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“The imp’s stopped moving.” Cuthbert's voice came from just ahead of Dreth.
“Give the rope a tug,” said Dreth. There was a distant yell. “Still alive then. Go on. Percy, lead the way.” “Don't see why it has to be me up front all the time,” grumbled Percy. “Let's send the kid first.” “Hey! That’s my son you’re talking about!” “It's not your real son. You just put him together from spare parts. He has one of my old hands even. You never did it with anyone.” “Ha! Shows how much you know,” Cuthbert's voice oozed smugness as they felt their way along a narrow passage. “You never!” “Did so! Remember Emmy?” “Her??? Didn't that ranger bash her skull in?” “Yes, thank you for reminding me about that. Anyway, we did 'the dance' in the lower tomb.” “Are they talking about what I think they’re talking about?” asked Redthorne of Dreth. “Who knows?” said Dreth. “However, I don't recommend trying to find out.” “The social life of zombies seems to be more complex than I realized,” mulled the wizard. “Not that I’d thought about the subject much. At all in fact.” Percy and Cuthbert were still talking, their voices echoing through the dark corridor. “That bitch! She told me she was frigid!” “What can I say, some zombies...” Cuthbert was cut off from a voice ahead. “Finally you get here.” “Is that you Ichabod?” asked Percy, bumping into Cuthbert, who had stopped abruptly. “No, I’m the tooth fairy with a back-payment.” “What are you waiting for imp?” Dreth asked. “Do they give back payment?” “I banged my head on something on the wall. I thought I would wait until you kind gentlemen came along to investigate, as my hands are currently tied behind my back for some reason.” |
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“Eh, Mr. Wilson! Wake up!”
The delivery van doors were open, and the driver was shining a lantern inside. Wilson shielded his eyes. “Last chance to stretch yer legs before we get to Stanning,” he said. “Careful now, it’s a bit gusty out here.” Wilson scrambled over chairs and tables, and dropped out of the van onto the road. The labourer’s clothes he’d been given as a disguise made him itch, but he was glad of the thick woollen jacket and scarf that Galloway’s department had provided. The vehicle creaked and swayed as the wind buffeted its sides. Heavy clouds edged in moonlight slid across the sky, scattering raindrops in their wake. Despite the rain, the clean cold air was a welcome change for Wilson. He promised himself he’d bring his daughters out into the countryside when the weather was better. Arms folded against the wind, Wilson trudged to the front of the van while the driver emptied his bladder by the side of the road. He could see a cluster of lights twinkling in the dark valley ahead. “Is that Stanning?” “Indeed it is, Sir, but I’ll be turnin’ off before we get there. Me lodgings fer the night is further on an’ it’s late. Yer policeman said there’s folk from Stanning waitin’ for yer at the junction – just beyond that rise, Sir. I hope they got a cart... Stanning’s a quarter hour ride from there.” “Thank you,” said Wilson. “Get back in an’ close the door when yer ready,” shouted the driver from the front. Wilson climbed back into the van and was just reaching to close the door when the crack of a pistol cut through the wind, followed by a hollow groan from the driver. Every muscle in Wilson’s body jumped as if it was he that had been shot. The van shook as the horse whinnied and reared, and Wilson heard an unfamiliar shout from the front. Footsteps crunched on the road, and he knew someone was coming for him. |
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Chapter VIII
“Yes, I know these things always start very simple,” I said to Pinkie. “But I’m starting to think of these situations in a similar way to humans; complications come with development.” “Arr arrr?” “They are. That is why I do not mind coming to this kind of party. It is very rarely one of the young ones I am here for.” The party had been laid on in honour of a child called Nigel, who was four years old. The rather large house had been decorated in sufficiently elaborate fashion to make the equally large gathering of children believe they were not inside a normal abode but had in fact been magically teleported into the heart of a travelling circus. The walls were lost beneath lashings of streamers and banners, while a multitude of rainbow coloured balloons hung from the ceiling. Loud music of the current trend boomed from the very modern player and I wondered, not for the first time in my existence, if using my scythe on the wire giving it life would be deemed improper. Given the choice, I would always have selected something classical over something modern. A piece with lots of violins. Not exactly birthday party music though. “As I was saying, it was Boris, the unlucky gravedigger, who directed me to his employer for some answers. Mr Bones– ” “Arr?” “A bit of an unfortunate name I know, but sometimes these things happen. Mr Bones was– ” “Arrr!” “Is it that time already?” Indeed it was that time already. I looked across the room, beyond the banners and balloons, through a doorway and into the kitchen where Herman Crisp, one hundred and two years of age and the great-great-grandfather of Nigel, let out a gasp and fell headfirst into the moist icing of the birthday cake. I moved through the crowd of children, who continued to dance, shout, pull each other’s hair and poke each other in the eye without the slightest knowledge of what had occurred nearby. I paused once on the way to return the curious wave of an infant. Human’s may see me at two periods of their lives, you see. When they die, or in some cases just prior to their death, and in their first month of life. I don’t know why this is, and I have never felt the need to ask, although I do believe Jimmy once told me that very young humans are more perceptible to the strange and unusual along with a select few elders. The soul of Herman Crisp had no trouble seeing me at all, even though the ghostly memory of white icing that clung to his spectral face. “I fought in the bloody war,” Herman spluttered at me, “and the most dignified way you can give me for dying is face down in our Nigel’s cake?” “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t decide the method. I am just a caretaker really. I clean up what is left behind.” “Well at least you look like I expected,” Herman said, looking me up and down. “I was worried that the day I snuffed it I’d be palmed off with some dreadful excuse for a – what in the name of the Lord is that?” “Arr?” enquired Pinkie, while his little mind probably urged him to bite the ghostly finger pointing at him. “This is my…associate,” I said. It was the truth, I just tried not to advertise the fact. Some phantoms are funny about this type of thing; they expect tall, thin and black and would be less than impressed if they believed one day someone could be faced with short, illiterate and dumpy. “He keeps certain affairs of mine in order.” “Arr?” Pinkie asked again. “Yes, you,” I told him, pondering whether a jab in what I assumes to be his shin would encourage him to shut up. “Is that all he says?” Herman asked. “To you, yes,” I replied. “To me, he regrettably says much more.” “I hope you’re not expecting sympathy?” “I assume you are expecting a visa to Heaven?” “You have my utmost sympathy.” “And you have your visa. Sign there.” |
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“You are to die by a friend’s hand,” he stated. The flames around him dimmed.
I turned to Raish. She was stunned. Her eyes searched for the humanity within the Tharkian Seer—she could not find it. Raish had just been told her fate; she had just been told that, indeed, one day she would not exist. It was on this date, I believe, that her adolescence was over. There was no more innocence. No longer did she feel immortal. Raish, after this moment, was never the same. The clairvoyant closed his left eye. The center, ashen eye twitched. “What about me?” I asked, nervously. “Aren’t you supposed to tell me my fate before you tell us about the gem?” I couldn’t help myself. One part of me wanted to know for the obvious reason of security—I could do anything, as long as it wasn’t the way I was to die. There was,though, a growing malaise within me begging me to not push any further. The Tharkian Seer turned to me, opening all of his eyes. I stared deep within them involuntarily. They, like magnets, petrified my gaze. At that instant, I saw fear, hope, and pain. I only saw feelings—I could not see what he could see. “No,” he stated. “I cannot tell you.” “W-why?” I managed. “For if I do, everything will be different.” “But you told Raish!” I said. I quickly glanced over my shoulder at her. She was almost trembling, staring at the fire floor in sadness. “She is not you. I had to tell her. There will come a time where she must accept her fate knowingly, but you must accept yours unintentionally. It is the Balance.” |
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Hmm? What'll it be, me friends? What tea'll salve those hearts' desires?
Liam lounged in the chair, rocking slightly back and forth whilst waggling his outrageously orange eyebrows. Leah puzzled, and gradually spun an answer from her scattered thoughts. Strange though this Irishman, indeed this whole little cafe may be, perhaps there was somewhat to learn anyway. Besides, even if it turned out to be crap, it would be a hilarious story to tell later. Okay. I want something that will.. um.. make my dreams more understandable. You know what I mean? Oh, Aye. And ye? Liam's attention shifted to George, who in turn shifted rather uncomfortably in his seat. He looked to the ceiling, reading answers in the swirling stucco, and scratched at his bald scalp. Uh.. um. Nothing right now. I have to ... use the bathroom. George slipped from his seat, dodging Leah's nosy stare, and hightailed it around the corner to the Gents' room door. He linger, picking at the peeling green paint. Are ye lost? Or just undecided? A slender, pale finger poked him unerringly in the ribs, and George nearly yelped, before biting his tongue in surprise. What the fu.. oh! The redheaded waitress grinned at him, leaning over the pick-up counter to poke him once again. Something to order? Mayhap something ye dinnae want to say in front of yon lassie? She crooked her head in the direction from which he had come, and George felt a flush burn up the back of his neck. Who the hell were these nosy Irish bastards, anyway? Pikeys. Huh? He goggled at the waitress in confusion. We are. Pikeys. At least, that's a common term, nasty though it may be. Travellers is what we prefer, or ye may ken better if I called us Gypsies, Tinkers or Knackers? She grinned once again, and waggled her fingers in a sudden hello. An' I'm Dina, if that makes it easier for ye. "Waitress" looks strange on me immigration papers. She snickered. George rolled his eyes at her lame joke, and scuffed his boots a little against the wainscoting. Yeah, alright. Well, there ... look. Is this tea business a load of shit or what? I don't want to be made into even more of an idiot than I already feel. This is weird fucking shit right here, and I don't know if i'm buying it. Dina continued to grin, and held up her hand to forestall another round of angry muttering. When ye get chineese takeout, ye always read the fortune in the cookie, eh? He nodded. So, think of this like unto that. If ye think it's shite, then just do it for a lark. If it feels like more than that after, then ye ken take it as ye will. The thing of it is, ye get outta it what ye put into it. She poked him gently in the forehead. Now, just spit it out and get back to yer table before everyone starts thinking you're dead. George laughed. Alright, okay. I.. uh.. I want a tea that will, you know.. Um. LetmemakeLeahhappy. The worlds tumbled out in a mass of wrinkled syllables. Feeling the heat rush back up his neck, he ducked his head and headed back to the table, hands jammed into his pockets. In the background, Dina grinned and shook her head. Her brother gave up his post as Leah's entertainment as George retook his seat, and Liam loped back to the kitchen to join his sister. Leah faux-scowled at George suspiciously, and pinched his earlobe. Why the blush, mister? Been hitting on that sassy redhead in the back, eh? Men's room my ass. What, I'm not enough woman for ya? She laughed as he blushed even deeper, and scrunched deeper into the upholstered seat. I'm starting to like this place, you know? Kind of funky. George rolled his eyes and re-adjusted his ear piercings. Yeah, you don't know the half of it. There's definitely something strange about this place. Probably put magic mushrooms in the fucking tea. He smirked back at Leah and tweaked her hair. You look like you were enjoying yourself anyway, snuggling up to that Liam guy. They continued to squabble back and forth, for all the world like a pair of sibblings themselves, while back in the kitchen Dina leaned against her twin. Ah, those two. One can't see past her feet, and t'other can't stop trippin' o'er his own! Dina punched her brother softly in the shoulder, and turned back to the boiling kettle. She neatly poured the steaming water into two empty, waiting china cups, and handed them back to Liam. Take these on out then, an' lets see what they make of themselves. |
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“What is your name?” The voice pierced my mind, quiet, but full of authority. It slashed through my thoughts like a cleaver through a child’s breath. I tore my eyes away from hers, and saw her for the first time. Her face was pale, untouched by sun and slim. Her hair, barely visible under the hood of her black cloak, was a black like a raven’s wing at midnight. One pale hand, decorated with jeweled bracelets, delicately held a staff. It was a thing of nightmares. The head of the staff was a claw, black and shriveled, and it held what looked to be a diamond. But in the diamond… In the diamond, was a writhing black thing, the essence of nightmare, like liquid falling from a spout, only… only alive. And moving, inside the diamond. “I believe I asked what your name was. Would you like to tell me, or should I make you?” Again, the voice cut through my mind, without remorse, or anger, simply a statement of intent. There was no malice in that voice. It made it all the worse to hear. I stammered. “Benjamin Metzger, ummm, ma’am” Her eyes widened for a moment, and I heard a sharp hiss. Then, her eyes narrowed to slits. “Do not fool with me, maggot. I do not know how you know that name, but do not deign to use it for you own. None outside the Shadowsworn and the Nightbringers know that name.” She waved her staff, and my feet rose off the ground. I felt like a giant hand was lifting me off the ground, and was squeezing. I gasped out the first name that came to mind. “Red October.” The squeezing stopped, and I had time to contemplate my stupidity. Red October? That was the name of that movie. The Hunt for Red October. God. No one could really believe that as a name. The woman planted her staff back on the ground, with a thud. “Reddoc Tober. A curious name, but perhaps the right one this time.” She cocked her head. “Follow me. The Dark Lord doesn’t like to wait.” She turned, her cloak flaring as she strode from the room. I ran after her uncertainly. Reddoc Tober? I guess it would have to do. I’d gone by a lot of names before, in acting, and I guess this wasn’t that much different. Except that if he went out of character, he could get squeezed again. Most likely worse. And who was this Dark Lord? That was like, the oldest name in the books. I followed the woman through dark double doors, inlaid with writing and runes, and down a strangely familiar corridor. It was black marble, with torches like raven claws and gargoyles standing guard at the corners. It was almost like… But no. That was the opposite. All white stone, with angels and… But it was exactly like the summoning scene. Except the reverse. Dark to light. And this time, something heeded the summons. I heeded the summons. But in the screenplay, this was supposed to be a fortress of Light! Led by the powerful Lord Metzge…. All right, that had been a small conceit. Who could resist little things like that? But that man had been a force of light. If everything was flipped, then that must mean that he was the Dark Lord. But did that mean that the people besieging the castle were the Good guys? But in the scripts, the castle survives. Also in the script, nothing got summoned. What would happen now? The scales were weighing heavily on the Evil side right now. I almost smashed into the woman as she halted before an even more massive portal. It stood forty feet high, and was ten feet wide, made of some black metal. In the door, reflecting the eldritch light of the torches, shone a ghastly frieze, with horrific scenes depicting things better left unnamed. The cloaked woman grabbed a knocker, a naked woman, her back arched so that her hands were bound to her feet in an intricate knot, an expression of pain and terror gracing her face. She was so lifelike that I could swear she took a tortured breath as the cloaked woman’s hand wrapped itself around her torso. The knocker fell against the door once, twice, and I could swear that I heard a gasp underneath those echoing eerie knocks. The portal boomed open. The woman walked through. I followed. What I saw took my breath away. |
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