Three days into the journey and Arthur had finally gotten used to the idea about heading to the refinery, sure that he could tell someone what sort of mistake had been made.
While he hadn't been able to talk the captain into getting a larger room, at least he was free to walk about this one.
The captain had come down shortly after leaving the harbor and, upon seeing Arthur had been a mass of wild eyed panic, his greasy hands leaving dark streaks through his hair as he pushed it back from his eyes.
"You're not a child!" The captain had stated and began pacing in front of the door. This caused the Lemur-men to look around in agitation.
"You are correct, my good man. In fact I haven't been a child in a very long time. Care to untie me?" Arthur had said.
"My contract is to only take the slimes and the occasional fur baby." Arthur noticed that the captain hadn't even looked over at the lemur men when he had made the specist slight."
"Be that as it may, I am quite willing to attest to this faux pas and relieve your burden, simply untie me, drop me off at the next port of call, and I shall simply let bygones be bygones. I'll have you know this hasn't been the first time I've been mistaken for a child." Arther flashed a grin, hoping it was as caviler looking as he was trying to be.
"Gods be damned, you're not a slime, nor fur baby. Slants all to brindle! My contract is for slimes and furs..."
Arthur's smile faded. "We've established that. Now simply untie me, and drop me off at your next port of call."
"Next port is the Refinery." the captain had started wringing his hands.
"If geography serves the isle of Alta is in between here and there, without being too much out of your way. Simply drop me off there?"
"Can't schedule to keep. They'll know if we've deviated. Only enough coal to reach the refinery."
Arthur was beginning to feel some of the captain's panic. No one chose to go to the refinery.
"Why are you taking children to the refinery anyway? Last I heard it was for the desperate and the cast out."
"Do you know what ship this is?" The captain asked suddenly.
"The Wonsoon." Arthur said without thinking, but then quickly added, "But if you drop me off I could forget quite easily. All these coal steamers look alike to me."
"Slants all to brindle!" He shouted; "You!" he pointed at the nearest lemur man hanging from a rafter, go get me some marsh so I can figure out a way out of this."
"Keep dealing with me my good captain and I can have you in as much marsh as you can drink!"
"Slants all to brindle... Slants slants..." And with that he slammed the door closed. Seconds later he heard the agonized scrape of the bar sliding across, blocking all egress.
Arthur heard the lock click. He sloughed off the ropes that bound him that he had been loosening for hours and stood up to stretch. All his muscles ached. Even standing up straight he was only 2/3 the height of a lemur man.
That exchange had been three days prior. Food had been delivered by a non-speaking Lemur man. Arthur spent many hours gazing out the one porthole that was mere feet above the water line, listening to the constant thrum of the boilers. By his reckoning he still had another three days before they made it to the Refinery.
While all obvious enchantments had been relived from him, he could still see the aura of location around his clothes. Hoping against hope that Vincenti and the others had a map fine tuned enough to divine his location out at sea.
At one point he tried to call Vincenti using a crude wire ring hanging from a rat's whisker he was able to procure, but without fire the thaumurgy had little chance of success and there was very little that was flammable in his room anyway.
On the fifth day he awoke to a change in the engine pitch. Perhaps they had hit a headwind or the tides were against them but either way the engine was now straining. Arther was also pushed against the hull slightly from where he was sleeping. They were turning, a sharp turn. For an instant Arthur allowed himself fantasy of a change of course to Alta, but then he heard the thunder. Or what only sounded like thunder. Seconds later what sounded like a giant with a sledge hammer hitting the steel of the ship's frame made his teeth rattle.
Arthur scrambled up to the porthole. In the morning haze, dimly silhouetted and brooding not fifty feet above the water was an enourmous double bodied zeppelin. The gondola hanging below was many times the size of the wonsoon itself. A cargo platform had been dropped from the gondola and small steam powered cruisers were making their way towards the Wonsoon. The fog lit along the port sides of the zeppelin in an eeriy orange as another round of artillery left. Then came the thunder. Arthur dove behind a barrel just as the porthole he was looking in opened to the outside. The hole was barely above the water line and the stray wave began splashing in the jagged hole. Another flash, lit his room. This time Arthur could barely hear the thunder of the guns as the engines changed again to a deafening roar. Dimly he could hear someone shouting something about water in the boiler room.
Arthur found the sturdiest barrel he could and began pushing it towards the gash just as another volley made it even larger. Water began flooding into his room. The Wonsoon was officially sinking as Arthur could see the bulkhead of the compartments below his already filling with water.
One more heave and he and the barrel landed in the ocean, freezing water gripping his limbs and shocking his breath from his body. It took everything he had to position his body over the mostly-floating barrel so that only his legs were in the water. He watch the Wonsoon careen away from him, leaving his barrel twirling in the wake so that once every 2 seconds he had a view of the now listing ship.
Men, women, Lemur-men and women were darting amidst the rigging, some making graceful dives into the frigid water. Then the sea hit the boiler. The last thing Arthur saw was the bright orange ball of flame that seemed to split the Wonsoon in two. Arthur held onto the barrel for dear life as pieces of the wonsoon began raining down. It was one of these pieces that came down on his still tender head.
"Slants all to brindle." He mumbled as he lost consciousness...
Monday, March 19, 2012
Sunday, January 15, 2012
In The Distance
The tunnel opened before me. I could feel my pulse rise and my breath came fast in my throat. There was no light in the distance. No sound. No breeze. Just dead dark. My hands began to shake as the tunnel seemed to close around me and I'm sure I would have fallen if Umberto hadn't wrapped and arm around me.
"Raz? Raz? Are you ok?" he asked me. "Are you sure you wanna do this Raz? It looks kinda dark...."
Something about the stupidity of that remark shook me back on my feet. I pulled out of his grasp and rummaged in my overcoat pocket to find the gem Jules gave me.
"No shit it's dark you idiot," I grumbled, slapping the gem in my hand and watching as it flickered to life, "it's a secret tunnel. What do you think, it's going to have lighting installed?" I strode off in a huff, the eerie blue gem light casting shadows along the tunnel walls. It didn't illuminate far ahead but enough that I could see where I was going. I heard Berto shuffle behind me. When the trap door closed, the darkness fully engulfed us but I refused to let my steps falter. I kept my breathing steady and focused on Jules' gem light. I did, however, set a brisk pace. I wanted to get to the end of this passage and out as soon as possible before panic overwhelmed me.
The tunnel itself rose sightly. The ground was muddy and the sides were rough cut stones. There was enough height to stand comfortably but if I were to stretch out my arms, they would easily touch the sides of the passage. Single file was our best option. With Umberto's hulking footsteps behind me, I lead the way into the darkness. Time is a funny thing. In the dark, without any sounds or outside cues, it's easy to lose track of it. We couldn't have been walking long before I saw a bundle up ahead. I slowed as I approached. In our pathway, crumpled on the ground, was a brown coat. Never one to leave a pocket left unsearched, I knelt down and rifled through the coat. A few pence, a small notebook that was too hard to read in the gem-light, and a round silver watch with the initials ARW engraved on front. I tucked my treasure into my pockets and motioned Umberto to follow. The ground of the tunnel was damp and muddy as if a great flow of water had recently passed through. It made the going slow as our footing was questionable. But still the tunnel traveled up. After an indeterminable amount of time, I could make out a faint glow up ahead. I tapped our gem off and stood for a moment, letting my eyes adjust. The darkness began to settle about me. Again, I could feel my heart starting to seize up and my head began to spin. It was so dark. So dark.
"Raz? Um, why are we stopped?" Umberto whispered into my ear. For once, I didn't care about appearances. I reached back and grabbed his big warm hand. Together, we crept toward the glowing outline of the door before us. When we reached it, the muffled sound of voiced carried into the tunnel. I could hear clinking glasses and laughter. It sounded like a party. I had hoped the entrance to the tunnel would be in a secluded place we could just slip into. That was not going to happen. We were going to have to make a very loud entrance. Loud and fast. I stepped back from the door way to think. I wished there was some way to get a peek on the other side but we were going to have to go in blind and hope for luck. Not the way I like to operate but, truth be told, it was my usual modus operandi.
I stretched myself up on tiptoe to reach Umberto's ear. "OK brother, here's the plan....."
"Raz? Raz? Are you ok?" he asked me. "Are you sure you wanna do this Raz? It looks kinda dark...."
Something about the stupidity of that remark shook me back on my feet. I pulled out of his grasp and rummaged in my overcoat pocket to find the gem Jules gave me.
"No shit it's dark you idiot," I grumbled, slapping the gem in my hand and watching as it flickered to life, "it's a secret tunnel. What do you think, it's going to have lighting installed?" I strode off in a huff, the eerie blue gem light casting shadows along the tunnel walls. It didn't illuminate far ahead but enough that I could see where I was going. I heard Berto shuffle behind me. When the trap door closed, the darkness fully engulfed us but I refused to let my steps falter. I kept my breathing steady and focused on Jules' gem light. I did, however, set a brisk pace. I wanted to get to the end of this passage and out as soon as possible before panic overwhelmed me.
The tunnel itself rose sightly. The ground was muddy and the sides were rough cut stones. There was enough height to stand comfortably but if I were to stretch out my arms, they would easily touch the sides of the passage. Single file was our best option. With Umberto's hulking footsteps behind me, I lead the way into the darkness. Time is a funny thing. In the dark, without any sounds or outside cues, it's easy to lose track of it. We couldn't have been walking long before I saw a bundle up ahead. I slowed as I approached. In our pathway, crumpled on the ground, was a brown coat. Never one to leave a pocket left unsearched, I knelt down and rifled through the coat. A few pence, a small notebook that was too hard to read in the gem-light, and a round silver watch with the initials ARW engraved on front. I tucked my treasure into my pockets and motioned Umberto to follow. The ground of the tunnel was damp and muddy as if a great flow of water had recently passed through. It made the going slow as our footing was questionable. But still the tunnel traveled up. After an indeterminable amount of time, I could make out a faint glow up ahead. I tapped our gem off and stood for a moment, letting my eyes adjust. The darkness began to settle about me. Again, I could feel my heart starting to seize up and my head began to spin. It was so dark. So dark.
"Raz? Um, why are we stopped?" Umberto whispered into my ear. For once, I didn't care about appearances. I reached back and grabbed his big warm hand. Together, we crept toward the glowing outline of the door before us. When we reached it, the muffled sound of voiced carried into the tunnel. I could hear clinking glasses and laughter. It sounded like a party. I had hoped the entrance to the tunnel would be in a secluded place we could just slip into. That was not going to happen. We were going to have to make a very loud entrance. Loud and fast. I stepped back from the door way to think. I wished there was some way to get a peek on the other side but we were going to have to go in blind and hope for luck. Not the way I like to operate but, truth be told, it was my usual modus operandi.
I stretched myself up on tiptoe to reach Umberto's ear. "OK brother, here's the plan....."
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Write about Lamps and Candles
Finnegan strolled through district after district hoping that his head would clear, the Forthent would take effect and possibly his headache would go away. Near suppertime, his feet aching from the miles he had put down swung by a cart and bought three skewers of bay fish, sauteed over charcoal braziers. The carter wrapped them in newspaper for him and he made his way to a cafe only a few blocks from his apartment.
The sun was low on the horizon. Filtered through the smoggy clouds it loomed large and dark orange, silhouetting the ships in the bay. Finnegan could almost look directly at it without leaving spots in his eyes.
The waiter showed him to a table on the second floor of the cafe, out on the balcony. It was early enough and very few diners had decided to make their way out yet so Finnegan had the balcony nearly to himself. His head had finally cleared, The headache simply an unpleasant memory from the afternoon. He laid out the fish on a plate in front of him and ordered his favorite dish to go with it, roots and vegetables from the southern isles shipped nearly every day to the city. It wasn't quite fresh, but the flavors still transported him away.
He had read that the southern isles had air so fresh you could stay out in it for days. The rains there wouldn't leave gritty residue when it dried. Someday he would travel there and see it for himself. Until then he merely needed to bide his time. And possibly make some headway into the disappearance of the slimes' children.
The waiter brought his salad, two more fingers of Forthent and a large cup of coffee then went about lighting the gas lamps and candles. The tables held small rings of bright cheerful yellow light. The gas lamps showered a larger area with their flickering blue tint.
The sun sank so low under the bay that merely one angry orange tip still shown above the surface, illuminating the undersides of the storm clouds forming over the city. There was going to be another gale hurtling itself at his shutters again tonight.
Finnegan read his paper as more and more diners joined him on the balcony. He was immersed in a detailed exposition on the benefits of opening trade with Tarn-across-the-sea that he hadn't noticed that the din of the cafe had dwindled to nothing.
He wasn't sure if it was the lack of sound, the sure footsteps on the slate or perhaps the first drop of rain blotting his shirt sleeve that broke his revelry, but he looked up from his paper and noticed the cafe-goers
starting behind him.
Turning, his breath caught in throat. A Runner's runner was methodically making its way towards his table. Its dark green glowing eyes starting directly at him behind its clockwork mask of a face.
It halted before him spewing a little cloud of steam into the air that smelled vaguely of cloves and ash. Finnegan could hear its boiler popping with heat in its chest. The air around the thing shimmered with the stink of heat and thaumaturge.
When it spoke, it spoke in an even cadence, its voice sounding like a chruch organ crossed with a train whistle. Hard consonnents vibrating on its wooden lips. Its voice was at beautiful odds with its function.
"Rumor Jorgen Finnegan?" It asked. Finnegan knew more than to attempt to lie. Behind that passivly ornate metal and wood face, magics and science, the likes of which he could barely comprehend were watching, listening and analyizing everything about him.
"You know this to be true Runner's runner."
"You are to come to the Citadel with me regarding your inquiries vis a vi Cuttle and Lemurian offspring non-location."
"The disappearances?" Finnegan breathed a slight sigh. At least it wanted him work related. He'd heard horror stories of those under interrogation never coming back the same to their families.
"You are to come to the Citadel with me regarding your inquiries vis a vi Cuttle and Lemurian offspring non-location. Section 14 article 6 clause 19 of the City charter requires you to comply with my request. You have one minute to settle your affairs at this place of commerce."
Finnegan's heart raced again. The runner's runners could make even the act of paying a check sound sinister. He looked over to the waiter who was simply standing in the corner trying not to attract the automaton's notice. Finnegan made an imaginary check mark in the air. The waiter mouthed "Its on the house." to him.
"It appears that my affairs are in order at this location. Shall we be off?"
The runner's runner didn't move for a long minute, then turned and began walking.
"You will escort me to the Citadel."
"Right, on our way then." He picked up his bowler and overcoat from the chair next to him. Finnegan saw each and every eye in the cafe follow him out. He hadn't been to the Citadel in years, decades actually. How long had it been? 5? No, 25 years. When Artimus had become commissioner, his first wife's cousin. That had been something, all pomp and circumstance. But that had also been 4 commissioners ago. He wondered if there would be any familiar faces there when he arrived.
The sun was low on the horizon. Filtered through the smoggy clouds it loomed large and dark orange, silhouetting the ships in the bay. Finnegan could almost look directly at it without leaving spots in his eyes.
The waiter showed him to a table on the second floor of the cafe, out on the balcony. It was early enough and very few diners had decided to make their way out yet so Finnegan had the balcony nearly to himself. His head had finally cleared, The headache simply an unpleasant memory from the afternoon. He laid out the fish on a plate in front of him and ordered his favorite dish to go with it, roots and vegetables from the southern isles shipped nearly every day to the city. It wasn't quite fresh, but the flavors still transported him away.
He had read that the southern isles had air so fresh you could stay out in it for days. The rains there wouldn't leave gritty residue when it dried. Someday he would travel there and see it for himself. Until then he merely needed to bide his time. And possibly make some headway into the disappearance of the slimes' children.
The waiter brought his salad, two more fingers of Forthent and a large cup of coffee then went about lighting the gas lamps and candles. The tables held small rings of bright cheerful yellow light. The gas lamps showered a larger area with their flickering blue tint.
The sun sank so low under the bay that merely one angry orange tip still shown above the surface, illuminating the undersides of the storm clouds forming over the city. There was going to be another gale hurtling itself at his shutters again tonight.
Finnegan read his paper as more and more diners joined him on the balcony. He was immersed in a detailed exposition on the benefits of opening trade with Tarn-across-the-sea that he hadn't noticed that the din of the cafe had dwindled to nothing.
He wasn't sure if it was the lack of sound, the sure footsteps on the slate or perhaps the first drop of rain blotting his shirt sleeve that broke his revelry, but he looked up from his paper and noticed the cafe-goers
starting behind him.
Turning, his breath caught in throat. A Runner's runner was methodically making its way towards his table. Its dark green glowing eyes starting directly at him behind its clockwork mask of a face.
It halted before him spewing a little cloud of steam into the air that smelled vaguely of cloves and ash. Finnegan could hear its boiler popping with heat in its chest. The air around the thing shimmered with the stink of heat and thaumaturge.
When it spoke, it spoke in an even cadence, its voice sounding like a chruch organ crossed with a train whistle. Hard consonnents vibrating on its wooden lips. Its voice was at beautiful odds with its function.
"Rumor Jorgen Finnegan?" It asked. Finnegan knew more than to attempt to lie. Behind that passivly ornate metal and wood face, magics and science, the likes of which he could barely comprehend were watching, listening and analyizing everything about him.
"You know this to be true Runner's runner."
"You are to come to the Citadel with me regarding your inquiries vis a vi Cuttle and Lemurian offspring non-location."
"The disappearances?" Finnegan breathed a slight sigh. At least it wanted him work related. He'd heard horror stories of those under interrogation never coming back the same to their families.
"You are to come to the Citadel with me regarding your inquiries vis a vi Cuttle and Lemurian offspring non-location. Section 14 article 6 clause 19 of the City charter requires you to comply with my request. You have one minute to settle your affairs at this place of commerce."
Finnegan's heart raced again. The runner's runners could make even the act of paying a check sound sinister. He looked over to the waiter who was simply standing in the corner trying not to attract the automaton's notice. Finnegan made an imaginary check mark in the air. The waiter mouthed "Its on the house." to him.
"It appears that my affairs are in order at this location. Shall we be off?"
The runner's runner didn't move for a long minute, then turned and began walking.
"You will escort me to the Citadel."
"Right, on our way then." He picked up his bowler and overcoat from the chair next to him. Finnegan saw each and every eye in the cafe follow him out. He hadn't been to the Citadel in years, decades actually. How long had it been? 5? No, 25 years. When Artimus had become commissioner, his first wife's cousin. That had been something, all pomp and circumstance. But that had also been 4 commissioners ago. He wondered if there would be any familiar faces there when he arrived.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
On the Horizon
There are few things you should know about me. I guess now is as good a time as any to fill in some of the details before events start to unfold. First, I am the youngest of nine. At least, at last count it was nine. We all share the same mother and are scattered across the City and even some of the outer Islands. Old mom got around. Second, mom had the gift. She practiced the Dark Arts, had an understanding with the devil or could touch the other side. Whatever you call it, she had the goods. Each of us got a taste of her gifts to varying degrees. Of all of us, I think I take after her most. I was tested at age 12. The results were off the cart and I was quickly bundled up and stowed on-board a ship for a direct journey to the University. Luckily, the masters didn't appreciate my skill with locks and I slipped off that ship before it set sail. Which leads me to the next little quirk I have. I love locks. Mechanical, ethereal, alchemical, or just down right nasty, I adore them all. If I was ever to go straight, I'd open a locksmith shop over on Market Street and spend the rest of my days happily tinkering away. But the straight path just isn't in the cards, as my older sister would say. And she would know. What Elsie can see in her deck would turn you hair. But I digress. Lets see, what else? Ah yes, I suppose I should catalog my weaknesses as well as strengths. The one I'm most branded with is arrogance. Go figure, right? Rashness. Again, totally unjustified. No concept of reality. And fear of the dark. No really, I'm terrified of darkness. It isn't something I'm proud of but there it is. Next break in the actions I'll give you the details but for now, we are out of time. We've reached my sister Imogien's house.
Imogen isn't the oldest of the bunch, that distinctions belongs to Rueben. But she is the oldest female which means she loves to boss us all around. She also insists, as eldest daughter, that she be keeper of the family ring. Arguing with Imogen gets you know where, trust me I've tried, so we've all resigned ourselves to this set up. Imogen did well for herself. She married early and well. But things didn't work out so great for her husband. I guess marriage to my sister isn't conducive to a long life. Suffice to say, she married young, widowed even younger, and has been living large ever since. Her home is in the posh part of town. We've learned to approach by the servants door. As we unlatched the side gate, Umberto's face lit up. He loves Imogens. Thinks she's a fine lady of quality. Just more proof that Berto's mental facilities are a bit on the shaky side. But I was more than willing to use it in my favor.
"Hey, Berto," I began as we rapped on the delivery door," why don't you pop on up and ask Imogen if we can borrow Mother's ring? I know she'd love to see you."
Umberto nodded eagerly and a big grin broke across is broad and homely face. Nellie, the downstairs maid, opened the door and waved us inside. I settled down on the kitchen table and tucked into a nice meat pie while Berto followed Nellie upstairs nattering on happily. Imogen loves Umberto. It's a bit of a bone of contention between us. She would like nothing more than to make him her ward, slick him up, and introduce him into Society. I believe Bertos strengths lie outside of cotillions and high teas. More ont he side of barroom brawls and muscle work. For this reason, I try to steer clear of old Imogen. Our "discussions" usually turn into something much nastier. So I was content with my meat pie and wheat ale. It took about and hour or so before Berto came downstairs. I don't know how Imogen did it but in that time she had managed to wash, trim and oil his hair, fit him with new breeches and a thick woolen overcoat. But no matter how you dress a turkey, it's still a turkey. Berto stood before me, shifting from foot to foot and picking at his sleeve. He managed to work loose a seam thread and I watched the cuff begin to unravel.
I sighed. "Did you at least get the ring?" I asked.
"Yeah Raz, I got it!" Umberto stuck out a meat mitt and there on his pinky rested a clouded red ruby set in a silver band.
"Alright, lets get out of here," I said and headed for the door. Berto grabbed two pies for himself and by the time the side gate had latched, his woolen overcoat was decorated with trails of grease and pastry crumb. By the time we reached the street, his coiffed hair had returned to its disheveled state and he was looking more and more like my brother every minute.
The sun was just hitting the horizon when we arrived at the wharf. The seagulls circled and called out in harsh tons above our heads and the smell of salt and raw fish lay think in my mouth. I could just see a large vessel way out on the sea. It shimmered in the suns last rays. More mirage than real as it slipped over the horizon. I lead Berto over to the rock wall I had investigated last night. It looked as solid and substantial as before but a light push on the right spot and..... the hidden door popped open silently. I took a moment to admire the mechanics of it. Very well done and maintained. This close to the sea everything rusted fast but these hinges and bolts were solid and well oiled. This was not a rarely used bolt hole. This door was too well cared for for that. Ahead, the tunnel was a deep black. And remember that fear of the dark? Yeah, that's going to prove problematic in a few moments. Very problematic.
Imogen isn't the oldest of the bunch, that distinctions belongs to Rueben. But she is the oldest female which means she loves to boss us all around. She also insists, as eldest daughter, that she be keeper of the family ring. Arguing with Imogen gets you know where, trust me I've tried, so we've all resigned ourselves to this set up. Imogen did well for herself. She married early and well. But things didn't work out so great for her husband. I guess marriage to my sister isn't conducive to a long life. Suffice to say, she married young, widowed even younger, and has been living large ever since. Her home is in the posh part of town. We've learned to approach by the servants door. As we unlatched the side gate, Umberto's face lit up. He loves Imogens. Thinks she's a fine lady of quality. Just more proof that Berto's mental facilities are a bit on the shaky side. But I was more than willing to use it in my favor.
"Hey, Berto," I began as we rapped on the delivery door," why don't you pop on up and ask Imogen if we can borrow Mother's ring? I know she'd love to see you."
Umberto nodded eagerly and a big grin broke across is broad and homely face. Nellie, the downstairs maid, opened the door and waved us inside. I settled down on the kitchen table and tucked into a nice meat pie while Berto followed Nellie upstairs nattering on happily. Imogen loves Umberto. It's a bit of a bone of contention between us. She would like nothing more than to make him her ward, slick him up, and introduce him into Society. I believe Bertos strengths lie outside of cotillions and high teas. More ont he side of barroom brawls and muscle work. For this reason, I try to steer clear of old Imogen. Our "discussions" usually turn into something much nastier. So I was content with my meat pie and wheat ale. It took about and hour or so before Berto came downstairs. I don't know how Imogen did it but in that time she had managed to wash, trim and oil his hair, fit him with new breeches and a thick woolen overcoat. But no matter how you dress a turkey, it's still a turkey. Berto stood before me, shifting from foot to foot and picking at his sleeve. He managed to work loose a seam thread and I watched the cuff begin to unravel.
I sighed. "Did you at least get the ring?" I asked.
"Yeah Raz, I got it!" Umberto stuck out a meat mitt and there on his pinky rested a clouded red ruby set in a silver band.
"Alright, lets get out of here," I said and headed for the door. Berto grabbed two pies for himself and by the time the side gate had latched, his woolen overcoat was decorated with trails of grease and pastry crumb. By the time we reached the street, his coiffed hair had returned to its disheveled state and he was looking more and more like my brother every minute.
The sun was just hitting the horizon when we arrived at the wharf. The seagulls circled and called out in harsh tons above our heads and the smell of salt and raw fish lay think in my mouth. I could just see a large vessel way out on the sea. It shimmered in the suns last rays. More mirage than real as it slipped over the horizon. I lead Berto over to the rock wall I had investigated last night. It looked as solid and substantial as before but a light push on the right spot and..... the hidden door popped open silently. I took a moment to admire the mechanics of it. Very well done and maintained. This close to the sea everything rusted fast but these hinges and bolts were solid and well oiled. This was not a rarely used bolt hole. This door was too well cared for for that. Ahead, the tunnel was a deep black. And remember that fear of the dark? Yeah, that's going to prove problematic in a few moments. Very problematic.
Friday, December 23, 2011
Write about one precious thing lost
Vincenti awoke with a start, still bound to the old woman's chair. The light creeping in from behind the shades and under the gap in the door implied late afternoon, but not quite evening. He saw the ceramic urn on a table next to him and surmised from the symbols on the side that it contained the dagger. His wallet was still in his great coat pocket.
"I am awake now. We can discuss payment. I have some money now but can give you more if you require."
He took a second to feel and savor the lack of pain in his chest. His relief as was palpable as the pain had been.
"Hello? Old woman?"
"I'm here I'm here." The old crone shuffled in from the other room. "You don't need to continue on. I should charge you more for letting you sleep here all day. Runners going this way and that. Maybe I should have let them find you hmmmmm?"
"I have no issue with the runners." Vincenti lied. "You could have let them in."
"Bah." She took the wad of currency Vincenti had brought it and tossed it onto his chest. Vincenti cringed ready for the pain but the would was already fully healed.
"Isn't that enough? I can get more."
"I don't need that money."
"If you release me I can get other money to you. I admit I was traveling a bit unprepared last night."
"Your accounts have been settled golem." She started loosening the restraints. Vincenti's arms ached and his shoulders creaked as he moved them.
"Are you sure you won't take money?" Vincenti asked. He began to dread what the crone took but a quick search of his pockets showed he still had all the lint and dust as when he had come in. "What, may I ask, did you take as payment?"
"You won't miss it, golem." It was an old joke, golems and souls.
"You can have my soul, if you can find it." he quipped.
"Bah, golem thinks he has a soul. Even if you had one it wouldn't be worth the flesh it occupied. I took your last breath golem."
That startled Vincenti. "Do I have many left?"
"Enough." She said. "You are finished here. I fixed your eyes, you will be able to make it home now and stop sullying my parlor or I really will call the runners on you."
Vincenti sat up, rubbing his wrists and waiting to regain feeling in his legs. "I thank you madame."
"Don't forget your jar. As I said you paid me to remove it not to store it." She walked to her front door and opened it, dark orange sunlight crept across the floor.
"Certainly". Vincenti expected to blink away tears with the light, but none came. He wrapped the jar in his overcoat that was still damp from the rain of the previous night and smelled vaguely of bayeed. "Again thank you."
He stepped out into the afternoon light and bathed in it. It had been quite a long time indeed since he'd seen daylight with his own eyes.
"Ming! The Wonsoon! He had to tell Ming that Arthur was on the Wonsoon." Putting the Trident on his left he headed out to tell Ming the news.
"I am awake now. We can discuss payment. I have some money now but can give you more if you require."
He took a second to feel and savor the lack of pain in his chest. His relief as was palpable as the pain had been.
"Hello? Old woman?"
"I'm here I'm here." The old crone shuffled in from the other room. "You don't need to continue on. I should charge you more for letting you sleep here all day. Runners going this way and that. Maybe I should have let them find you hmmmmm?"
"I have no issue with the runners." Vincenti lied. "You could have let them in."
"Bah." She took the wad of currency Vincenti had brought it and tossed it onto his chest. Vincenti cringed ready for the pain but the would was already fully healed.
"Isn't that enough? I can get more."
"I don't need that money."
"If you release me I can get other money to you. I admit I was traveling a bit unprepared last night."
"Your accounts have been settled golem." She started loosening the restraints. Vincenti's arms ached and his shoulders creaked as he moved them.
"Are you sure you won't take money?" Vincenti asked. He began to dread what the crone took but a quick search of his pockets showed he still had all the lint and dust as when he had come in. "What, may I ask, did you take as payment?"
"You won't miss it, golem." It was an old joke, golems and souls.
"You can have my soul, if you can find it." he quipped.
"Bah, golem thinks he has a soul. Even if you had one it wouldn't be worth the flesh it occupied. I took your last breath golem."
That startled Vincenti. "Do I have many left?"
"Enough." She said. "You are finished here. I fixed your eyes, you will be able to make it home now and stop sullying my parlor or I really will call the runners on you."
Vincenti sat up, rubbing his wrists and waiting to regain feeling in his legs. "I thank you madame."
"Don't forget your jar. As I said you paid me to remove it not to store it." She walked to her front door and opened it, dark orange sunlight crept across the floor.
"Certainly". Vincenti expected to blink away tears with the light, but none came. He wrapped the jar in his overcoat that was still damp from the rain of the previous night and smelled vaguely of bayeed. "Again thank you."
He stepped out into the afternoon light and bathed in it. It had been quite a long time indeed since he'd seen daylight with his own eyes.
"Ming! The Wonsoon! He had to tell Ming that Arthur was on the Wonsoon." Putting the Trident on his left he headed out to tell Ming the news.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Write About A Silver Ring
We cut across town. It was early morning and the street traffic was light. Mostly food vendors setting up carts and cabbies jostling for a prime spot at the curb. They didn't even spare us a second glance. I wanted to hit one last stop before we explored the wharf and the tunnel. We headed toward the heart of the city. The buildings became taller and more respectable. Less trash but more dirty looks as we threaded through the streets. We were almost to our destination when Berto stopped suddenly.
"Look at the lights, Raz!" he exclaimed, turning down toward Lyson Road. Up ahead, I could make out the pulsating, searing lights of Cuttle.
"We don't have time, Berto," I pleaded. I tried to tug him back on track but it was no use. Most people found the visual speech of the Cuttle disconcerting. I had only a rudimentary understanding of what all the colors meant but only a fool would approach a Cuttle flashing the cold hard colors of blue and purple. In my experience, the Cuttle were like rats. They did their own thing and left you alone unless you cornered them. Then, they fought viciously. I avoided them at all cost. But Umberto had a strange fixation with their blinking lights. He claimed he could understand them. But then, he also claimed he could hear butterflies sing when they flew. He isn't the quickest off the starting blocks if you get my drift.
"They are so sad, Raz," Umberto muttered, as he hurried into the square in front of the Cuttle consul. For such a big guy, Umberto can move surprisingly fast. I had to hurry to keep up. He stopped at the edge of the Cuttle crowd that had gathered on the embassy steps. Deep midnight blue and dark violent violet colors splashed across his face from the Cuttle around him. I stayed on the edge of the crowd. I had no urge to get in the middle of that rats nest. The Cuttle surrounded Berto quickly, pulsating rapidly. Umberto stood still, his eyes wide, mesmerized by the lights. The rhythm and glare gave me a headache and I had to look away. When my sight cleared, the Cuttle had parted and Umberto was walking back to me, tears in his eyes.
"Raz, it's awful," Umberto sniffled, running his nose along his arm. "They have lost their kids Raz. Their kids! And no one cares or is doing nothing. Can we do something Raz? I bet you can think of a way to help, right?" Umberto looked down at me, expectantly.
Just between you and me, there was no way I was getting mixed up in Cuttle kid business. Their offspring were a mean, dog eat dog, hardscrabble lot. And I mean that literally. Cuttle kids were notorious for loving the taste of black dog. The last thing I wanted was to track down a couple of missing Cuttle squirts but I didn't have the time to win Umberto over to my way of seeing things so I did something I would end up regretting later... I lied. It seemed like such a good idea at the time. If only I knew the heart-ache it would cause us later.
"Sure Berto, we sure will help. I bet if we find those Cuttle kiddos, they'll be some big reward for us which would be great, right? But to do that, we need to hurry up and look into that tunnel I told you about. No more wasting time, ok?" I said. Umberto nodded eagerly and then wrapped me in a big bear hug.
"You're the best Raz! I just knew I could count on you!" Umberto dropped me back to the ground and ran back toward the Cuttle. "I'll tell 'em we're on the case now!" he yelled over his shoulder to me. I watched as he tried to talk to the Cuttle. I have no idea what he told them or what they understood. Their colors turned bright gold for a moment and then Umberto was back at my side, ready to go.
"So, whadda we gotta do, Raz?" he asked me.
"We need to pick up Momma's ring Berto," I said as we headed north, the lights of the Cuttle riot at our back. "Then we'll be ready to explore."
"Look at the lights, Raz!" he exclaimed, turning down toward Lyson Road. Up ahead, I could make out the pulsating, searing lights of Cuttle.
"We don't have time, Berto," I pleaded. I tried to tug him back on track but it was no use. Most people found the visual speech of the Cuttle disconcerting. I had only a rudimentary understanding of what all the colors meant but only a fool would approach a Cuttle flashing the cold hard colors of blue and purple. In my experience, the Cuttle were like rats. They did their own thing and left you alone unless you cornered them. Then, they fought viciously. I avoided them at all cost. But Umberto had a strange fixation with their blinking lights. He claimed he could understand them. But then, he also claimed he could hear butterflies sing when they flew. He isn't the quickest off the starting blocks if you get my drift.
"They are so sad, Raz," Umberto muttered, as he hurried into the square in front of the Cuttle consul. For such a big guy, Umberto can move surprisingly fast. I had to hurry to keep up. He stopped at the edge of the Cuttle crowd that had gathered on the embassy steps. Deep midnight blue and dark violent violet colors splashed across his face from the Cuttle around him. I stayed on the edge of the crowd. I had no urge to get in the middle of that rats nest. The Cuttle surrounded Berto quickly, pulsating rapidly. Umberto stood still, his eyes wide, mesmerized by the lights. The rhythm and glare gave me a headache and I had to look away. When my sight cleared, the Cuttle had parted and Umberto was walking back to me, tears in his eyes.
"Raz, it's awful," Umberto sniffled, running his nose along his arm. "They have lost their kids Raz. Their kids! And no one cares or is doing nothing. Can we do something Raz? I bet you can think of a way to help, right?" Umberto looked down at me, expectantly.
Just between you and me, there was no way I was getting mixed up in Cuttle kid business. Their offspring were a mean, dog eat dog, hardscrabble lot. And I mean that literally. Cuttle kids were notorious for loving the taste of black dog. The last thing I wanted was to track down a couple of missing Cuttle squirts but I didn't have the time to win Umberto over to my way of seeing things so I did something I would end up regretting later... I lied. It seemed like such a good idea at the time. If only I knew the heart-ache it would cause us later.
"Sure Berto, we sure will help. I bet if we find those Cuttle kiddos, they'll be some big reward for us which would be great, right? But to do that, we need to hurry up and look into that tunnel I told you about. No more wasting time, ok?" I said. Umberto nodded eagerly and then wrapped me in a big bear hug.
"You're the best Raz! I just knew I could count on you!" Umberto dropped me back to the ground and ran back toward the Cuttle. "I'll tell 'em we're on the case now!" he yelled over his shoulder to me. I watched as he tried to talk to the Cuttle. I have no idea what he told them or what they understood. Their colors turned bright gold for a moment and then Umberto was back at my side, ready to go.
"So, whadda we gotta do, Raz?" he asked me.
"We need to pick up Momma's ring Berto," I said as we headed north, the lights of the Cuttle riot at our back. "Then we'll be ready to explore."
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
What washed up on the shore
What washed up on the shore
Finnegan's head was pounding. Eyes closed, head down, fingers massaging his temples. This assignment has seemed like such a good step up the ladder of power, prestige and society. That had been 22 years, 3 wives, 4 children and countless grasping sycophantic co-workers ago.
To open his eyes risked another office lurching vertigo wave. He risked it anyway. The ceiling of his office was bathed in a pulsing light, sometimes red, but usually an angry blue or aquamarine. The light reflected off his office door, highlighting then silhouetting the writing on the frosted glass: "Alistair Finnegan, d.TM. Director Man/Cuttle Relations.
The Cuttle were rallying in the square down below his office. Another Cuttle child had disappeared. The Runners were mum versus his repeated inquiries. It wasn't just the Cuttle reporting missing children, but many others all throughout the city, the Lemurians particularly so. The Cuttle family that had just left was the third this week pleading with him for assistance. Another letter to the Runner's Citadel was on his desk to be signed. The letter was another pleading attempt for help from the runners to find the missing child or at least to create a task force to look into it. He was sure this one would meet the same fate as the other 7 he'd sent over the past six months, which would be utter silence. The normally unflappable runners seemed bent on keeping whatever they knew to themselves and seeing raid after raid in the papers they knew far more than they were letting on.
There was a knock on his door.
"Come in." Finnegan said. His assistant poked her head through.
"Mr. Finnegan, sir. We were wondering, that was your last appointment today. Could we get home? The Cuttles out front are getting more and more agitated. We were thinking we could slip out through the basement before the Runners are called to disperse the crowd?"
Finnegan's fingers continued to work his temples. While most Cuttle speeches were far too fast for humans to understand, the individuals speaking downstairs had slowed down to make sure anyone who could understand them could follow. The result was an almost constant aurora on the ceilings and walls and all the buildings around the square. Finnegan had found out far too late in life that speaking to Cuttles was a one way ticket to headaches and at one point a seizure.
"Fine. If your work is done you may all leave."
"Can I bring you an analgesic sir? Marsh? Forthent?"
"Two fingers of Forthent then be off with you."
"Right away sir." She ducked back out the door.
The bureaucrat opened his desk drawer for a pair of glasses he'd been prescribed and put them on. Almost instantly his headache lessened to tolerable levels.
He stood and walked over to his window. Four stories down below the square was filled, tentacle to tentacle of Cuttle. There were almost a thousand of the squat four legged things. Five cuttle stood on at the top of the stairs leading into his building. Their facial tentacles pulsing light rapidly and, unusually, they were pulse speaking in unison. The light from their bioluminescent cells changing shades rapidly and able to be seen for blocks in any direction. Except for the light, there was no noise. The cuttle spoke in their light tongue and a few others translated in facial tentacle sign language for the non-cuttle who were there too.
Every few seconds the five speaking would flash something to incite the crowd and the square would burst in shades of cold blue and livid purple. Those bursts would make Finnegan's temples flare.
He was only able to catch every third or fourth word. 30 years of working with Cuttle and he still only could understand a smattering of their language. Today, however, the sentiments were coming across bright and clear. The device that had washed up on the shore was being held in connection to the multiple disappearances of Cuttle children. His office was being blamed for dragging its feet with the Runners and the investigation.
Finnegan sighed. Thirty years of working with them and he still had no clue how they thought about children. Any given Cuttle mother gave birth to several hundred slimes in any given litter, most of which ate each other in the first few weeks, leaving only a few strong, quick or clever ones in each cycle. Why they were upset over the loss of 6 was beyond him. They were the fastest growing community in the city since their embassy had opened.
Movement at the edge of the square caught his eye. Runners in heavy gear were starting to amass at the two entrances he could see and he assumed the other three entrances to the square were being blocked off as well.
"Might be time to leave as well." Finnigan said to no one in particular. He turned to see that his assistant had already left the murky green glass of forthent on his desk and had disappeared. He downed the sweet drink in one gulp and felt its warmth spread to his fingers and the tip of his nose.
He ran over the path through the archive tunnels in his mind trying to decide with other building to come up in and which one would be furthest from the Runners and whatever inscrutable actions they were planning.
Finnegan grabbed his top coat, bowler and umbrella and made his way to the stairway. His office was already deserted, gas lamps turned low and sputtering.
"they could have at least waited for me to leave."
"How did it come to this?" he wondered as he walked down the echoy marble steps. His career has been so promising when he started.
Finnegan's head was pounding. Eyes closed, head down, fingers massaging his temples. This assignment has seemed like such a good step up the ladder of power, prestige and society. That had been 22 years, 3 wives, 4 children and countless grasping sycophantic co-workers ago.
To open his eyes risked another office lurching vertigo wave. He risked it anyway. The ceiling of his office was bathed in a pulsing light, sometimes red, but usually an angry blue or aquamarine. The light reflected off his office door, highlighting then silhouetting the writing on the frosted glass: "Alistair Finnegan, d.TM. Director Man/Cuttle Relations.
The Cuttle were rallying in the square down below his office. Another Cuttle child had disappeared. The Runners were mum versus his repeated inquiries. It wasn't just the Cuttle reporting missing children, but many others all throughout the city, the Lemurians particularly so. The Cuttle family that had just left was the third this week pleading with him for assistance. Another letter to the Runner's Citadel was on his desk to be signed. The letter was another pleading attempt for help from the runners to find the missing child or at least to create a task force to look into it. He was sure this one would meet the same fate as the other 7 he'd sent over the past six months, which would be utter silence. The normally unflappable runners seemed bent on keeping whatever they knew to themselves and seeing raid after raid in the papers they knew far more than they were letting on.
There was a knock on his door.
"Come in." Finnegan said. His assistant poked her head through.
"Mr. Finnegan, sir. We were wondering, that was your last appointment today. Could we get home? The Cuttles out front are getting more and more agitated. We were thinking we could slip out through the basement before the Runners are called to disperse the crowd?"
Finnegan's fingers continued to work his temples. While most Cuttle speeches were far too fast for humans to understand, the individuals speaking downstairs had slowed down to make sure anyone who could understand them could follow. The result was an almost constant aurora on the ceilings and walls and all the buildings around the square. Finnegan had found out far too late in life that speaking to Cuttles was a one way ticket to headaches and at one point a seizure.
"Fine. If your work is done you may all leave."
"Can I bring you an analgesic sir? Marsh? Forthent?"
"Two fingers of Forthent then be off with you."
"Right away sir." She ducked back out the door.
The bureaucrat opened his desk drawer for a pair of glasses he'd been prescribed and put them on. Almost instantly his headache lessened to tolerable levels.
He stood and walked over to his window. Four stories down below the square was filled, tentacle to tentacle of Cuttle. There were almost a thousand of the squat four legged things. Five cuttle stood on at the top of the stairs leading into his building. Their facial tentacles pulsing light rapidly and, unusually, they were pulse speaking in unison. The light from their bioluminescent cells changing shades rapidly and able to be seen for blocks in any direction. Except for the light, there was no noise. The cuttle spoke in their light tongue and a few others translated in facial tentacle sign language for the non-cuttle who were there too.
Every few seconds the five speaking would flash something to incite the crowd and the square would burst in shades of cold blue and livid purple. Those bursts would make Finnegan's temples flare.
He was only able to catch every third or fourth word. 30 years of working with Cuttle and he still only could understand a smattering of their language. Today, however, the sentiments were coming across bright and clear. The device that had washed up on the shore was being held in connection to the multiple disappearances of Cuttle children. His office was being blamed for dragging its feet with the Runners and the investigation.
Finnegan sighed. Thirty years of working with them and he still had no clue how they thought about children. Any given Cuttle mother gave birth to several hundred slimes in any given litter, most of which ate each other in the first few weeks, leaving only a few strong, quick or clever ones in each cycle. Why they were upset over the loss of 6 was beyond him. They were the fastest growing community in the city since their embassy had opened.
Movement at the edge of the square caught his eye. Runners in heavy gear were starting to amass at the two entrances he could see and he assumed the other three entrances to the square were being blocked off as well.
"Might be time to leave as well." Finnigan said to no one in particular. He turned to see that his assistant had already left the murky green glass of forthent on his desk and had disappeared. He downed the sweet drink in one gulp and felt its warmth spread to his fingers and the tip of his nose.
He ran over the path through the archive tunnels in his mind trying to decide with other building to come up in and which one would be furthest from the Runners and whatever inscrutable actions they were planning.
Finnegan grabbed his top coat, bowler and umbrella and made his way to the stairway. His office was already deserted, gas lamps turned low and sputtering.
"they could have at least waited for me to leave."
"How did it come to this?" he wondered as he walked down the echoy marble steps. His career has been so promising when he started.
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