
No. He was searching a graveyard for a lost old lady whose elderly lover couldn’t
look for her without his help. Osborne thought of his great grandfather, who’d
been struck with the Forgettin. The whole family used to alternate nights on
watch, just in case Grand Seamus woke up forgetting Grand Brigid had already
taken the long walk. Osborne knelt down. “General Michaels,” he placed his hand
on the general’s shoulder, looked him in the eye, and said, “I swear to you,
I’ll find her. And, when I do, I’ll come back for you. In the meantime,”
without warning, Osborne scooped the general up and carried him to the Caliber
mausoleum. “Let’s get you out of the elements.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Though General
Michaels wanted to argue, he held his tongue. After Osborne set him down to
struggle with the mausoleum door, Michaels said, “look for broken branches,
footprints, arrows, anything out of the ordinary.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I will, sir,”
Osborne said as he shoved the mausoleum doors open. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Surprised to
find his front door locked, Patrick Field lifted up a flower pot and removed a
spare key, “I didn’t see any reason to bring my keys. For Mercury’s sake, my
living room was chock-full.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Shrugging off
the gardener’s explanation, Colonel Dagon tapped his foot while waiting for the
door to open. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
No sooner, did
Field shove his door open then a hand dragged him into the house. Field yelled
out, “this is my house, damn it! Let me go!”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Let him go!”
Colonel Dagon commanded as he rammed the door with his shoulder.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Sorry, sir,”
Santos shouted, releasing his grasp on the gardener and the door. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The colonel
bulled through the door and into the middle of the living room, where he skidded
to a halt, cursing, “sweet mother of Mercury, fuck me. A grif—.” Recognizing
his error, Dagon, dropped to one knee, raised both his hands in offering and
pledged, “my life, my liege.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The young
griffin king, muttered in bird talk, “not again.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“The rest of
our lives,” Cassie whispered. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Please,”
Archel begged the kneeling colonel, “don’t do that.” He, once again, gingerly
placed a paw into waiting hands, “stand up, will you?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Lightly
touching the colonel’s shoulder, Cassie said, “stand.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
As she pulled
her arm away, Dagon saw the bracelet, and fell back to his knees, whispering,
“the Messenger.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Sharing a
moment’s exasperation, Cassie and Archel exchanged slightly amused looks.
Finally, Cassie said, “please, sir. Stand up.” She didn’t know who the soldier
was, but the tension in the others had eased. Even Archel seemed to relax a
bit. “Who are you?” Cassie asked much to the chagrin of Santos. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Colonel
Gawain Dagon, Commander of Mercury’s Elite Guard, 1<sup>st</sup> of the Servants,”
Dagon said as he stood. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Oh, thank
Mercury!” Cassie exclaimed.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Why?” Archel
wondered in bird.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Replying in
kind, Cassie asked, “because he’s head of the Mercs. He should know how to
help.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Santos closed
and locked the door while Dagon and Field helplessly watched the two youths
carry on a conversation by squawking, chirping, and twittering. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Do you think
so?” Archel asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I mean, I
did. But, you tell me. You were raised in the Templus.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You’re
probably right, after all, he was there when Kais—uh—when Kaiser Imler
changed,” Archel stepped back into the living room, dropped onto his haunches,
and lowered his head. “How long am I gonna be stuck like this?” he whined. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Speaking in
her normal voice, Cassie asked, “Colonel, can you help us?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“What do you
mean, ‘no’?” Chief Justice Adonis snarled.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I mean,
‘no.’” General Tomlyn calmly responded.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“As the Chief
Justice of the Antigone Courts of Poterit Don, I demand you oblige the court
and return us to Ambrosia City.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“As General of
Plains Region, with standing orders in hand, I refuse to oblige you.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Under whose
authority?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“The crown’s
authority,” Tomlyn smiled at Adonis, before turning his attention to the other
Justices. “Kaiser Rudolpho Imler has ordered you here until his arrival. He
hasn’t arrived, therefore, you must stay.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“This is
ridiculous,” Adonis spit, it took everything in his power not to blurt out, <i>a dead man can’t arrive.</i> “Show me your
orders.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Show me yours,”
Tomlyn replied.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Oh, for the
love of all things holy,” Justice Seeley Songtree shouted, “if either of you
starts waving your dicks around, I swear to Mercury, it’ll be the end of you
both. Chief Justice, you well know that just because the court carries a
motion, doesn’t mean the Regulars are bound by it. General, you know we’re here
under orders. And, it appears, that we’ll all be here until those orders
change. So, instead of you two sword fighting, why don’t you have someone show
us to our rooms, tents, or back to the damned bus. I’d like sometime to
contemplate.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Lightly
clapping his hands, Justice Levi Bayleaf bowed to Songtree, and then added, “I
second the motion.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I third the
motion,” Justice Jo Casta called from behind Adonis.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I fourth,”
Justice Moira Thibodeaux and Crimson Bohner said in unison. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Oh,
whatever,” Adonis threw his hands into the air.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“This is
unreal,” Justice Mayfield whispered to Justice Scott.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Meanwhile,
Justice Cal Davies stifled his laughter by holding his mouth and turning his
head. For years, he’d longed to see someone check Adonis’ attitude and in the
space of a minute, he’d watched two people do it.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<script>
(function(i,s,o,g,r,a,m){i['GoogleAnalyticsObject']=r;i[r]=i[r]||function(){
(i[r].q=i[r].q||[]).push(arguments)},i[r].l=1*new Date();a=s.createElement(o),
m=s.getElementsByTagName(o)[0];a.async=1;a.src=g;m.parentNode.insertBefore(a,m)
})(window,document,'script','//www.google-analytics.com/analytics.js','ga');
ga('create', 'UA-66666100-1', 'auto');
ga('require', 'linkid', 'linkid.js');
ga('send', 'pageview');
</script>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550820395250501390.post-40867882903008398472016-05-07T04:20:00.000-07:002016-05-07T15:32:35.650-07:00Intersum Consiliis<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
In the span of
24 hours, Goldie’s Revenge had gone from tavern to recovery operations to temporary
court for the Antigone. From the alcove left of the entrance, Justice Frederick
Mayfield addressed his colleagues, “we’ve gone in circles for two hours.
Without more information there is nothing for us to discuss. This day began
with our debating the legitimacy of declaring war in the Kaiser’s stead. We
were then sent here to meet and advise the Kaiser, who has not graced us with
his presence. Here we stand, ordered to the seat of the attack and still no
Kaiser. How certain are we that that missive was genuine? If the Kaiser is
going to meet us, shouldn’t he have been here already? If he’s not going to meet
us, how long should we stay? I say that after our meal, if the Kaiser is still
a no-show, we demand General Tomlyn make ready for our transportation back to
Ambrosia. Do I have a second?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I second,”
Justice Travis Scott practically shouted. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“The matter of
leaving has been moved and seconded,” Chief Justice Fraunx Adonis said, hiding
his delight behind mundane procedure. “We are adjourned. Finish dinner. After
which, we order the general to prepare transport.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Chief
Justice, do you think this the proper course?” Justice Moira Thibodeaux asked. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I think the
motion has been carried,” Adonis replied. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Justice
Thibodeaux sat back into her rickety wooden chair, half-heartedly using her
fork to push a tomato into a leaf of lettuce, while watching the other
justices. Seeley Songtree hadn’t touched her dinner, rather she’d sipped her
drink, and stared at the pictures behind Goldie’s bar. One picture in
particular continuously drew Seeley’s gaze, and Moira made a mental note. Also
ignoring their food, Jo Casta and Crimson Bohner were much too occupied whispering
amongst themselves regarding the devastation. Moira caught snippets of their
conversation every time Jo moved, which was quite frequently considering Jo had
a tendency to bob her head when talking. Only Levi Bayleaf persisted in
glancing at Adonis, as if holding back the words he deigned to say. Watching Bayleaf,
a normally verbose man, resist the urge to speak was like watching a gasping
fish flop around on dry land. His mouth opened and closed, his right hand raised
and fell, and finally he heaved a great sigh. After which he picked up his
glass, took a deep swig, and then repeated the actions. The other men were silent,
staring absently at the table, and unconsciously spooning food into their
waiting mouths.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Skidding to a stop, Patrick Field stared
down Faith Gryphus Lane. Amidst lazy wisps of grey smoke sat an old green
militia truck, the bed of which was surrounded by a troop armed with canes and
walkers. Warily, Field approached the group of retirees. The closer he came,
the more his hair raised, his stomach twisted, and his nose and eyes burned. A
stench, quite similar to that let off when the crematorium was fired up,
permeated the air. He desperately wished he’d gone to the Templus Ministrae
first. Whatever had happened, no fire trucks or other emergency crews were on
the scene. Sitting in the back of the truck was a distraught, one-eyed young
man that Field had glimpsed mere hours earlier, when he’d run to the Phoenix
Rose for help from Santos. How like days ago those hours now seemed. Though Field
recognized Colonel Gawain Dagon, he resisted the impulse to run up to the man
who was speaking with the young man.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I know it’s
not easy,” Dagon consoled the youth, “but you have to pull yourself together
and tell me what happened.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Dead,” he
hissed. “Cain’t you see?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Squeezing
through the retirees, Patrick Field changed his mind about interrupting,
“Colonel, a moment. Please.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“The Colonel
is busy,” said an officer who looked like a younger Dagon, “what do you need?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“A message for
Colonel Dagon.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Give it to
me,” Ensign Balin ordered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I will not,”
Field snapped. Over Balin’s shoulder, he shouted, “Colonel Dagon! I was sent by
Commander Felis.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
At the
commander’s name, Dagon spun around, and saw his cousin detaining the
groundskeeper. “Ensign,” Dagon said with a slight nod. Balin stepped out from
in front of Field, who covered the short distance in two quick steps. “What is
it?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Commander
Felis sent me. He didn’t know you were here. Uh,” Field scanned the faces of
the aged onlookers and chose discretion. “I’ve a message.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Impatiently,
Dagon tapped his foot, “well?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Even though Patrick
had not been ordered to relay Santos’ message to Colonel Dagon, he decided it
was the only viable option. After all, Commander Felis hadn’t known that the
colonel would be at the scene. Field whispered the ridiculous code, and then
for good measure added, “if necessary, I can take you.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
One who
hesitates long doesn’t become leader of Mercury’s Elite Guard. In an instant,
Dagon gauged the groundskeeper’s bearing and made his decision. He ordered,
“Ensign Balin, stay with this young man. And for Mercury’s sake, call the fire
department before we lose this whole damn neighborhood.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I already
called,” a cracked voice chimed from the veterans’ gallery. Dagon looked, but
couldn’t determine the voice’s owner. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“But, sir,”
Ensign Balin objected.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Once he’s
cleared, bring him to HQ,” Dagon said.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes, sir,”
Balin sighed.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Motioning Field
forward with one hand, Dagon said, “lead the way.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Though no
longer spry, General Marshall Michaels’ hearing was fine. As he circled around the
back of the white marble Caliber family mausoleum, he heard Ensign Osborne
cussing through the thick underbrush. Osborne’s wind-carried vulgarities ended
mid-sentence, when General Michaels reached the back of the mausoleum. The general
froze, listening hard, but hearing only the soft whistle of wind upon leaves. Quick
as his shuffling feet and cane could carry him, Michaels finished
circumnavigating the mausoleum. A break in the shrubbery, slightly larger than
the one Ensign Osborne had taken, allowed the old man to ease through. Once
through the outer layer of shrubs, the break opened onto a well-used animal
trail, which the general apprehensively took a step and a pause at a time.
Three feet in, he heard rustling. Two feet after that a branch snapped behind
him, with as much speed as he could manage he spun toward the noise while
raising his cane. His left ankle twisted in the effort as his cane caught on
the tree next to him. Dropping the cane, he threw out his arms to brace for
impact. He landed with an umph, a crunch in his right wrist, and a shooting
pain that ripped into his brain. He involuntarily hollered out, “sonofabitch!”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Sir?” Ensign
Osborne called out from deeper in the underbrush.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Here,” the
fallen general responded.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Osborne shoved
through the brush, rushed to General Michaels side, and panicked when he saw the
old man sprawled on the ground. <i>The
lieutenant is going to kill me,</i> Osborne thought, while saying, “what
happened, sir?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Heard a
noise. Tripped,” Michaels whispered.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I found
another arrow, but nothing else.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Did you hear
that?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“I don’t
he—oh.” Ensign Osborne slowly stood up, cocking his head to the side, and
turning toward the noise. With one hand he patted the air next to his thigh, while
he used a swift flick of his other wrist to fully extend his collapsible baton.
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Pacing the
inside of the Comm Tent, General Tomlyn waited for the radio operator to reach
Plains Region HQ in Ambrosia City. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Finally, the
corporal waved the general over, “Plains, are you ready to receive?” He nodded
to no one, then stood up, “copy.” Handing the headphones to General Tomlyn, the
corporal pointed to the mic, “she’s all yours, sir.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Channel
secure?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“That was part
of the hold up, sir. We’re good now.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You got the
Top?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Yes, sir.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Good,”
General Tomlyn said. “Now, clear everyone out.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The corporal
hesitated for a moment, and then tapped the shoulder of the other three radio
operators, indicating the door with his eyes. When the soldier who’d handled
Colonel Dagon’s messages raised her eyebrows, the corporal shook his head and
shrugged his shoulders. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Top?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Go ahead for
Top.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Verify. Two
to tango.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Verification
confirmed.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Top, something’s
amiss, copy.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Copy. Uh.
What is it, sir?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You tell me.
Track,” General Tomlyn glanced at the scrap of paper he’d taken from the motor
pool, “201. Report location. You see anything funny, you keep it for me. Eyes
and ears only. Copy?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Roger that.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Out,” the
general didn’t wait for a response. He dropped the headphones in the seat, and
then strode out the canvas door nearly knocking the corporal down. “You,” he
pointed at the female soldier he’d ignored earlier, “walk with me.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Me, sir?” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“You,” without
waiting, he stalked down the path.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Confused, she
stood there watching him leave. The corporal punched her in the arm, which was
enough to move her. Punching her own hand, with narrowed eyes, she mouthed,
“get you,” and then jogged down the path to the general. When she reached him,
she said, “Sir?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“First, you
interrupt recovery ops with indistinct chatter. Then, you interrupt a meeting
with the Justices to tell Colonel Dagon something. What was so urgent?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Coded
message, sir.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“From?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Ambrosia.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Who?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Don’t know. One
of the Mercs, sir.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The general
stopped walking. Turning to the woman, he said, “what <i>do</i> you know?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
She met his
gaze, took a deep breath, and with surprising clarity said, “I know radios,
sir. I know I wasn’t lying when I tried to tell you about the static and the
beeps. After Colonel Dagon received his message, I continued to listen. Twenty
minutes ago, it started up again. Here,” she shoved a piece of paper at the
general, “I can’t read it, but I’m convinced it’s a message.” She shrugged her
shoulders, “do with it as you will, sir.”</div>
<script>
(function(i,s,o,g,r,a,m){i['GoogleAnalyticsObject']=r;i[r]=i[r]||function(){
(i[r].q=i[r].q||[]).push(arguments)},i[r].l=1*new Date();a=s.createElement(o),
m=s.getElementsByTagName(o)[0];a.async=1;a.src=g;m.parentNode.insertBefore(a,m)
})(window,document,'script','//www.google-analytics.com/analytics.js','ga');
ga('create', 'UA-66666100-1', 'auto');
ga('require', 'linkid', 'linkid.js');
ga('send', 'pageview');
</script>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2550820395250501390.post-61189792456234647542016-04-30T04:20:00.000-07:002016-04-30T17:26:12.287-07:00Patris Interest<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Did you hear
that?” Balin asked, his face pasted to the passenger window.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“For the last
two hours I’ve heard nothing but the road and our rumbling stomachs,” Dagon
answered, still staring at the lines on the blacktop in front of them. His ass
and gas foot both ached. By his calculations, if he continued up GV-17 to the
Templus Center exit, they’d make Merc Head Quarters within 10 minutes.
Considering they’d be driving through downtown in the middle of dinner, Dagon
was fairly certain they wouldn’t meet with heavy traffic. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“There,” Balin
jabbed a finger at his window, nearly shouting, “smoke.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Colonel Dagon
glanced over Balin’s shoulder, “I don’t see anything.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“By Sentinel.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
If they took
the back road up Faith Gryphus Lane, they’d add five minutes to the trip. Every
extra minute was a risk. Dagon needed to reach HQ to find out what happened.
“I’m sure the fire department is handling it.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“But…I heard
an explosion, sir.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Walking the justices
through the bombed out husk of Avalona passed through Dagon’s mind, at the last
minute he swerved the old militia truck onto the Faith Gryphus off-ramp. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Kent Wheelock
headed through the unfamiliar neighborhood at a careful jog while his falcon,
Fulco, flew directly to the source of the explosion. Every hair on Kent’s body
rose to attention as the horrendous shrieks of dying men reached his ears. Passing
one nearly identical squat house after another, Kent didn’t notice the
occasional change of color scheme. Instead, he focused on the growing cloud of
grey-brown smoke covering the street ahead. Hitting the edge of the smoke
field, his eye started burning, and he began choking on hot, thick air. The agonized
screeching torn from burning throats grew louder. Standing in the smog and
unable to see more than a foot in any direction, Kent wondered, <i>why in Iphi’s name am I running into fire
and not away from this? I’m going nuts. That’s it. </i>He held his shirt over
his mouth and rapidly blinked tears from his stinging eye. <i>What can I do? I’m not a firefighter or a doctor. Damn it! I don’t even
know where to go for emergency services in this godforsaken shithole.</i>
Without knowing what compelled him forward, Kent slowly walked through the
smoke toward the screaming. Three bright orange flaming figures became visible
as the shrieking topped intolerable levels. One-by-one the figures dropped into
writhing fire heaps. The stench of alcohol charred human, along with the
knowledge that he was watching flame induced death-throws, stopped him in his
tracks. <i>I’m going to kill Fintan for
this, </i>he thought as his brain rejected the sight and his stomach ejected
breakfast.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Careful
boys,” Commander Felis warned the Mercs carrying the Kaiser’s body, “drop him
and you’ll pull EMI for the rest of your careers.” For once, Felis was thankful
that the manual was clear on procedure when the Kaiser died of either natural
causes or suspicious circumstances. In what he’d once seen as a sign of his
inner morbidity, Felis had memorized the section on death and signs of
assassination. <i>Celatrix Verna is not
going to like this,</i> he thought. As the men steadied the stretcher, he
yelled, “Ford, Smollet! Escort duty. Once you get to the mortuary, one man
stays with the Kaiser at all times, one roves, and the other two post at the
front and back entrances. Got me?”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Ford, Smollet,
and the two Mercs holding the Kaiser’s stretcher, popped to and yelled, “sir, yes,
sir!”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Turning to the
two investigators from HQ, Felis ordered, “get what you can, fast as you can. Pressure
front’s coming.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Sir,” the stocky
lead investigator said, “there’s not much here.” </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Ignoring the
woman, Felis ordered, “report to me as soon as you know something.”</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
“Will do,” she
said, though she shook her head.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Satisfied that
the investigators would do their jobs, Felis stared up at the thickening band
of light grey clouds, <i>another hour,
maybe. They better be quick. </i>He spun away from the open grave, determined
to head to the funeral home. Mid-spin he caught a glimpse of smoke rising up
from the same direction as the explosion he’d heard earlier. <i>I need to get some men over there. Dead
king. Explosion and smoke. Storm coming.</i> <i>I should have stayed in bed. </i>He shook his head, exhaled sharply,
and then started forward again. He hadn’t made it six steps before he heard
someone yelling his name. <i>If this day
doesn’t kill me…</i> </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
“-mander Felis!” A well-built man wearing the green and black canvas
cargo pants common among landscapers, froze a few feet from the investigators.
His normally tanned face visibly paled. Glancing nervously from the hole to the
investigators and back, he set his jaw, and continued approaching Felis. When
within whispering distance, he repeated Santos’ message, “I may be crazy as a loon,
but a bird in the hand is better than two in the bush, even if the early bird
gets the worm.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
The last thing Felis expected was a gardener spouting Merc code, “what
did you say?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Repeating the message, Patrick Field struggled to keep his attention on
the commander. Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed the taller of the two
investigators start to climb into the grave, he shouted, “wait!” </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Both investigators froze.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Having barely processed the meaning of the message, Commander Felis
stepped forward, “why should they?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
“Uh,” Patrick Field hesitated, “well, uh, there’s a body in there.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
“How do you know?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
“That’s…um…see he…tried to…” Patrick didn’t know where to start. Finally,
he said softly, “yesterday, Kaiser Imler told me to take Arch—uh, Kaiser
Archel, and hide Meranti’s body. So, we put it there.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Commander Felis’ eyes narrowed as he scrutinized Patrick Field, “why
would he?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
“I don’t know. I did what I was told. I mean, don’t you follow orders?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Uncertain of the groundskeeper’s sincerity, Felis nodded, “usually. Then
again, I’ve never been ordered to hide a body.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Flinching, Patrick chewed on the inside of his lip. Then, he said,
“until yesterday, I hadn’t either. Of course, the whole world’s gone crazy
since then.” Without humor he chuckled, “you might say crazy as a loon.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Nodding again, Commander Felis approached the investigators, “seems
there’s another body in there. Dig it out. Continue your investigation. I’ll
send someone to pick it up.” The two investigators looked into the grave, then
stared at Felis in confusion. “You have your orders.” He turned back to
Patrick, “with me.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
“Left here!” Balin said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
“A bit more warning next time,” Dagon ordered while ripping the steering
wheel left. The mid-sized militia truck screeched rubber as it rounded the
corner. “You sure you know where we’re going?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
“We’re close. Can’t you smell it?” Balin
asked. He rolled his window down, stuck his head out it, and said, “next
right.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
“I can’t smell anything,” Dagon jerked the wheel right and screeched
around another corner. Without warning Balin, he jammed his foot on the brake. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
The ensign’s head slammed into the doorframe. Sliding back into his seat
and holding his injured head, the young man growled, “motherfuckme! Say
something next time, will you!” </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
“Ensign,” Dagon pointed out the windshield.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
With his eyes closed and his hand holding his left temple, Balin didn’t
see Dagon pointing. Balin said, “I’m sorry, sir. But, my head is fucking killing
me.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Using his knuckles, Dagon rapped on Balin’s leg, “I don’t give a shit
about that, cuz. Look!” Anna Caliber Drive was covered in slowly dissipating tendrils
of brackish haze; heedless of which, a small semi-circle of aged veterans stood
near a light blue house on the left side of the street. Dagon released the
brake, pressed the gas, and drove the militia truck up to the crowd. Not one of
the seniors responded to their arrival, rather the gaggle kept staring at a
young man bent over one of three piles of charred remains. They hopped out of
the truck and gagged on the smoke and stench. Inside the truck, even though
Balin’s window was down, the smell had been muted.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
When Dagon started to step through the crowd, Balin grabbed his elbow,
“let me check it out first, sir.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
“Pshaw!” Dagon shook the hand off and edged through the old-timers. As
Dagon approached, a miserable cawing broke the silence. An instant later, the
young man threw his head back and howled, matching the bird’s wailing tone for
tone. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Ensign Osborne ran a hand through his ginger curls, “but, General
Michaels, I don’t see any sign of her. Much less anyone else.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
In exasperation, the general drew out a sigh, “Whistler has killed us.”
Using his cane, he tapped a group of pointing twigs, a broken branch in a hole
in the bushes, and piece of cloth hanging just inside the hole. “Didn’t you
learn to track? That used to be first year at the Academy.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
“I’m not a Regular. Sir, I never went to Academy. I went to Elite. Different
schools.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
The general stared at Osborne’s tan slacks, then huffed, “it seems Lara
will be pleased to know I’m teaching again. Here. And, here. Signs.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
“Anything could have broken that,” Osborne said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
“A squirrel will rarely take the time to arrange twigs in the shape of
an arrow.” Tapping his forehead with one finger, he added, “think ensign. She
has to communicate with what’s available. I know they teach you that.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
“Yes, sir.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
“It’ll be difficult for me to get through. You go. I’ll walk around that
mausoleum and see if there’s a break in the shrubbery. Keep your eyes open for
other signs. If I can’t get in, you’ll have to follow her trail.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
“Okay, sir,” Osborne said as he disappeared into the bush. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
“Then what happened?” Commander Felis asked as they neared the funeral
home.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
“Well,” Patrick said, “one minute I’m bringing our lunch in, and the
next I’m watching a girl appear in my living room and the boy, uh, the king,
change into a griffin. I ain’t never seen anything like it. She just popped in
out of nowhere and h—he... You ever see someone transform?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
“Seen it?” Felis fiddled with his pinky ring, “no. I can’t say that I’ve
ever seen it.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
“I wasn’t expecting it.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
“I’m sure that was unsettling.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
“Unsettling? That’s an understatement. Frankly, Commander, it was unreal.
Everyone’s heard the tales. But what sane person believes in griffins and
teleportation? Unreal. And, meaning no offense, downright freaky. I was glad
when Santos gave me that ridiculous message. I needed to get out of my own
house. Get some fresh air.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
“I see.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
“I don’t think you do,” Patrick sighed. “I’m not made for politics. I’m
a gardener. And, I’m two days behind in my planting. Mr. Silvan is gonna be
pissed.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Felis stopped walking, “I can
handle Silvan for you, if you can take care of a couple things for me.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
“Like what?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
“Did you see the smoke?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
“Yeah. Any idea what happened?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
“No. Verify the fire department’s on scene or at least been called. And,
get Celatrix Verna down here from the Ministrae. She’s got arrangements to make.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Patrick eyed Felis before saying, “that’s it? Run errands?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
“Yes. I don’t have any guards to spare right now.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
Thinking about his uninvited house guests, Patrick said, “alright. I’ll
be your errand boy. Anything else?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
“If that’s not enough for you, I’m sure I can think of something else.
Report to me when you’re done.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
“No. No. That’s good. You’ve got a deal,” Patrick stuck out his right
hand and Felis shook it with his own. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
With the deal sealed, Patrick took off jogging toward the smoky
streamers rising over the retirement neighborhood. Rubbing his neck and
watching the darkening sky, Felis grunted, <i>if
he thinks a griffin is freaky, I wonder what he’d think of a Versicatus. He’s
probably never even heard of one. </i>He turned back to the funeral home and
strode the last hundred feet to the office entrance where Ensign Ford paced.</div>
<script>
(function(i,s,o,g,r,a,m){i['GoogleAnalyticsObject']=r;i[r]=i[r]||function(){
(i[r].q=i[r].q||[]).push(arguments)},i[r].l=1*new Date();a=s.createElement(o),
m=s.getElementsByTagName(o)[0];a.async=1;a.src=g;m.parentNode.insertBefore(a,m)
})(window,document,'script','//www.google-analytics.com/analytics.js','ga');
ga('create', 'UA-66666100-1', 'auto');
ga('require', 'linkid', 'linkid.js');
ga('send', 'pageview');
</script>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0