Write About A Sudden Silence

It took two more shots of courage before I left the bar. I needed time to think my options through. It wasn't pretty. Bert must of sensed something was wrong from my sudden silence. He wrung his hands and swayed quietly at my side while my head raced. The Black Moths were big time. As the Citadel grew in strength and pumped out more efficient Runners, the under belly of the city responded in kind. Small time gangs and loan sharks were efficiently rounded up by the Runners and swallowed whole by the dark tower. The ones that escaped detection were the most ruthless and most deadly. About two years ago, rumors began to circulate that a new organization had formed. Petty differences and territory skirmishes were squashed under this new leadership. In order to thwart a better mousetrap, the mice had evolved into something smarter, quicker, and deadlier. I didn't know much about how the organization was run. I liked playing in the kiddie pool and had no illusions that I could swim in the deep end. Unfortunately, it appeared I had just taken the plunge.  But I could run. Berto and I could high tail it right now for the countryside. Maybe find work on a farm or sheep ranch. Or we could head out to sea and try and loose ourselves on one of the outer islands. Maybe try our hands at piracy. But while we might slip out of the reach of the Black Moths, we would leave quite a few behind. Our step brothers and sister, friends, colleges.  I shuddered at the thought.  Santiago knew us.  I had no illusions that he would help me.  The casualties were too high for running away.

I pushed away from the bar and headed out the door and up the stairs.  It was heavy night.  Two moons hung low over the horizon.  My thumb rubbed the embossed moth again and I noted the address.  It wasn't far.  As I headed across town with Umberto in tow, I paused to look up at the Citadel that spiraled up the sky.  Even at this hour of night it was alive with lights and smoke and noise.  That was another option. I stopped on the corner and gazed at the building, thinking.  The Citadel wanted the Black Moths.  They had been hunting them for years.  So far, their Runners had been lead on a merry chase.  They would pay for what I knew.  Heck, this address alone would buy me a years worth of coin alone.  But again, there was the small issue of my family and friends.  While the Citadel would gladly protect me and Berto, I doubt they would throw their cloak of protection over all those I cared about.  No, I knew I had but one real choice. One true choice but there were still a few variables I could finesses. If I was going to have to play this cruddy hand, I might as well stuff as many aces up my sleeves as possible.

"Come on Berto, let's go to the Citadel," I said, walking briskly toward the square.

Berto's face scrunched in confusion.  "Raz?  Why we gonna do that?  I thought you said to never ever ever go there?"

I turned to face my brother.  "I know, I know.  But this is special."  Berto crossed his arms and planted his feet.  Clearly, my earlier admonitions to stay clear of the Runners were in full effect.  I didn't have time to waste so I decided to go to my old stand-by, the harmless lie.

"It's the kids, Berto," I pleaded.  "Remember?  We promised to help them?  Well. my old pal Santiago at the bar told me that the Citadel needs to be told about what is going on.  He thinks the Runners may be able to help.  I have to go and, well, meet with someone real quick. I thought if you head to the Citadel and, you know, report what you learned, that would be fastest?

Umberto's face cleared and his shoulders straightened.  He fairly radiated determination.  "You got it Raz!  I knew you would think of something. I'm a gonna just go and tell..." he faltered and his brows fell again.  "Um, Raz?  Who am I gonna tell?"

"You know, the guy.  The one who deals with the Cuttle?  The ambassador...um, I forget.  Just tell 'em you want to see whoever is in charge of Cuttle relations.  I'm sure they'll direct you were you need to go," I nodded sagely and gently shoved Umberto toward the Citadel.  He didn't look totally convinced so I added, for good measure, "It's for the kids.  Berto.  The kids."

I watched my half-brother as he headed out.  I had no doubt that he would be scuttled back and forth for hours.  He'd probably land at some poor pencil pushers desk but he would also be safe.  For now.  And that was one less thing to worry about.

22342 South Reacher.  I fingered the card one last time before putting it in my pocket.  I twisted the ring around my finger for reassurance and headed off.  Time to meet the Black Moths.

A Green Eyed woman

Arthur awoke slowly, languorously.  

"How long has it been since I've been in a bed as comfortable as this?"  He asked himself.  Were it not for the rumblings in his stomach he would have blissfully retreated back to dreams and shirked his duties for another while longer.  It was the pieces of his surroundings that teased his wanting-to-be conscious mind from slumber even more than hunger.

The gentle rocking of the bed implied he was still aboard the Wonsoon, however the smells were off.  It was too clean.  The smell of wet wood, rusting iron and rat droppings were gone.  Lavender, sea salt and ozone had replaced those smells.

While he was snugged beneath thick blankets his face felt cool.  Gone was the boiler room heat that seemed to permeate every inch of the Wonsoon. Also gone was the groaning creak of the timbers and the iron joints.  Instead there was only a regular thrumming below the threshold of his hearing that was more felt than heard.

He popped open an eye, a clean white featureless ceiling greeted him.  Opening the other eye confirmed it.  The blankets he was under were thick furs.  He looked around his room.  The bed stood in the center.  This room was slightly smaller than the one he had been locked in on the Wonsoon, but was infinitely cleaner.  There was a small wooden dresser in the corner with a wash basin on top and a glass pitcher full of water.  Behind it a large mirror.  A thick door was too his left, curiously without a door knob, at least on his side.  To his right, however, was a sight that made him shrink into bed with a wave of vertigo.  A window stretched floor to ceiling, and ran the entire length of the wall.  Curtains were draped over half the window, but still he could see the ocean and its whitecaps far below.  Huge puffy clouds met him at eye level in the distance.  He looked down, the floor was covered in light colored wood, which looked solid enough.  Cautiously he put one foot down, then another.  The room had a gentle rock to it but nothing that threw him off balance.

With one large motion he slid the curtains to one side along a rail and basked in the sight before him.  Above he could see the gentle curve of the airship's balloon.  To his left almost as far away as a city block he could make out two spars with mounted engines' props spinning on them.  Below was not just ocean and whitecaps but an island.  Or at least a ring around what was once an island.  A thin beige band circled a tiny rock outcropping in its center.  Both inside the band and out the water was a dark and deep blue.  Arthur could make out trees on the band but nothing else.

To his right the sun was halfway down the horizon.  The light was still bright, the skies and ocean a brilliant blue, but the sun added a gold hue to everything.

Arthur's mouth hung agape at the scene when his stomach rumbled again.  Looking down he realized he was dressed in some sort of light weight uniform.  Gray top, black pants.  A pair of slippers were at the foot of the bed.  A wave of panic swept over him.  If his clothes were gone, there was no way for Vincenti and Sheung to find him.  He ran over to the dresser and stopped.  He had run.  He looked into the mirror and his old familiar face greeted him back. 

"Hello handsome" he grinned at mirror.  His height hadn't changed, but the glamor that made him appear much younger and human had either been removed or worn off.  He'd have to see what day it was when he had a chance.  Staring back his Lemurman features stared back.  He had his golden eyes back, a soft fuzz of fur over his body was very reassuring.  Best of all he could straighten his tail out again.  It had been wrapped around his right leg for days, one part of the glamor he'd convinced Sheung to leave intact.  He didn't know what he'd do without a tail. 

To his relief his clothes were in the dresser drawers.  They were neatly pressed and smelled as fresh as the day he had gotten them from the tailor.

He was just stepping into his boots when there was a knock at the door. 

"Come in."  He said, out of habit more than politeness.

The door slid open almost silently.  Two men stood there, faces dour.  Both were heavily armed. They wore dark uniforms made out of a combination of furs and leather.  The uniforms looked quite warm without being bulky in the least.  Leather vests and straps held an accoutrement of instruments, keys and other bits Arthur didn't have time to examine.

"You're to come with us."

"I'd be delighted, but can we stop by a galley or something first?  I'm not sure when I last... Say what day is it?"

"The fortieth of Largo.  Please come with us.  I'm sure food arrangements can be made."

"The fortieth?  Thank the gods, I thought I'd been out longer than that."  Then he began a mental tirade against Sheung as he followed the guards out of the room and towards the front of the airship.

The next time he saw that two bit parlor magician he would read him the riot act.  His glamor had only lasted until the fortieth?  He wouldn't have even made it to the refinery much less been able to infiltrated the abductees.  Not that people couldn't see he was under a glamor in the first place.  The whole plan had gone off half-cocked when Sheung's niece had been abducted.  He knew they should have merely gone to the authorities first.  But with the Trident staying mum on the disappearances and the Citadel seemingly more motivated to find the missing Cuttle children instead it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Arthur followed the two men down several hallways and up three flights of stairs and entered a large room surrounded on three sides by glass.  The view was astounding.  He could make out both tubes that made up the immense balloons above him.  The gondola where they were, for lack of a better was suspended between the two with both rigid metal struts and more flexible rope webbing.  Two steps lead into the main bridge, and a large window took up most of the floor so that the crew appeared to be walking on nothing at all.  Arthur assumed he was on the bridge.  Several knots of crew hovered around various stations talking in a level just above a whisper.   Two people stood at matching captain's wheels on the right and left sides of the bridge.  Several more people stood at various machinery and instruments that Arthur could only guess as to their purpose.  The guards stopped at the door and one knot looked up at him.  A woman dressed in a similar dark uniform stood at the center of that group.  She held half a smile while her green eyes locked with Arthur.  Her waist length black hair came down to the middle of her back in an intricate braid.  With a subtle dip of her head, the two guards turned on their heels and went back through the hallways heading back to wherever they had come from to begin with.

Arthur began to make his way down the two steps from the doorway when he saw the green eyed woman arch an eyebrow and cock her head.  Arthur stopped on the first step.  She turned to give her attention to three in the group.  They were dressed darkly, but, now that Arthur paid attention, significantly differently than everyone else.  The conversation concluded and the three men turned towards the step that Arthur had paused on.  His blood froze.  On the upper right breast of each stranger's jacket was a black winged moth.  One again, Arthur's tirade against Sheung began.  This time with epithets and language that would have made his rough and tumble father blush.

The three black winged moth men walked by Arthur, each one making eye contact with him and each one smiling.  The last one stopped.

"You're lucky you have such powerful benefactors Mr. DiMedilan.  But we'll be seeing you soon enough."

Arthur did his best to suppress a shiver.  Dressed in his regular clothes he realized how chilly it was, the abject terror he was feeling doing nothing to warm him.

"Leave him alone." the Green eyed woman said.  Her voice was both melodious and utterly impossible to ignore.  The Black Winged Moth man turned, gave her a smirk and left.

"Mr. DiMedilan please come here.  Eyes, have you spotted it yet?"

"Yes Ma'am" a man holding a telescope replied.  "Course is dead on.  Base is below us.  A new course downwards at .9 degrees will intercept."

"Helm, you heard him.  Angle us down .9 degrees."  Arthur now stood next to the Green eyed woman.  She was a full two heads taller than he was.  Granted, even for a lemurman he wasn't terribly tall, but she was still at least half a head taller then everyone else on the bridge.

"Arthur DiMedilan, pleased to make your acquaintance."  She held out a long fingered gloved hand which he took in his and gave it a tentative shake. 

"We'll be back at base within the hour.  I'd be pleased if you would join me for dinner.  We have much to discuss.  You are very popular, especially for being such a seemingly unassuming Lemurman."

Regaining his composure and not knowing what was a better outcome, he had to think twice if being in the custody of the black winged moth crew was a better fate then being held captive with the Cirrus gang.  Arthur knew little of the Cirrus gang except for that their dirigible preyed on ships all along the seaboard.  It was assumed their base of operations was positioned somewhere halfway up the continent's seaboard in some small forgotten island.  The city he left had spent the better part of a decade looking and pouring money into fruitless searches.  Now Arthur was being taken to their base.  This information would be worth thousands!  And Sheung would be tracking him via his clothing ward.

"I trust you're feeling better?  That was quite a blow you took to your head.  We found you just before you drowned."
"I must say I'm feeling better due to your hospitality.  Your reputation precedes you, however, I've never heard of the Cirrus gang taking prisoners?  Is this part of a new public relations campaign on your part?"
"Oh you were the only one, and I'd rather say you're more of a commodity as opposed to a prisoner.  This was quite the profitable run for us.  Between you and the fourteen tons of rum the Wonsoon was carrying.  Its a pity the boiler room was breached so quickly as there was an additional twenty tons of tools that would have been useful.  But those are now at the bottom of the shallow sea."
"Well thank you captain..."
"Levkov.  You are on board the Cumulus.  Now excuse me I have some matters that need attending to.  The view is best from either here or the dorsal observation bubble.   We have a little under an hour until we dock.  Please be back here before then."

She spun on her heel and left the bridge.  Everyone on the bridge seemed to be making sure to avoid eye contact with him.  All questions were rebuffed in silence.  His stomach rumbled again.  He asked one of the crewmen at the large wheel where the galley was.  That was met with simply "Aft, deck two"

Twenty minutes later, carrying a sandwich, Arthur arrived on the dorsal observation bubble.  He looked around admiring the view.  The deep thrumming of the engines had chaged pitch, they were slowing down.  Ahead, Arthur could spot their destination.  All searches had been far wide of the mark.  No wonder a search team had never found them.  The structure was lit from below.  A roughly five sided disk suspended from the bottom of no fewer than 35 enormous dirigible balloons.  The structure dwarfed the Cumulus, which, by itself had dwarfed the Wonsoon.  In the shadows Arthur could make out windows shining like gems.  He peered through the telescope that was mounted in the dorsal bubble.  He could make out walkways that were wider than streets back home.  Vehicles, not just pedestrians zipped along the thoroughfares.  Three other ships the size of the Cumulus were already docked.  Tens of others flitted around the structure.  Some carried cables from one area to another.  He could just make out people with arc welders working on some structure underneath.  The workers were only suspended by cables as they swung from section to section.  Huge proplellers jutted out at virtually every angle from the disk, keeping the whole structure still.

Two singled hulled dirigibles were in the final process of attaching themselves to the Cumulus to tug the large ship into its berth.  A whistle came from a brass tube near Arthur's hands and a hollow voice came through:

"All hands prepare for docking prep.  Arthur DiMedilan please return to the bridge.  Repeat all hands prepare for docking prep.  Arthur Dimedilan please return to the bridge."

A place on a map

The sun was high by the time Vincenti stormed through the front door of the apothecary he called home. There in deep concentration Sheung was hunched over a map of western Liske that included the Bay on the other side of the hill and a sizable portion of the sea beyond. He could see little islands and archipelagos march their way along the coast. The map was larger than the table table top, its edges and foggy zones of exploration hanging lazily in each direction. Vincenti could see drops of sweat in the sea where Sheung was doing his best to divine the location of Arthur. "He's still moving." Sheung said, not looking up. "But too fast to be on a ship. Maybe a schooner. And where have you been? You were supposed to report back yesterday!"

Vincenti regarded the ancient man for a second. Sheung sat in a specially made chair that allowed him access to the entire apothecary. Large wheels with cogs on the outside allowed him to maneuver himself across the floor and up the walls when Vincenti wasn't there to push the chair. His wizened little legs seemed more like afterthoughts, barely emerging from under his long white beard. His legs had been shrunk in a thaumaturgical experiment some twenty years prior and no amount of coaxing had brought them back yet. His nearly reptilian right hand, another experimental casualty, held a fine platinum chain a foot above the map. A dark blue fluorite octahedron was soldered at then end seemed fixed at an odd angle above a point on the map no matter which way Sheung moved the chain.

"Don't just stand there, come over here and read me the location where Arthur is."

"He's on a coal steamer named the Wonsoon heading for the Refinery."

"Was. His course switched to northerly this morning. And you still haven't answered where you have been?"

Vincenti knew better than to try and explain the situation with the knife and the witch at this point. His shoulders slumped.

"Out investigating."

"Very well, go sit over there until I need you again." Sheung adjusted his thick glasses and became lost in the map once more. Vincenti walked over to his chair and sat. He needed something to do, and sitting and stewing on his memories was more than he could handle today. But, looking around, the apothecary was inordinately clean. There was nothing to dust, not even a beaker or vial to wash.

The minute he sat, the memories began flickering back behind his eyes. Movies and images playing at different speeds but all playing at the same time. The cacophony was overwhelming whenever he wasn't concentrating on something. Every memory of every synapse of his life and everyone's life he had been made up of came flooding in.

Vincenti realized, again, he could recite the first 1460 digits of the product of Sauer's Theorem, but even under penalty of death he couldn't understand what Sauer's theorem was good for or what it approximated. He could smell the little blue flowers next to a bubbling creek he would walk beside when he was a little girl and no more than five years old. He could feel the pats on his back as he had just baked the best loaf of bread in all of Rotma! Sometimes there were memories he would try to steer towards as they were less traumatic than others. Today, however, he had no such luck. He couldn't control where his mind took him. It was straight to the trenches during the wraith skirmishes some one hundred and fifty years ago. He remembered soiling himself he was so scared. It was night. The fog thick enough he couldn't see the other end of his trench.

"Hold the line" had been the orders from his captain. There was going to be no order of retreat. His company could either hold the wraiths back, or die trying. Between urine and sweat his uniform was soaked and cold. Looking around he could see the wild scared eyes of the rest of his troop. His arms started to shake. The wraiths took no prisoners. Countless waves of infantry just like his had been lost trying to find some weakness with the wraiths. The only difference between those poor souls and his was a new type of rifle with bullets made of iron and intricate little symbols engraved on them. Those symbols caused their rifles to jam more often than not, especially in the cold of North Fingers.

Fifteen trenches just like his had been dug on the southern side of that mountain pass. One hundred men per trench, all armed with the same type of rifle and bullets. Ring bearers were stationed every fifty feet reporting what they saw back to HQ.

The moons hadn't risen yet, and the high clouds would have obstructed any light they gave anyway. A hushing "Shush" came from one of the forward trenches. At least he was near the rear. Vincenti would have a chance to see his death coming. The man he had been held a pendant and prayed to a now defunct god, all the while thinking of his wife and daughter.

He could hear it now. The crackle of the rocks, the slight buzzing of the wraiths speaking to each other. The almost crystalline sound of the frost enveloping everything around them. There was a shout and the front trenches opened fire. He only had five bullets in his rifle. Another thirty in a bandolier across his chest. In surprise he accidentally squeezed the trigger and a round shot off straight up into the air. The sound caused three of his trench mates to open fire into the darkness ahead of them. Four other soldiers simply dropped their rifles and began running in the opposite direction of the wraiths.

Vincenti, or Lam, as he had been called then composed himself, finished his silent prayer and crawled on his elbows to the rim of the trench. It was too dark to see, except when another rifle shot sent blinding blue light into the night. He could see, in those times, the wraiths, moving through the fog, almost a living embodiment of the fog itself.

Watching the wraiths coming he could almost count the seconds until they would close in on his position. Another barrage of blue light, then silence. The front trenches were no longer returning fire. The middle trenches opened up. There were only five wraiths that glided over the terrain. Under any other circumstance their movement would have been beautiful. Graceful as a cloud mixed with the litheness of a flame.

The middle trenches were now silent. The meandering gate of the wraiths made them seem even more ephemeral, like a summer zephyr, but he knew that at least 800 solders lay in their trenches, their lives extinguished.

Lam's bowels released and he cursed himself for how scared he was. A shiver so great nearly made him drop his rifle. One of the wraiths was now in range. Lam took a deep breath and howled with the fury and frustration of a man who knew he was about to die. Four bullets left his rifle. Two went wide, one went high. The last found its mark. He didn't take any time to see if any damage had been done. In one fluid motion Lam broke open the stock and emptied the defunct casings. Almost idly he noticed his right hand, the hand inserting the bullets wasn't shaking. Of any part of his body, his right arm seemed supremely confident. Each bullet was placed in the rifle. Each bullet had a place. Each bullet had a function. In seconds he was reloaded, the stock closed, and he was now sighting the nearest wraith, only one trench away. Five more soldiers to his left dropped their guns and ran. He could feel his friend Nonce tugging at his jacket urging him to run too. It was a buzzing in his ears. The only sounds that were distinct were his own heartbeat, the sound of air moving in his lungs, the firing pin pulling back and that incessant chattering crackle coming from the wraith itself.

Three more bullets found home and this time he could watch them enter the wraith's body and slow. To his dismay they still passed through the creature. The being, It. No one was sure what they were. All anyone knew is that to see one was death and they moved in groups.

The bullets caught the wraith's attention. It stopped its lateral motion through the trench it was in, its gaseous head swiveling around to look at Lam with three red-black eyes. In one motion it leapt the edge of the trench and landed halfway between that trench and Lam's.

Two more bullets sliced into two of those three eyes. It let out a caterwaul that froze Lam in his tracks. Vincenti, detached, urged Lam to run. He knew what would come next. What always came next. "Run you fool. You hurt it, it can't see you! Run!" Instead, Lam's right arm merely broke the stock open again and reloaded. Fingers still working as sure as if he were playing a game of Quin with his uncle. Nonce was shouting something at him, but Lam couldn't hear it. In the corner of his eye he could see the terror as Nonce let go of Lam's jacket and ran.

"You've solved it Lam, now run!" Vincenti's subconscious was screaming. "The eyes, the glyphs work on the eyes. Make sure HQ knows that, they can build a better gun that targets the eyes." Because Vincenti knew that exactly that happened. Some nine years after the wraith skirmishes began they were ended by the battle of North Fingers. The intel got through. HQ made the new weapon and the wraiths were a threat no longer. But, to Vincenti's dismay the battle of North Fingers had to conclude.

Lam reloaded. The ring bearer in his trench had sidled up near him, a look of determination and sheer terror on his face that Lam assumed must had mirrored his own. The ring bearer's ring was still spinning on the end of its string. The ring bearer reciting everything he could see into the spinning jewelry. He knew there was another ring spinning from another piece of string back at HQ with a scribe writing down everything in their peculiar shorthand.

Two more wraiths had thundered over to their injured comrade, head's searching for the offender. Lam locked eyes with one, his finger squeezed the trigger three more times. These shots perfect, they hit their marks and another wraith was incapacitated. The ring bearer was now shouting into the ring, a slight tone of excitement.

The other wraith charged Lam. Two shots squeezed off, only one hit its mark. It was not enough to slow the beast. The wraith collided with LAM and knocked him back. Instantly the breath was wrenched from his lungs. He could feel the burning cold grip his chest, his legs, his neck and head. He could see the blue flame his body had turned into and marveled at how painless it really was. His last thought was of his wife and daughter then nothingness.

Lam's right arm had been charged with enough thaumaturgic energy that the blue flame had spared it. It was that right arm and Lam's rifle that had been recovered three days later. It was that right arm that was now giving Vincenti the golem the memories of a man gone some one hundred and fifty years. Vincenti always cherished the sacrifices of those that made him up and he noticed he was blinking away tears of the memories of his or rather Lam's wife and daughter. Someday he'd find what happened to them, but Sheung kept him too busy to find out.

"Quit crying Six and make yourself useful". Vincenti sometimes wondered what happened to One through five, as Vincenti's name itself was merely the number six.

"We've got to go." Then Sheung's demeanor changed as he realized what had happened. "Lam, Pico or Flanda?"

"Lam" Vincenti croaked and stood. He removed his bowler hat from the hat stand and pulled out a handkerchief to dry his eyes.

"I'm sorry Six. Someday I'll remove those memories permanently."

Vincenti dreaded that day most of all. "Not a rush Sheung. Lets go find Arthur and figure out about those missing children."