《Dungeons & Gangsters》


 Episode 1: Chapter 1

    Glass. Green incandescence behind it. The femna¡¯s curves, a thigh, a collar bone, shifted like sand dunes as she floated in the green elixir. Human she looked like, best I could tell. The sight was almost hypnotic, hair drifting like kelp within the huge artifact coffin, not a patch of clothes on her sleek body. It slowed my step as I followed the bodyguard¡¯s broad silhouette across the room¡¯s dim tile.


    ¡°A dream chamber...¡± I thought out loud, fascinated, nerves violin tight. ¡°Whoever thought I''d finally find one... under a massage parlor.¡±


    The guard¡¯s massive back bulged his usher¡¯s jacket, the machine¡¯s green light catching on contorted fabric as he walked ahead of me. His gruff voice broke me out of my revery. ¡°Wait here.¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡± I slipped a hand into a pocket, thumbed with the other. ¡°At least you have a nice aquarium in the lobby.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± He glanced back, his neck swiveling, a turret on a tank.


    ¡°Nothing.¡±


    He kept walking into a long hallway blackened by heavy shadows.


    The muffled wine of a door opening.


    Murmurs.


    Out of the dark corridor came a femna seated on a moving chair. She was a real chelana (a pretty lady, as you humies might say).


    Her inky dress tickled the aged tile floor and shimmered over her bent knees as she sat on some kind of living chair with two glistening ivory legs writhing like worms, coiling intricately to support her weight, bringing her closer to me. The muscled suit didn''t follow but stood by an octagonal wood table and a low hanging ceiling lamp, meaty hands clamped together.


    The lady¡¯s biomanced chair, black with twin white legs, came to a rest once she was seated a regal distance from me in that concrete hall. She looked like the kind of femna who wore jeweled purses when she went out on the town looking for mals to suck dry of their life¡¯s blood, a fate for which I imagined she easily found victims¡ªhell, she could probably find volunteers. She was sensually lean. Skin milk white with a faint blue undertone. Ripe breasts. A long gown of exquisite fabric: black with an azure to it so subtle that it seemed more of a glow than a hue. A curtain of hair the same entrancing color. A cigarette on a long holder wedged between swoop-nailed fingers.


    I was glad I''d dressed half decent. A patterned longsleeve under a leather jacket, charcoal slacks and WING boots.


    ¡°You weren¡¯t kidding, Hector,¡± she cooed, smoke caressing her long narrow chin. ¡°Our guest is an East coast hobgoblin. Oh but where are my manners? Welcome. My name is Pearl, what is yours?¡±


    ¡°Don''t you worry madame,¡± I answered, a grinning shrug hiding the tension fluttering in my gut. ¡°The cavalier in me rubs off on people. My name¡¯s Teek. Pleasure to meet you.¡±


    ¡°Indeed.¡± Her walking chair brought her two paces closer.


    ¡°My compliments on your...¡± I managed to peel my eyes off her. ¡°Decorum.¡±


    ¡°It is good taste to appreciate good taste.¡±


    ¡°I''ll tip my hat to that.¡± My finger tipped an imaginary visor.


    She took a long drag. Puffed. ¡°Hector tells me you want to use the dream chamber?¡±


    ¡°That''s right.¡±


    ¡°Well it is quite the rarity. This is not a replica that you¡¯d find in some rundown casino. This one is the real thing.¡±


    ¡°No need to sell me. I can appreciate quality. I did my research... and you''ve got it. All that to say: how much?¡±


    Her head tipped back just enough that a thicket of hair slipped off her shoulder into a dark waterfall behind her and the overhead halogen light bounced onto the underside of her nose, lightening its shadow. ¡°6,000.¡±


    ¡°6,000? Gold? For that much coin I could get a new Stallion, drive it fresh off the lot.¡±


    ¡°A Stallion can''t take you where the dream chamber can.¡±


    ¡°Heh. Well said... Still. 6 grand. For that price... does the girl stay in there with you?¡±


    ¡°You''re charming Mr...¡±


    ¡°Just Teek is fine.¡±


    ¡°Charming, informal... and private. I can appreciate them all... to a degree.¡±


    ¡°That''s my style.¡±


    ¡°Is 6,000... out of your budget?¡±


    ¡°Not necessarily... But the chambers in Nexus are just 1,000.¡±


    ¡°Mr. Teek. Your gold wouldn''t just be paying for far better quality... it would be paying for discretion. No background check, no regulations... Something tells me that is quite valuable to you.¡±


    ¡°Fair enough.¡± My grin deepened. ¡°But since you bring up this more... private, alternative way of doing business, it''s only natural that you''d be open to alternative forms of payment as well.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡±


    ¡°Well as I understand it, this is just one of several revenue streams for you. And you know, I''m something of a businessmal myself. Perhaps I could help you. You know, take care of odds and ends. And if you feel my work is... satisfactory then as payment you could let me take a dip.¡±


    ¡°I like a malno with daring. But you might not understand what this work would entail.¡±


    ¡°No childer. No femrazz.¡± A faint shrug. ¡°Other than that it''s all fair game to me. And I''ll get the job done or your money back.¡± Finger gun and a shampoo commercial smile.


    ¡°Clearly it is not bravado that is at question... nor, I think, intelligence. But you¡¯re proposing to enter into business together. That would require a great deal of trust.¡±


    ¡°You can ask on the street about me. Ask Vinny Switch. He''s connected with the Gold Jaw Orcs.¡± The name drop was a half-truth.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    ¡°I''m afraid I''m not familiar with that gentlemal...¡± Her gaze ran me up and down with a strange, dreamy intensity that threw me off my feigned poise.


    ¡°He''s¡ªhe''s a humie, but smart, an up and comer.¡±


    ¡°Is he?¡± Her mind was elsewhere as her eyes took on a pearly, electric sheen. ¡°I see you¡¯re armed. That is not surprising. If anything it is reassuring.¡± I became self-conscious of my hand cannon¡¯s metallic weight holstered against my ribs. ¡°And yet what I don''t understand is... why are you wearing an ensorcelled lead vest?¡±


    As I studied her eyes, the pupils surrounded by a corona of glowing blue veins, I realized she hadn¡¯t cast a spell. This x-ray vision or whatever was some inherent power to her race. ¡°Hey a mal in this business has to protect himself. Bullets, eldritch blasts, you never know.¡±


    ¡°That is no ordinary shield vest. It has been heavily modified to hide something... but what could you be hiding?¡±


    ¡°Listen uh I don''t¡ª¡±


    FSHHHH. The ends of her dress hissed, swept along the ground like oil flicked from a brush. Beams of this inkiness shot up and wrapped around my ankles, my wrists, holding them taut, felt like hoses strong as steel cable.


    ¡°You silly goblin. Who sent you? The Dragon? The Necros? No... you must be a badge.¡± She stood and started walking toward me. Now I saw that those strange vine-like chair legs were actually part of her body, thin tentacles rooted in her lats. The inkiness that was her chair back instantly receded, dissolved into the inkiness that was her dress and hair. It was all a substance produced by her squid body, but it had what was known in wizardry as an isophysic spectrum valence, which simply meant that it didn¡¯t fit neatly into any of the states of matter (solid, liquid, gas...) because it also had magi-substance properties, and so was somewhere in between Mana and matter, in this case like living shadow.


    Her tentacles writhed toward me, suckers on their triangular ends. Taking all these things together, I confirmed her race.


    ¡°So you¡¯re¡ªhrrghh¡ªa ¡ªmmgh¡ªMerfolk.¡± I grunted, straining against the inky bonds on my wrists. ¡°No wonder I smelled sushi.¡±


    ¡°You dog!¡± Hector shouted from the back of the room and reached into his coat.


    ¡°It''s all right, Hector.¡± She raised a hand, then focused on me. This close I could see her skin was rubbery, like a dolphin¡¯s, her eyes a luminous blue black. ¡°I¡¯m technically a Teclavon... now let us see what you truly are.¡±


    One of her tentacles snaked up my leg and tore two buttons from my shirt in a yank.


    ¡°I¡¯d oblige¡ªghkkk¡ªbut you haven¡¯t even bought me dinner.¡± My tongue swept a small bead from the back of my mouth, lodged it between my teeth. Biting it, a plume of mist darted into her face.


    ¡°Aghghhhhhrrrr!!¡± She reeled back. Long sheets of hair flailed as she shook her head like she was trying to wake from a nightmare.


    My arm was a blurred snake snatching my cannon from its holster.


    I lunged two steps aside, knee dropping to the tile floor, both hands aiming my handcannon. A sure shot.


    ¡°Madame!¡± Hector called, his own piece flashing, a pistol that in his huge hand looked almost dainty. I¡¯d made myself a small target, positioned his mistress between us. The dream chamber behind me could be a casualty too, but judging by his ridged brow he might be stupid enough to trade fire.


    ¡°Don''t!¡± Lady Pearl raised a hand. She¡¯d expanded her dress into a weird cage of protective loops. She blinked her irritated eyes, fingers trying to rub them clean. ¡°What did you do? What is this?!¡±


    Me, winded: ¡°Venom. From the belly of an Aztlani Yellow Jacket. En masse, paralyzes animals, predators, near their hive. In this case it''s meant to paralyze... grabby philanderers. For just a second or two. But as you can see a second or two is all I need.¡± I rose and slid the safety on my cannon back on. ¡°Now can we just talk for flog¡¯s sake?¡±


    A measure of heartbeats.


    Her dress shrank back into a flowy gown and chair top, her tentacles curled into the chair¡¯s legs once more. She tossed her stygian hair as she returned to a more dignified state, her face expressing something between chagrined respect and curiosity. ¡°The question remains: how do I know you''re not a badge?¡±


    ¡°Me? A cop? Come on. I''m too fashionable to be a guard and too charming to be an agent.¡±


    ¡°Quit the bard talk.¡±


    ¡°Tough crowd... Alright. Does this look standard issue to you?¡± I held my hand cannon up, rotating it so that a sheen ran on the barrel frame with its emblazoned serpents. ¡°Now. Your dream chamber. It has a 16,000 Mote capacity. 12.6% Astral spectrum. The elixir is a mixture of cyclozenian acid, umbraloquartamine, yellow polaron, florotolomide and a dash of cyclops tears, though you might be using anaphoric serum instead of the cyclozen. However, if you''re doing this it technically lowers your max output to 15,264 Motes, but 15,000 even if you''re doing it by the book. Now would a damn City Guard know that?¡±


    ¡°An agent would...¡±


    I stepped, bent down to pick up the fallen cigarette holder and handed it to her. She took it and cleansed it with a sharp breath.


    ¡°If I was an agent, or any kind of Archon for that matter, I¡¯d have the resources of the entire flogging Moon backing me. I mean, we¡¯re talking¡ªwould¡¯ve had an entire file on you, would¡¯ve come prepared to raise absolutely no suspicions, would have back up busting this whole place down as we speak. I sure as hells would¡¯ve hid my eh... chest with something other than rinky dink lead plating.¡±


    ¡°Hm. Fair point.¡± She eased and I placed a new cig from my own pack in her holder. Gave her a light. She puffed and a haze of pungent smoke surrounded us. ¡°Tree?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. It helps with...¡± I almost slipped up but smirked to hide it. ¡°Life.¡±


    ¡°I suppose it does.¡± Her big eyes narrowed in an easy, head reclining smile. ¡°You make valid arguments. But you did draw a weapon on me.¡±


    ¡°Don''t take it personal. I¡¯d draw on anyone taking my clothes off, taking them off against my will. Even if it is a misunderstanding. Even if it is the loveliest chelana in the world.¡±


    ¡°I see your cavalier remark was serious.¡± Her breath hitched in passing amusement. ¡°Still. My trust will have to be earned.¡±


    ¡°A chance to earn it is all I''m asking.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps then... I can give you that chance.¡± She turned, exposing the pearly dagger of flesh along the low cut back of her dress. The tentacles growing out from behind her armpits walked her back toward Hector. She made a dismissive gesture and he finally put his blunt nosed piece back into his coat.


    The silence of a cig drag.


    She paced back toward me, hair subtly swaying.


    ¡°There is a gentlemal who I loaned quite a hefty sum to. 8,000 gold. But you see he is what you might call a problem customer. He is so late on payments that with interest now his debt has ballooned to 12,000. And even that is being lenient. But perhaps the days of being lenient must be over.¡±


    ¡°So I''ll be collecting.¡±


    ¡°Yes, one way or another. He¡¯s a troll by the name of Grivonne. He runs a carnival. Travels all over the Union though it mostly stays west of the Frontier. In fact it is in town for a few days.¡± She glanced back, cheek curving a ray from the lamp dangling from the ceiling. ¡°Hector.¡± Her big and tall attendant stepped to the octagonal wood table, scrawled something on a small notepad, then swayed over and handed me a torn sheet.


    Hector had drawn some intersecting roads, labeling them with the handwriting of a doctor. I rubbed my chin. ¡°This is a couple hours East of here.¡±


    Pearl: ¡°People like to let loose out in the desert. Perhaps he even stays outside the city to make it harder to collect.¡± Her big eyes glanced at me through spidery lashes. ¡°He''s been ignoring my letters, my calls. Can you believe it?¡±


    ¡°I hate him already.¡±


    A silent chuckle trailed off her face and left me staring at her profile as she eased into a shadowy headrest she conjured out from her chair back, the lower part of her face a curved plane of flawless white, her gaze calculating yet aloof somehow. ¡°And I''m enchanted by you already.¡±


    ¡°It''s a bard thing.¡±


    ¡°Well. You bring me back the 12,000 and the chamber is yours...¡± Her sapphire lips curled. ¡°A night of bliss is yours.¡±


    ¡°The way you say that, I gotta say, it''s got some ring to it.¡±


    ¡°Before you count your nest, I must tell you, the carnival is leaving town any day. So I am giving you 24 hours to collect the debt before I call on someone else to do the job.¡±


    ¡°One day?¡±


    ¡°My outfit consists only of those who are capable. Are you not up to the task?¡±


    ¡°No it¡¯s just...¡± Vague calculations, trepidations, warred inside me... but the rogue in me brushed them aside. ¡°I wish I charged by the hour.¡±


    ¡°Collect this debt, then we can talk rates.¡±


    ¡°Hm. Alright. But if this... Grivonne doesn''t have the gold? Or he plays hardball? What then?¡±


    ¡°If he plays hardball then you beat him at his game. And if he doesn''t have the gold then... bring me back something of even greater value. His carnival is notorious in the underworld. There must be many unusual things collected there. Rare, valuable things. Priceless even.¡±


    Hand behind my back, I leaned forward in gentlemal fashion. ¡°Don''t worry Lady Pearl, if there''s something I have an eye for... it¡¯s anything priceless.¡± I smirked and turned to leave.


    ¡°Teek,¡± she called and I stopped and the dark machine¡¯s green glow bathed half my face. ¡°It... is bliss that you seek from the chamber, is it not?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s like you said...¡± a shrewd nod, ¡°I¡¯m a gentlemal who values discretion.¡±

 Chapter 2

    Gang, there''s nothing like driving through LA with the promise of gold in the air and it¡¯s late enough that highway traffic has dwindled to red and white easy gliding snakes. Where else can you drive through life¡¯s sheer duality? Sparkling ocean vista then suddenly bloody boiling currents escaping from the murdered god of the sea, a skyscraper with glowing platonic matrix face and the rusting corpse of one, bomb craters and a coyote family in the brush, and all the meanwhile cars cars cars, gold gold gold, dames dames dames, a merry go-round on the gods¡¯ grave. One big rave. The right tunes on the radio, something by the Maximals, Eclipse, Willows and Wisps, We 3, Morgan and the Sirens. A tree cig on your lips, help you forget, sparking glory right on the edge of your eyes¡¯ plummet through time, each sheet on the calendar a lottery ticket, a carnival entry slip, a magic unique to this seaside city. Yeah, I was made for this place.


    Metropolis of the west. It suffered more than any major city when the Union broke apart¡ªhells, the whole world broke apart¡ªthen got stitched back together. Being at the border with Aztlan, a Meta loyalist country to boot, being the main strategic port on the entire West Coast; they¡¯re both useful from a military point of view, but they don''t bode well for the civilian population. Not in a World War.


    Yeah, LA got it bad. So much that there were still scars almost 20 years later. Of course the rebuilding was wrecked again and again by uprising after uprising, even after the official Lunar treaty was signed. News flash: toppling governments, killing gods that billions had worshiped for thousands of years, weaving new laws into the fabric of reality, it¡¯s all going to leave some people filling out the government suggestion box with hot lead and mana bombs.


    Still, there are a few of civilization¡¯s loves that even a continent-shattering, dimension-collapsing World War can''t keep down: booze, broads, and the movies. So war scars and all, the city was right back to its glitzy, decadent ways.


    Yeah, you could find just about any kind of pleasure in the city, just about anything for that matter, like a dream chamber, any kind of person, including a squid chelana who I had to admit already had me guessing, her face echoing in my mind¡ªthough spending 9 years locked up in a dungeon, in and out of solitary, that might have had something to do with it. I''d been out a few, but gang let me tell you, 9 years in the can stay with you long, long after they''re gone.


    Yeah, she was some chelana. Ah, brethren, chelana is what we street malnos, rogue types especially, call them femnas that all us go crazy for, what finer folk might call a ¡®lovely lady.¡¯ But I already mentioned that didn¡¯t I? I blame the tree.


    Driving. My Stallion¡¯s demon core engine purring, dark dashboard with glowing gages and meters that look like mutant spider eyes, needles within them oscillating their secret language. The wheel turning in my gloved grip, momentum heavy, ghostly tickle in my hip, throngs of cars all jockeying for faster pace. The vertigo inducing merge where three altways cross midair, the straight corridor between two arcologies each 20 stories tall and 4 miles long, a lattice of dilapidated bridges that cross the strait like a game of cat¡¯s cradle in the sky and as you¡¯re slicing between cars in the river of taillights a bouquet of billboards greets you with bright manalit smiles like old friends.


    Friends. Seeing the hour close to midnight I remembered Vinny''s party and felt the drag of obligation, decided I had better things to do. But then I realized that the party might prove useful to my new... employment and so I took Exit 29 off the A8.


    The three-story apartment complex looked like it was made out of styrofoam against the burnt butcher paper sky. Walking toward Vinny¡¯s door, I passed the stairs and was greeted by a dying plant¡¯s drunken leaves in a huge pot. Red knuckles knocked. Chatty inebriated voices, shadows dancing across lamps, Jang music, all emanated through the apartment windows n'' walls, then came to life as the door was flung open.


    ¡°Eyyyy you made it!¡± Vinny stood at the doorway, lit warmly from behind, his hair slicked back, his stubble trimmed even for once.


    ¡°Well I heard you showered so I had to see it for myself.¡±


    He guffawed. ¡°Ya sack of cagg. I''d punch ya mouth but I can''t reach that low.¡±


    Our hands clasped like we were about to arm wrestle and we pulled each other in. We backed up, shrugged to unrumple our clothes.


    ¡°Ey all bullcagg aside...¡± I stepped into the mellow light bathing the crowd. ¡°Congratulations.¡± His chest puffed against his velvet shirt, his eyes already a little bleary from meade and tree and who knew what else. ¡°You did get the job right?¡±


    ¡°Hells yeah I did. You''re looking at USP Southwest Driver 71709.¡± He turned his conya, head that is, to face the TV as its black and white screen switched from commercials to this program, RevoXX. It was a talent audition type show that also featured celebrity interviews, musical performances, a smattering of comedy and always a segment that took live calls from around the country. ¡°Hey Rhiner, stay on the lookout all right? Dial as soon as the calls start.¡± A humie mal with blond hair covering his ears and square glasses nodded from the couch, raised the phone handset like a fish he¡¯d freshly caught.


    Me, amused: ¡°You''re still trying to get on the air huh?¡±


    ¡°One of these days I''ll get lucky. Come on, you want a drink?¡±


    ¡°It''d be rude not to.¡± Vinny walked me past the yellowing window blinds (one was missing) over to his kitchen bar, where an assortment of cans and bottles were perfuming the air with spiced alcohol. I grabbed a peach meade bottle, gazed around at the crowd. There must have been 20 or 30 people, and in that small living room with the stained shag carpet, the only illumination the flickering grayscale of the TV and the standing lamp¡¯s tepid wash, both coming at us from aside, it felt like we were all packed into a rectangular cave with a torch and a car¡¯s low headlamp for lights.


    ¡°What about you?¡± Vinny grabbed a fresh drink for himself, stepped closer. ¡°Did you... get the job?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± For a moment the question didn''t register as I was taking in the crowd and thought I saw the Orc I was looking for.


    Vinny leaned in conspiratorially. ¡°Did you meet her... Lady Pearl? The masseuse?¡±


    ¡°Oh. Yeah. Yeah I did.¡±


    ¡°Massivo.¡± He nodded in impressed wonder. ¡°Is it true she can like, see things, ghosts or whatever? Read minds? Fly through shadows n¡¯ cagg.¡±


    ¡°I don''t know about all that. She is... impressive let''s say. Practically a MagiSci engineer, but she could melt you with a peck on the cheek, total chelana.¡±


    ¡°Ugh. You gotta connect me with her, mal.¡± He ran his hand through his hair out of habit¡ªhair that was usually shaggy¡ªstraightened his shirt, a sharp-collared velvet number. ¡°You know maybe there¡¯s an open spot in her outfit. At least I could just, you know, be an associate for starts. I''m gonna be up close to a loooot of sweet swag with this new job.¡±


    ¡°Well she... maybe we can talk about that down the road.¡± I took a tangy sip of my meade, its glass bottle moistly cold in my hand. ¡°So... USP huh? Are you gonna miss slinging meat?¡±


    ¡°I know you''re being a bard ass but I think I am.¡±


    ¡°No bard assery from me. Believe it or not sometimes I miss it too. Something about spending all your time on the road, by yourself, thinking. Free food.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. But you left after only what, six months?¡±


    ¡°I had my reasons.¡±This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°Meatzza Mundi.¡± He grabbed a cap hanging on a coat hook with the Meatzza Mundi logo sewn on, sighed nostalgically, shrugged. ¡°You missed out not working inside. It''s the people that make it slammin¡¯, you know? They¡¯re always happy to see you. Whole parties walking in. Drunken tippers, hell, got lucky a couple times too. And you meet some good folk workin¡¯ with ya. Except you, you¡¯re the bloody worst one.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t claim otherwise.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Speaking of fellow meat slingers, I met this real cool cat.¡± He studied the crowd. ¡°Hey Kazton!¡± A dark-skinned humie speaking to a couple other partiers turned at the call. ¡°Hey come here!¡±


    This humie sauntered over to us, shiny sinewy arms swinging out from a vacation sort of shirt. He was taller than Vinny, was built like a sprinter. Had that broad nose and lips of that humie race and his hair was puffed into these sort of fluffy tendrils. This softer touch along with the flowery shirt contrasted well with his athletic physique.


    ¡°Kazton this is Teek. My buddy. Used to work at Mundi.¡±


    ¡°Ohhh de hobgoblin.¡± He had an accent, his voice a soft, chalky lilt to it. ¡°I heard a lot a tings about you.¡±


    ¡°Only bad things I hope.¡±


    ¡°No brudah only good, only good.¡±


    ¡°Say where is your accent from?¡±


    ¡°I''m from de islands. Nassaroo.¡±


    ¡°You know you might be the first person from Nassaroo I''ve ever met.¡±


    ¡°It''s a fine place. De beaches are fantastic.¡±


    ¡°So I hear... from travel magazines.¡±


    ¡°Kazton¡¯s no tourist,¡± Vinny jumped in. ¡°He¡¯s hardboiled. Couple of hoods tried to jack him over 80 silver and a couple of meatzzas, you believe it?¡±


    ¡°Really? They didn''t hurt you did they?¡±


    ¡°Hurt him?¡± Vinny chuckled. ¡°If anything he went easy on them. Had them running for their lives.¡±


    ¡°Is that right?¡±


    Kazton shrugged well defined shoulders. ¡°Beaches ain''t de only ting we got in Nassaroo.¡±


    ¡°So I hear... from the news.¡±


    We all shared Meatzza Mundi camaraderie over our drinks. For a moment there was a strange glimmer in this Kazton fellow¡¯s eyes but I was distracted by the Orc who was sitting on the far side of the room, obscured by the crowd. ¡°Say Vin, that''s Diamond isn''t it?¡±


    ¡°That''s right.¡±


    ¡°You weren''t kidding. You really are connected with the Gold Jaws.¡±


    ¡°I don''t plan on being a USP driver forever.¡±


    ¡°That''s right brudah.¡± A puffy tendril of hair fell onto Kazton¡¯s forecon¡¯ as he agreed. ¡°De immigrant mentality is not just for de immigrants.¡± My two aquaintances clinked drinks.


    ¡°Excuse me, fellas.¡±


    I made my way through the crowd but then felt a steep awkwardness as a femna in skintight polyurethane pants and strapless top that revealed her toned back straddled Diamond as he was splayed out on an old leather recliner. At 7 feet tall he could already barely fit¡ªhis square-toe boots like dangling anvils¡ªand this fem was leaning over him, making the chair jitter and squeak with their weight and her slithering limbs. Her bright nailed hands ran through his mussed hair, her long ponytail and huge earrings swinging as they made out.


    I glanced around thinking the hells do I do now? I sat down on a narrow spot on the couch a few feet from them. A blonde femna eyed me as our hips rubbed and I inched away so that I was practically sitting on the couch arm. I was staying alert for a pause in the making out but they just kept going at it, Diamond¡¯s huge ringed hands rubbing all up her thighs and ass and everything. She looked orc herself, or at least mixed since she had that smaller humie-like frame and a very soft green to her skin, a light olive you could say, though Diamond himself was not true green either but closer to a slate moss.


    I cleared my throat.


    ¡°Diamond,¡± I said, not too loud and real friendly, almost like I was cheering him on. No response. Ehhh. ¡°Dustin.¡± This time I called him by his real name. ¡°Dustin.¡± Their faces broke free for a moment. ¡°Dustin, I gotta tell ya, it looks like you''re having the best time out of anyone here.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± he grunted matter of fact.


    ¡°I got a quick question for you. Business related.¡±


    ¡°I''m kinda busy here.¡±


    The femna riding him just looked at me with a hidden derision, purple lids heavy, the hint of tusks rising from her lips. They went back to necking.


    ¡°Right. I... Well I¡¯ll write a letter next time...¡± I got up and turned away, muttered. ¡°Or better yet get you two a flogging room.¡± I maneuvered around a talking pair of fems as I walked over to the trash can and threw my bottle in. As I turned I spotted another Orc, or Orcess I suppose. She was standing against the wall with her chiseled arms crossed. She was a mix of tribal and modern: hair tied back in this sort of exotic bun, loose pants tucked into these metal greaves clasped over ironball shoes, a sleeveless logo t-shirt and a leather vest you might have seen on a warrior type 200 years ago, tattoos all over. She looked standoffish herself, but at least she wasn''t trying to film a porno in the middle of the party. I shimmied between a few partiers and this countertop where Vinny kept his vinyl record collection until I stood next to this Orcess who was smaller than Diamond but still loomed over me, had more muscle in one arm than I did in a leg.


    ¡°Say, you staying dry tonight? I''m not a big drinker myself.¡±


    ¡°It''s not that. These drinks are weak. I''ve had six and feel nothing.¡±


    ¡°Uh well... that kind of constitution... it''s the blessing of VrrGorr on the Orraku golgoh ruppra.¡±


    ¡°You know Orcish?¡±


    ¡°Not fluently. No. Not really. All I can say is ¡®where¡¯s the cagger,¡¯ ¡®how much¡¯ and ¡®eyyyyy Orc ladiiiies¡¯.¡±


    ¡°You jape...¡± Her eyes narrowed and for a second my nerves bristled on guard¡ªdidn''t want to choke on my imploding teeth. ¡°On a night of revelry japing is good. Auspicious.¡±


    ¡°The world needs its bards.¡±


    ¡°You''re a bard?¡±


    ¡°An aspiring one you might say.¡± I shrugged. ¡°I¡¯d guess you appreciate the bardic arts. Your tattoos.¡±


    ¡°My trade.¡±


    ¡°You must be good at it. Most I see are some flaming skull with bugging eyes, a ¡®live life for today¡¯ type a saying, a femna¡¯s name. Yours are ancient looking though. Primal.¡±


    ¡°The glyphs and tapestries of VrrGorr. They have power in them. Mm. I live here only two moons and I realize these city Orcs do not know the ancient ways.¡±


    ¡°You''re new in town then.¡±


    ¡°Aye. Come from the Arrowflat mountains.¡±


    ¡°Arrowflat.¡±


    ¡°In the north. Far.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s¡ªWhat brought you down here?¡±


    ¡°My brother.¡± She nodded toward Diamond.


    ¡°Dustin¡¯s your brother?¡±


    ¡°Dustin. Hlegh. A weak humie name.¡±


    ¡°You prefer calling him Diamond?¡± She sniffed, her nostrils looking like fat caterpillars, seemed unbothered with my question. ¡°Well I¡¯m Teek. You?¡±


    ¡°Mhegnyr.¡±


    ¡°Good to meet you. Listen I know you might be new in town but do you know where I might find uh... how do I put this...¡± I hesitated, realizing that she might not be privy to all the Gold Jaw... activities. In case she wasn''t I¡¯d be exposing her brother¡¯s rogue life. I didn''t need some 400 pound Orc holding beef.


    Just then Diamond got up from the recliner¡ªthis was my chance. But then he scooped his femna up on his shoulder, her legs bent uneven, a black pump nearly slipping off her thin foot but dangling by a single purple nailed toe, she squealed a laugh, and then he sauntered into the back hallway, stooping a little to get them both through a door and closing it behind them.


    ¡°...Where you might find what?¡± Mhegnyr¡¯s chapped lip slowly glided along her tusk.


    ¡°Um... a good place for Orc food. You know, authentic.¡±


    ¡°Hrmm well... I don''t know too many cookeries here... What is best is to hunt your own bison. That or wild dog. If you go with the dog you have to stuff it into a Panapyx...¡±


    Mhegnyr went on about certain methods of cooking meat and picking wild mushrooms when Vinny opened the door to a familiar face.


    ¡°Berry...¡± I said reflexively and was immediately embarrassed. Berry was a nickname that I had often called her but her real name was Beryl. I''d said it in a whisper but even so I felt a splinter of paranoia that she might have heard it. All ears are keen to catch their own names. She was mixed blood. Human and Fae. She was small, had thick perky curves that together with her knit sweater and flared skirt had a kind of pastoral femnavi quality. Had chocolate hair that a streak of ochre leaves grew out of, tawny skin, wide glasses. A shyness that even on first meeting exuded a repressed playfulness.


    A lusty nostalgia swam all through me from my ankles to the roots of my hairs.


    Then came the lump of coal down the throat: she had stepped into Vinny''s place with a malno who now took hold of her hand. He looked mixed himself, mostly human but with perhaps Minotaur thrown in. He dwarfed her. And me. His dark hair was waxed into short rivulettes that hung on his conya, almost covering his eyes, eyes which were set wide apart on his wide frame; they were small, long-lashed and a little slanted. Had a broad upturned nose with a ring in it. Skinny black denim legs.


    Beryl spotted me, sure enough. Our eyes were repellent magnets squeezed into a tiny box. She turned and the warm light of a lamp caught on the ridged horn that parted her hair as it grew from the side of her conya, a horn which I once thought the height of prettiness but which I now found ridiculous¡ªwhere the flog was the other one? Both the horn and her strand of leaf hair were signs of fae blood. In recent years it had become fashionable rebellion not to hide metablood ancestry, especially among the urban young, and if Beryl was anything it was socially conscious.


    ¡°So which do you prefer?¡± Mhegnyr¡¯s raspy voice prodded me.


    ¡°Oh uh the, the bison for sure.¡±


    ¡°Aye but grilled or blackened?¡±


    ¡°Uh right, black, blackened I guess.¡±


    ¡°Aye. That''s good.¡±


    We fell into a silence. My hands didn''t know where to place themselves. I stole glances to the white door in the unlit hallway wondering how long it might be before Diamond was finished then back over to Beryl chatting with her bull friend and Vinny.


    Flog this.


    ¡°I''ll see you, Mheg.¡±


    ¡°Mhegnyr,¡± she corrected but by then I was already making for the door.


    Bristling nerves, eye trajectory calculations.


    Probability of a mid-air collision: too high.


    Our paths veering toward intercepting.


    Hemmed in by swaying reveler walls, muscle and fat pushing on fabrics.


    Abort.


    Feet searching an alternate path.


    Hesitation. Think it through.


    The escape cannot be obviously purposeful.


    Freeze warring with jitteriness.


    Collision imminent.


    Inexorable.

 Chapter 3

    The implosion of guarded nerves.


    There she was not two feet from me. Femnavi with the fertile hills of Dryad blood and the devilish mischief of a Satyr, the absurd tragedy of humans. Multicolored, flecked eyes the colors of summer sighing into fall, eyes that I had to admit against that sweet rancor of unclasped hands and the sour silence after angry calls, were pretty. In the short circuiting inside my conya of what to do or say she filled the void.


    ¡°Hey.¡±


    ¡°Hey yourself.¡± Vinny and Mr. Bullcagg blocking the door, lolling captors. Caught. Ensnared. A deep breath to regain some of my cordial mask. ¡°You look...¡± I didn''t want to be misinterpreted. ¡°Like you''re doing well.¡± A silent nod. ¡°You still working at...¡±


    ¡°No. I''m at the library right now.¡± She fingered her sweater sleeve. ¡°While I finish school.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Yeah. Did you end up doing the movie thing?¡±


    ¡°No. I''m getting into lore management. Might work for the state. Not sure.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± My eyebrows rose. Her minotaur friend stepped over and put an arm around her. ¡°Well. It''s good to see you¡¯re, you know¡ªyou always have something going for you.¡± The bull friend¡¯s eyes studied me with a glazed, frivolous friendliness, the rims of his nostrils shiny and moist. ¡°Always something new.¡±


    She nodded. I walked out the door.


    A few steps onto the parking lot¡¯s fractured asphalt, onto the shadows cast by its corrugated metal canopies, and Vinny''s voice called ¡°Teek!¡± and I glanced back to see him standing stark against the light of his doorway, brown hair burnished to gold in a spot, but I didn''t stop walking, only raised a hand in farewell.


    Rushed pacing on pavement behind me.


    As I stabbed my key into my car door, he caught up to me. ¡°Where ya going? You just got here.¡±


    ¡°You had to invite her.¡±


    ¡°What? You''re both amigos...¡±


    ¡°Amigos? You know what she did to me.¡±


    ¡°I thought that was ancient history.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. It is. But a party isn¡¯t time for archeology.¡± His upper body slowly bloomed searching for what to say. ¡°Look, I¡¯m not trying to get you down. You''re right. It''s history. So forget it. Really. I gotta go anyhow. You know, this job. For our masseuse lady. Gotta get ready for it.¡±


    ¡°Sure. I get it. Well come by tomorrow. No fems just us mals. We''ll do something. Go break some bottles. Order some Kobold food.¡±


    I sidestepped into my Stallion, pine deodorant tainting its sweet mildewy smell, a streak on the windshield, vexing, tiny breadcrumbs in the groove of the parking break, squirmed into the pealing leather seat, twisted the ignition and felt its rumble through the seat, and rolled the window down. ¡°Hey, seriously, I''m glad you''re doing so good. USP. The Gold Jaws... All right, I¡¯ll see ya.¡± I backed the car up and he started walking away but as my Stallion¡¯s thick tires looped I passed near him again and he smiled and pointed:


    ¡°Put in a good word for me! I gotta at least meet the Lady!¡±


    ¡°Right. Yeah.¡± I closed the window. The engine kicked and flared.


    Useless. The Orcs. Vinny. Useless. What good would it have done to stay anyway? A party filled with half plebs and half juicers. Egh. An hour more of standing around drinking and smiling like schmols? Flesh masks obfuscating eyes that stare at one another as if at a zoo, as if at an auction, blind psyche mouths groping for something to suckle in the tempest seas of entropy, silently howling at one another in primate languages they themselves do not understand. Fah. Nooo. No. You can''t always count on help. Never more like it. Ehhhh... Gang, what can I say? I can be dramatic¡ªI¡¯m a bard for Mog¡¯s sake. Still, even so, I also say, echoing every mal who¡¯s been in a ticking bomb pinch:Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    If you want something done right...


    The asphalt with its faded white stripes washed by twin lights, endless roll of white hyphens unfurling. Tree smoke caressing the worn leather seats of my Stallion. The marine fog coming down heavy, making bridge underpasses look like cave mouths, street lanterns like crucified will-o-wisps.


    We live in a great fog, don''t we gang? You blast your foglights and somehow it only makes it worse. Your windshield is just as clouded. And suddenly the road veers and your arms shake trying to hold the aim steady, but you¡¯ve never driven this stretch before, and so you plunge blind, and you wish you had a map, a compass but there is none, and so trust that some invisible luck, some blessed uniqueness coursing in your veins will magnetize your arms to match the destined road. And so... you plunge. You wish you had your north star to hold onto, to steer you true, but once you''ve lived high enough everything else is burnt rope, chipped glass, everything else is south for you. You plunge into a darkness yawning below, a fall into a concrete iron matrix, a solitary, colorless-food hole that seems to never end. Then, finally, it does. The void steel handcuffs come off, the ensorceled iron bars open, the poison-wire-crown gates slide apart, striped jumpsuit stripped in jubilation, face to the parting cloud sky... only for you to step into the greatest dungeon of all: the world. You plunge.


    The neon pharmacy sign looms over me, the music-drenched faces from Vinny¡¯s party still pebbling the lake of my mind.


    I walk along the white tile of this capitalist outpost of civilization cocooning its antiseptic geometry against the natural cycles of the hybrid earth, aisles so quiet that you can hear a hand moving a carton of cotton balls in the back, the hum of the store lights interrogating me from above.


    Some nights I yearned for someone to hate. At least it would root me, give me something I could water day by day, watch it blossom into beautiful thorns that would stab the life back into me. But who could I hate?


    The single bulb dangling from my apartment kitchen ceiling makes the ironwood table look like an embalming slab in a morgue. A book thuds onto its scratched surface: Tharazor¡¯s Mundane Alchemy. It¡¯s thick as a cinder block. My finger runs across its pages like a seismographic needle, eyes straining with concentration.


    Hate. The elf scion. No. The crooked father. No. Faceless suits in crystal citadels? No. And certainly not Beryl. Sweet childe. After all those years locked up in the dungeon, she had been an oasis in the desert, flowers her eyes, water her lips, in the end a mirage. She had opened my eyes. People are all just visiting one another, suitcases at the ready. The drop of a hat and they¡¯re gone. The trap of love, failed.


    I didn''t blame them. If they were passing visitors, I was a thief in the night.


    The contents of the pharmacy''s paper bag spill onto the table. Fresh clean consumer packaging (bright red letters atop a detailed bottle illustration, consumer family friendly faces locked in cheer), its aesthetic cuts stark against the grimy bygone fashions of my kitchen. To an untrained eye the kaleidoscope of jars in the cupboards (dead oozes, prismatic elixirs, a preserved toad...), the soap-scummy flasks on the counter, the crusty bunsen burner, would give this kitchen the hue of deranged, oxidizing addiction. My hand unscrews the lid off a glass bottle, shakes a white powder into a metal jar. Fingers pry open ten pills and spill their contents into it. Another bottle, this one filled with metal shavings, is emptied into the same jar. My fingers slide a fuse into it, cover it with a bird-cagged brick I pried from a dilapidating building two blocks down.


    Still the pain came. Not the jilted cat rakes. The pain of understanding.


    All our visits are silent. It''s not until all the visitors are ghosts that you realize there was one who was different. Alive. More so, awake, suntouched, true. No mercenary, no tourist, no dilettante, no gawker. A companion who would join you on your infinite march, a dirge a ballad the same, climb stairs made of angel feathers and gnashing teeth all the same. And she was now obscured by the fog. Along with me. Me. Who I was. And meant to be. Snuffed out, now no more than alive, a cold stone noosed around me, already sinking, could barely survive. In a word: branded.


    All that was left was to reignite the wick that had once been the central pillar of life: me burning, burning as an effigy, an offering to a slumbering dream whose murmurs had played the piano lattice of my thoughts from day one. Fire, sweet fire that knew neither good nor evil, that burned the living and the dead alike, to burn with it once more¡ªah what I would do, brethren! What I would do!


    My hand flicks my cig lighter and a quivering flame kisses the fuse.

 Chapter 4

    The stars: twinkling knives waiting for you in a galactic closet. That great spotlight, Luna, casting a pallor on the desert valley below.


    My Stallion swallowed pavement with its glowing maw, demon-core engine drilling loudly through the murk.


    A sharp curving road leads you to a vista: chaparral valley cutting askew through hills below. The carnival was nestled there in that valley, an amphibian nest riddled with tiny glowing rainbow eggs.


    My grip tightened on the wheel, eyes roaming on me in the rearview, pushing me, goading me. A hobgoblin who with each passing day I knew less and less and yet had always been there with me. Perhaps a strange form of amnesia. I passed bits of memory to these new eyes like a sycophantic painter displaying labored canvas to a would be patron. Some he detested, scoffed, others he relished, pulsed with lusty madness.


    There is no good. There is no evil. There is only glory.


    So the book The Red Prince said.


    That he liked most of all.


    My Stallion''s engine crackled toward cold as I stepped out onto desert, its hard pan and shrub, its moon lizards skittering into crevices. I¡¯d parked in a rocky alcove off a lonely dirt road, the carnival lights not a mile further down.


    I joined the procession of lively silhouettes walking from rows of cars and trailers and motor caravans and trucks and tented wagon engines, this giant herd of vehicles arranged in a radial band half enclosing a dirt lot the size of a town made up of a dizzying swath of festive lights and games and booths and tents. That heart of the festival looked like an enormous shanty town thrown up by omnipotent street urchins. I paced through the rainbow of tents, long rows of rusty framed booths rimmed with exotic clothing and jewelry and toys and decor and knick knacks and plants, the odors of elaborate cuisines and their sizzle, a ferris wheel spinning like a strange machine mining the earth for candy, other machinery towering, glowing with festive bulbs outlining their artistic edges (a bat winged colossus, a hand holding an enormous bottle of wine, a dozen rides in various intricate shapes, one a caterpillar, another a fixed tumbling box), a huge crowd corralled around a stage where some bards were lit by lanterns synchronized to the playing of their raucous ear blasting metal instruments and the thrashing of their long hair¡ªchn chn chnchnchn ya got me baby ya got me, devoured bloody devoured¡ªabove me: the swooshing laughter of riders and rattle of their enchanted bicycles and the buzzing of the enormous artifact dragonflies they chased, or chased them¡ªthey flew and looped too fast to tell.


    This festival¡¯s throngs looked like drugged families milling about clownish barns and surreal tents. It was mostly peoples of the night. Gaunt humies, beardies too, but the ones from deep underground, skin lapiz lazuli and shale. Tieflings with their demon horns and ashy skin, scurrying gnomes, charcoal Arborreans striding on tree trunk legs, a slithering Naga in the distance, skittering Kobolds. Notorious dark elves too. Night people of every kind.


    Hands in my jacket, I kept wandering among the shadowy crowd, taking measure of the place.


    That pulling sensation of being watched.


    My eyes flicking: a shadow gliding behind a booth¡¯s string lights.


    Paranoia perhaps.


    ¡°Come see Tubo, the strongest gnome on Hybrid Earth!¡± A gangly mal in a top hat and curled mustache shouted to onlookers. I dropped a few silver into the ticket machine, and went inside this frame of beams with a huge tarp over it, crystal lanterns ringing its conal cavity. Gawking admirers sat on wooden bleachers. In the center was a gnome balancing a thick metal pole on one arm. At the top of this pole was a big wood platform, and on top of this platform was a flogging elephantis, looking like a shy kid being presented at her birthday party. Skimpy chelanas in dark stockings were asking for an audience volunteer to climb on, to show it was no illusion.


    I walked out of that tent back into the milling crowd outside, still curious how they were pulling off the strong mal act. I didn''t see the characteristic subtle buoyancy of telekinesis (nor felt its subtle mental pressure in the air), and the gnome¡¯s limbs didn¡¯t seem flush with sudden uncanny biomanced strength. A very powerful potion or enchantment, both long term, that might do it. Or god blood perhaps.


    A haggard looking fortune teller with a bandana and far too much pasty makeup leaned over her wooden booth table, gave me the wild-eyed stare of the homeless. ¡°Heyp! Heyp! I won''t just tell you your fortune young mal, I''ll change it!¡±


    A tent maze that upon entering, looked so elaborate all it promised was tedium. People laughing and splashing as they tried to run on barrels floating in an enchanted waterfall replica of some kind. Two drunk fems arguing over a giant toy bear. A circle of people sitting on cushions and sharing a hookah pipe. Dead ends.


    I stepped up to a slovenly Satyr hosting a dart booth. ¡°How much to play?¡±This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    ¡°30 silver for three darts.¡± He scratched his goatee with the ease of someone reading in bed. ¡°Anything on the outer rim gets you a keychain, one on the inner one gets you one of these car dice. Bullseye gets a prize from the second row, 3 bullseyes gets you 300 silver or a prize from the top row.¡±


    ¡°I''ll try not to run you out of business,¡± I joked.


    He spun the wheel. I threw the darts one by one. Two on the outer rim and one, with all my concentration, on the inner one.


    ¡°You got a prize.¡± He handed me the fuzzy car dice.


    ¡°That''s swell. By the way, I was told that a fellow named Grivonne runs this place. You know where I could find him?¡±


    ¡°Wuh. Well.¡± Two blinks snapped him out of his lassitude. ¡°Who are you with?¡±


    ¡°Myself. I''m just thinking maybe I¡¯ll join up. Live the carney life.¡±


    ¡°Yeah I don''t know. If you don''t mind fella. I got a line.¡±


    I thought about snidely pointing out the misting fan by his cloven hooves, but instead walked away and let the line keep moving. The fan was a mundane artifact that blew an invisible vapor, made the booth like a desert mirage, made it almost impossible to aim right¡ªalmost. Concentration surged. My fingers scooped a pebble off the ground, my elbow flicked like I was giving the world¡¯s fastest 90 degree salute. The pebble smacked right on the bullseye, left the goateed Satyr gawking.


    Sometimes you have to amuse yourself.


    Perhaps the individual booth tenders weren''t ideal for information.


    I walked around a bit more, taking in the festivities.


    I came across perhaps a more promising candidate standing between two tents. It was a jackal-looking mal with the trademark pose of security, arms folded, back slouched, so tensely bored that their legs are numbly rooted to the ground. I got a better look at him as I approached. He was real wiry, made his canvas outfit look baggy, the warm lights above making its navy fabric look more like gray. His jackal face didn''t protrude into a full snout but he still had that wet canine nose, the puffed split below it, a broken tooth snagging on a dark glistening lip, mangy fur all along his arms. A steel lightning stick dangled from his belt, its weighted end sculpted into the face of a clown, one eye blackened by charred blood.


    ¡°Say, this carnival seems like quite the place to work.¡±


    ¡°It''s not bad. Rreegh.¡±


    ¡°You got a light?¡±


    ¡°Grgh. No.¡±


    ¡°Sure ya do.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    Using some sleight of hand I pulled a thin lighter from behind his twitching ear, the string lights above making its flesh translucent, exposing its thin red veins.


    ¡°See?¡± I sparked the lighter and lit my tree cig.


    ¡°Mrahhh. The hells?¡±


    ¡°I''m a magician. Not a real mage. You know, a stage magician. I''m hoping to join up.¡± A deep inhale like I was surrounded by flowery fields. ¡°Life on the road. Performing for a crowd. I live for that stuff. I think it would suit me.¡±


    ¡°Good luck. Hreeeghh.¡± He seemed amused, if a little dismissive of my magician skills. ¡°That''s funny. Eeegheee.¡±


    ¡°See, I''m getting better. A little stage humor. I incorporate it into my routine. Well anyhow, I''ve heard that the person I should talk to about all this is this mal, um someone named Grivonne. Where might I find him? You know?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t know. Shrrrgh. What¡¯s your name?¡±


    ¡°You can call me Red.¡±


    ¡°If I see him I¡¯ll let him know you were looking. Rrmmph.¡±


    He turned and walked down the narrow space between two tents. I figured I¡¯d shadow him from a safe distance.


    As I walked a silhouette scurried out of the darkness, blocking my path. A small hooded figure.


    The faint sound of my jacket¡¯s rubbing leather as my arm moved a fraction of an inch, readying to draw my cannon.


    ¡°Hobgabarrin,¡± the figure said in an aged fem voice.


    I was taken aback, even startled by someone using the old fashioned term for a hob. ¡°You know me or something?¡±


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t. But I¡¯ve been waiting to meet you. You see, the cards showed I would find a brave son of Mog here. You must be him.¡±


    The figure stepped closer and pulled her hood back. The fading fabric revealed an old Wahira face, an old Hobgoblin femna, that is. Her skin was a warm leather, wrinkled like an old glove, her hair was in two thick braids, iron gray with streaks of snow in it. On her large pointed ears dangled heavy earrings, earrings bearing the symbol of Mog, the Hobgoblin god whose believers said was now living in exile, hidden away in the sun or the bowels of the earth or some other rumored haunt.


    ¡°You''ve been following me. I don''t take kindly to it.¡±


    ¡°That''s what you say? To your elder?¡±


    I stood there a long moment, looking down at her tiny frame with its homespun robe, shawl, and worn leather sandals revealing calloused feet and cracked nails, considered the angles... I brought my hand to my chest and leaned my conya down slightly in feigned reverence, addressed her in a courteous greeting, if insincere. ¡°Mae wahira. Ka le bikayotl nikaltaki mitsmeet lisharaz. I am called Teek, of the Fangrells of Philamonvia.¡±


    ¡°And I am called K¡¯matli of the Nurtepec of Aztlan.¡± She raised a small hand in blessing. ¡°Ka pakini shaysed. It''s good to see a malnovi still show respect. Mm. But respect is one thing wisdom is another. Come. We should lose ourselves to evil eyes.¡±


    She led me away from that corridor of booths, glancing subtly to make sure we weren¡¯t being followed. We came to some wooden tables where revelers were eating cotton candy, chili frogs, deep fried everything.


    We both plinked coins at a booth for fruit drinks and found an empty table and sat down.


    ¡°So what''s all this about you seeing me in some cards?¡±


    ¡°I never said you. I said a brave son of Mog.¡±


    ¡°Right. Whatever. If this is your carnival con... I''d say hurry up and get to the con part. You want some coin to read me my fortune? Let me tell you, no scryer on Hybrid Earth could figure that one out.¡±


    ¡°Mm. You forget that oracle cards are an art long practiced by our people. It is even recognized by the Masons.¡±


    ¡°The Archons? Yeah. They call it Cartomancy¡ªlook, why were you following me?¡±


    ¡°I had to be certain you could help.¡±


    ¡°Help?¡±


    Her dense braids shone like gray corn leaves as she gazed about the tables. ¡°You have to be more careful who you ask about the troll.¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah? What do you know about him?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not just the ringleader of this carnival. He can be trusted even less than... a rogue.¡±


    My fingertips grazed the table¡¯s wood ridges as I leaned closer. ¡°If you mean because he doesn''t pay his debts¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡ªNo. No. Not that.¡±


    ¡°Then.¡±


    Sagging muscles sank further along her deeply indented jowls. ¡°This is is no ordinary carnival.¡±


    ¡°How so?¡±


    ¡°The real carnival, how he really makes his coin is the carnival within the carnival.¡±


    ¡°Where is that? Is that where I can find him?¡±


    ¡°If I show you will you help me?¡±


    ¡°That depends.¡±


    The fruit juice colored her misshapen teeth. ¡°Why are you looking for him? Gold?¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s just say Grivonne dined and dashed.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Dined. Dining. He ate and didn¡¯t pay. I¡¯m trying to collect the bill.¡±


    ¡°Dining. Yes. Yes. Let me show you how he dines.¡±

 Chapter 5

    This small hobgoblin fem, Wahira K¡¯matli, led me to a long purple and gold tent that read the ¡®Siren¡¯s Maze.¡¯


    ¡°Here.¡±


    ¡°I''ve already been here.¡±


    ¡°Don''t you mind.¡±


    We stepped into the striped tunnels together where a couple of families were meandering, a toddler riding their father¡¯s neck and such.


    As we came to a split in the path, we took a left and then on the next split we veered right, walking with fewer and fewer people as we went. We came to another split and we made a right and then right again and then right again, and again.


    ¡°Hey, aren''t we just going in circles?¡±


    ¡°Sshh! I know the way,¡± she said in that aggravated old wahira way.


    We kept walking that same pattern. As we did a fluorescent fog began filling the corridors and in the distance a child squealed in happy fright and other stranger voices began murmuring closer by: Goblinkin... Come... Come... This way...


    We followed the voice through the thick candy fog with the string lanterns¡¯ light diffused by the fog into hazy auras and one of the bulbs on the string lantern was far larger and dangled strangely and then I realized that it wasn''t a lightbulb at all but a floating orb of some kind. It pulsed subtly, as if it breathed.


    ¡°Will ¡®o¡¯ wisps...¡± I muttered, seeing that there were several bobbing in the corridors,  casting their eerie lights on us, and whispering: Welcome... Who might you be...


    ¡°Don''t mind them,¡± K¡¯matli said. ¡°They''re just meant to sort the crowd.¡± She glanced up at a couple of the dancing lights, addressed them. ¡°We¡¯re just going to catch a show. Here¡¯s the tickets. Here¡¯s the toll.¡± She reached her small hand into her purse, grabbed two tickets and a stack of bills¡ªrather pricey, had to be at least 40 gold¡ªand stepped and handed them to the tent wall, which opened up a large froglike mouth made out of its own striped fabric, a mouth which did not reveal anything within or past the tent but foggy nothingness.


    ¡°Come... If you know the way...¡± The Will ¡®o¡¯ wisp whispers faded, and so did they.


    ¡°I see...¡± I lit a cigarette to calm the throbbing pain in my chest. ¡°We''ve been through this same intersection 5 times now.¡±


    ¡°Youngsters, so impatient these days.¡± Finally she made a left.


    ¡°No I get it. An ensorcelled tent. A magically locked path. I suppose they¡¯re fully committed to the showmalship... and the secrecy.¡±


    The heavy canvas parted of its own will and as we stepped through this makeshift door and the flaps closed behind us I realized that we¡¯d stepped not just into another tent, but another place altogether, might have been a few feet from the maze tent, a few miles, or on another continent. ¡°We might not even be in the same place as the outside now... look, the ground¡¯s different and the air feels a bit more humid...¡±


    We were in an enormous tent, cavernous as it rose darkly to a central point far above, the outside carnival¡¯s rainbow colors gone, now replaced by stripes, motley, paisley all patterns in spectrums of black and white. The grayscale decor gave this an air of gothic luxury or refinement, or the attempt at it, and made the bright colors of candy, juggled fires, illustrated signs, exotic circus animals all spring enthusiastically to the eye. Several show booths ringed the perimeter of a central stage. A plethora of people were milling about, mostly races of the night like outside, but they seemed of higher coin, with puffed collars, garish suits, polished shoes, powdered faces, a monocle on one mal, platinum nose rings, fur boas and feathered hats, glassy polished claw sleeves. There were more under dwarves and dark elves than outside, even saw a few Ogres plodding along, one holding some small corpse impaled on a skewer, taking a bite of it.


    The Wahira pulled me into the shadow of a wooden bleacher where the creek and chatter of a sparse crowd above rained on us, that compost herbal breath and oaky grip of the aged emanating from K¡¯matli as she whispered. ¡°Have you known any goblins in your life?¡±


    ¡°Of course. What kind of question is that?¡±


    ¡°Let me show you some.¡± She walked to a booth, pointed her gnarled, stubby fingers. It was a dart game hosted by some human so gaunt he could have been a corpse. In his silky pink outfit he almost looked like a long piece of taffy, the booth¡¯s black and white stripes that of a candy box.


    ¡°Darts? You¡¯d think that the one outside would be enough...¡±


    I trailed off as we walked closer, realizing that tied to the center of the spinning dart wheel was a goblin. Between two and three feet tall, skinny but with a small pot belly. Ears more round than the usual triangular shape, skin a grayish blue and covered in scars of every kind. He was buck naked save for a tight underwear that was colored in swirls, and jester boots with little bells on the tips. Imbedded in him were several darts.


    A young ogre family. A child in a polka dot dress sat on her father''s brawny arm that lumped the sheer sleeve of his frilly shirt. They traded turns throwing darts at this spinning gobbo, a sweet father-daughter bonding moment.


    ¡°Eeegh!!¡± The goblin squealed as another dart punctured his belly, making him look like a balding porcupine. Strangely enough, there was only a half-awareness to his squeal, almost as if he were drugged, or perhaps simply self forsaken to a horrifying extreme.


    ¡°Grahahagh!¡± the ogre dad laughed. ¡°Mm you try, little princess.¡±


    He handed the little femnivi a dart. She tossed it with her pudgy arm.


    The gobbo howled as the dart popped right into his eye, waking him to full, thrashing pain.


    My breath caught, a cold sweat ran through me, old superstition kicked in. ¡°Mog¡¯s fire save us...¡±


    ¡°It can''t unless we try.¡± K¡¯matli tugged on my arm.


    We walked into rising rows of circular benches where a dappled crowd looked down on the central show ring.


    Inside the ring was a gaggle of goblins who¡¯d been given flimsy balsa wood weapons, a sword, a spear, toys really. Their ankles were bound to long lengths of chain. A great Orcish war hound had been released from its cage into their midst, its flat face surrounded by so much mud-colored shoulder muscle that it looked like it had no neck. Its short ears flopped around, drool flew from its snapping jaws as it chased after these goblins and the handlers gave just enough slack on the chains to let the goblins scamper about and swing their weapons in feeble defense.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    The crowd laughed as the hound¡¯s serrated teeth clamped around a gobbo¡¯s skinny leg. The mastiff shook its conya viciously and the gobbo flailed and squealed in agony.


    Handlers in coveralls prodded the Orc hound with extremely long lightning sticks, drove it back into its cage, letting it take the bloody gobbo leg as its prize.


    ¡°Explain this, all this,¡± I said to the Wahira, my hands unclasping. ¡°I don''t get the appeal. And more importantly what does Grivonne get from all this? Is there really that much coin in selling tickets to... this? They got those nature shows on TV now for Mog¡¯s sake.¡±


    ¡°You said you were collecting a dining bill... It''s not far from the truth.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, you said you''d show me.¡±


    ¡°Patience Hobgabarrin.¡±


    We rose. As we crept into the shadows she took out a small pouch from her purse, tossed some herbal dust on us.


    ¡°Cloak powder,¡± I said as I contained a cough. I recognized this concoction that dampened our presence to potential onlookers¡ªsound, scent, motion, body heat. ¡°We''ll have to compare formulas.¡±


    We snuck to the side of the round bleachers where there was a small parting in the tent¡¯s heavy fabric. We slipped through this opening, onto a set of narrow stairs that led to a smaller tent that connected to the main one. We climbed, K¡¯matli¡¯s skirt folding at regular intervals as she crept until we reached a wooden platform that went in a u-shape around a large room. We crouched on the platform¡¯s¡¯ wood planks, knowing that the cloak powder would only conceal us so much, and peaked between posts that made up the balustrade that corralled the platform in sections. On the platform¡¯s opposite side there were huge pots of boiling broth or oil of some kind. These pots rested on cooking panels like that part of the platform was a huge stovetop. This entire room looked like some kind of kitchen or dining room. Brushed earth its floor, stacked tables and chairs along one wall, sets of dishes, huge pots and pans arranged on shelves and closets, cruel razor cutlery on display cupboards. Here and there on the ground level were more stacks of cookware, a cutting table, a cauldron on wheels that could be rolled to receive the hot drum¡¯s contents from above, long metal cooking instruments for stirring, carrying, and so forth. Both ends of the platform had a short set of stairs that led to the room¡¯s ground level.


    This dining tent was a solid near black color, and still part of this massive tent complex so on beams above there dangled ropes and sand bags. There was a hallway in one of its corners and a door to some kind of modular building or trailer on the farside, clearly the maze door was not the only entrance to this secret place. It had string lights curled around the beams above but on the room¡¯s supporting columns there were several torches in sconces permeating the room with a certain subtle witching aura.


    Taking up a big chunk of the room was a 10 foot tall cage filled with twenty goblins or so. They seemed to have so little will to live that they looked like they were made of spineless green wax, their backs drooping as they sat. They were dressed in a mix of rags and bright clownish gear. In addition to the cage, they were chained. Most of these chains were shackled to the gobbos¡¯ ankles or wrists but a few were clamped to clownish masks they were wearing.


    Dozing on the ground next to this cage were two guard dogs strangely wearing dirty clothes. On closer inspection they weren¡¯t dogs but dog malnos, but not like the skinny jackal security guard outside. These had full snouts, spotted fur, thickly muscled necks and shoulders, like hyenas. Hyena mals. Gnolls.


    Even with our dampened sound I whispered as I gazed at the gobbos in the cages.


    ¡°They''re going to... eat them?¡±


    The wahira¡¯s age-sunken eyes lingered on me.


    A sudden rearing of a gnoll¡¯s conya, ears pattering, wet nostrils pulsing.


    Our hearts thudded. Our limbs in molasses as we shrank back. My jacket¡¯s dangling flaps, her braids all caressing the wooden platform as we crept back into safer shadows, lingered between two heavy curtains of the black tent fabric. The sudden flush of nearly being caught, the though of this Wahira¡¯s fixation with these goblins, it all needled my nerves.


    We snuck back the way we came, then back down the stairs to the edge of the bleachers surrounding the stage.


    K¡¯matli leaned close, her large eyes shifting in the dark looking like boiled eggs floating in a stew.


    ¡°You see, yes? These goblins are a twisted entertainment a thrill for dark instincts but they are also a feast. There are many fell beings who relish goblin flesh.¡±


    ¡°All this for a flogging sandwich?¡±


    ¡°Mm. It''s not just taste, young mal. There are unique humours that pain and terror release into their blood.¡±


    ¡°Mmh... that''s right... I read something about this. A certain kind of Mana in the hormones... hormones released by torture.¡±


    ¡°Yes. A secret woven into this cuisine. You saw the masks? They¡¯re sewn and glued to their faces... The darts, the hound show, all torture play. For ages these fiends have developed methods to train their... food. They make them feel as much fear and pain as possible for months, even years. Some even become desensitized to certain tortures, others the opposite and become extremely sensitive to the slightest pain. Either way, they store those hormones you speak of in their flesh. When their flesh is fully eh full  full soaked, then they are finally slain. It is said that these humours in the blood are freshest when the Goblins are boiled alive and the soup is consumed immediately. It''s an unimaginable pleasurable for the feeders. And it gives them a vitality that nothing else can. Their Mana darkens, feeds on this kind of practice.¡±


    ¡°They don¡¯t realize it, but they are practicing a form of thaumaturgy.¡±


    ¡°Some do.¡±


    ¡°But why goblins? Get them going and they barely feel fear. At least they fear much less than say humies or something.¡±


    ¡°Humans are not immune to this fate, nor other races. But with the Arcanum passing new laws... it is easier to hide the disappearance of a goblin than other peoples, and so this... cuisine lives on in secret. And as for them being brave, goblins are only brave when they have a goblin leader, a goblin hive mother, a goblin chief, something.¡±


    ¡°So what''s your angle in all this? Is this some kind of political thing? I hate politics... A bad experience with it.¡±


    ¡°No. This is my own quest. My own pain... Freeing these Goblins is all I want.¡±


    ¡°Your own pain.¡±


    ¡°These goblins... are like kin.¡±


    Whisper-hissing: ¡°Look... Wahira... I don''t know the story here. Flogged up as it is, this is for badges to take care of. Universal Born Rights and all that bull cagg. The Arcanum wanted their Lunar treaty, they should enforce it.¡±


    ¡°The Masons?¡± A wet laugh turned into a sneer. ¡°They''re so overworked they can¡¯t even close the Frontier. Necrotrafficking, god loyalists, the pestilence: they won''t spare any Archons just for a few goblins.¡±


    ¡°Well that''s not my problem.¡± Mention of the mess the world was in only made me more hesitant to get involved. ¡°I''m here to collect a debt. Gold. That''s it.¡±


    ¡°You... are you not loyal to your people? Do you not worship Mog?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m loyal to number one.¡± My finger shook as it pointed toward me. ¡°As for Mog, I read the Red Prince. I practice its precept.¡±


    ¡°But there are 144.¡±


    ¡°The high precept. The others I pick and choose. That¡¯s all he gets from me. What other use is there for a dead god?¡±


    ¡°The delusion has caught you too... You do not walk the six paths...¡±


    ¡°Lady, the only path I''m walking is the one that ends in that flogging gold he owes.¡±


    ¡°I... I do not blame you.¡± Her brow looked like rings on a tree stump as it sank. ¡°You''re a red blooded Hobgabarrin in your prime... a lust for gold is just as natural as a lust for flesh.¡±


    ¡°It''s not gold lust it''s just...¡± How could I explain to this old Wahira that I was on the verge of a feat that would eclipse some brief, nameless goblin lives, that what I valued wasn¡¯t just gold, not for its own sake. It was to sail on that dream chamber... until I became... someone else entirely, myself, one and the same. How could I explain that I could let nothing nothing come between me and that destiny.


    Still, the promise of gold and all that it could unlock must have shone on my face.


    ¡°You don''t need to justify yourself to me. But if it''s gold you¡¯re after... I can give you that. I can give you... my family''s entire inheritance.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± She didn''t strike me as wealthy. Other than her earrings she was dressed rather plainly, even drab. Still, old hobs could be strange that way, the weird hob uncle who dies without having ever touched his basement filled to the brim with solid gold bars was hyperbole, sure, but it was also a stereotype for a reason. ¡°Why would you do that?¡±


    ¡°You see I am the last of my line. No childer left... the war took most, pestilence the rest. All that remains of my clan is me and a single goblin. His line has been serving my clan for generations and he is now the last of them as I am of mine. He is in that cage. Do you know what that feels like? To be the last?¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± My boot stomped a passing roach, making grinding noises on the dirt floor. I raised an eyebrow. ¡°Your inheritance huh?¡±


    ¡°Don''t worry. If you can free him you''ll deserve it. I won''t go back on my word.¡±


    ¡°All right. It''s a deal.¡± I straightened my jacket collar, gazed at the secret staircase in the tent folds. ¡°Listen carefully and follow my lead.¡±

 Chapter 6

    We walked into the dining room with the caged goblins, the guard Gnolls and the platform encircling it above.


    One of the Gnolls had these dark spots around both eyes, making him look almost raccoon like. He immediately reared up, but stayed on all fours, jaws snapping spittle and endless paranoia, barking like he was at the gates of hell.


    The other seemed a bit more civilized, wore a dirty vest and a thick belt with a wicked knife strapped to it. He only barked once, as if by reflex, then stood up onto his reverse knee digitigrade legs, spotted fur bristling, eyeing us, black nostrils pulsing.


    ¡°Errrgh? Kitchen doesn''t open til midnight.¡±


    ¡°That''s alright!¡± I had to shout so he could hear me over his partner''s frantic barking. ¡°I''m here to see Grivonne!¡±


    ¡°WRROFF!¡± Knifer Gnoll barked himself, baring huge yellow fangs at the raccoon Gnoll. ¡°Shat up! Rrrrgh¡ªI''m talkin¡¯ here!¡± Raccoon quieted down into a sustained growl. Knifer turned to me again. ¡°Who the hells are you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m Red, the stage magician. And this is my assistant. I¡¯m just looking to entertain, hopefully impress is all.¡±


    ¡°Regh. Go back there and fetch em.¡± He motioned with his thick neck to Raccoon, who slinked up to the wooden door behind them, snuck one last bark at us before he pawed it open and slipped through.


    Knifer squatted down onto his furred ass, one black leg sticking up like a burnt branch, eyeing us suspiciously.


    K¡¯matli and I stood in place, silent.


    Glancing over to the caged goblins, I noticed one of them, a cactus green one. He slowly rose, chain on his neck clinking. He walked up to the bars, naked save for dirty circus pants, bright and motley, that came down to just below his knee. His ears were big and one of them bent. I couldn¡¯t see the rest of his conya cus most of it was hidden behind this funky pigeon type mask with painted swirls on it, two small holes for eyes and a big one for the mouth. Attached to the mask was a chain that bound him to a post on the cage¡¯s far side¡ªwasn''t on his neck at all but on the mask itself, which must have been stitched on or fastened somehow. He moved as far as his chain would let him, until it was taut. Holding onto the bars, he kept staring at us. I figured this was the gobbo that the old Wahira was making all this fuss about. Maybe he recognized her.


    A man came into the room, not through the door but through the hallway in the corner.


    This was a lanky humie in a canvas security outfit with a drivers cap on his conya and a toothpick in his mouth. To accessorize his outfit he had a double barrel shotgun slung on his shoulder. Its wood and metal swayed with the stride of his heavy boots: ¡°What¡¯s all the noise about?¡±


    Knifer stood up on his hind legs, glazed eyes roaming like he was embarrassed to be caught in dog mode. He pointed at me with his snout. ¡°Some magician. Errgh. Wants a job or something.¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah?¡± The human picked at his stubbled jaw, then hooked his veiny hand on his canvas pocket. ¡°Show us some tricks, magic mal.¡±


    ¡°Sure. But not right now. In show business, timing is everything.¡±


    ¡°Heh, if you say so.¡±


    The door swung open and Raccoon came out hunched and walking on his bowed dog legs. Behind him stomped an enormous shadow. As it stepped through the doorway the room¡¯s torchlights revealed it to be a flamboyant troll.


    Grivonne. Rotund didn''t quite do him justice. This mal was a giant bag of flour with fat¡ªalbeit muscular¡ªlimbs. He wore a fuzzy top hat, poofy striped pants and a robe that was distended by his huge gut¡ªthe whole outfit composed of colors from a batcagg crazy femna¡¯s makeup palette. This troll mal had boils all along his three chins and a nose that looked like a squarish rock plastered to his face, he carried a fancy baton in one hand and an enormous cooked thigh in the other.


    Trailing through the door behind him was the Jackal security guard I met earlier.


    The troll plodded toward me with his retinue, speaking in between bites of the thigh in his leathery hand. ¡°What the hells all this about some hob granny and her son?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯d be me, Mr. Grivonne.¡± I stepped forward, leaving the Wahira a step behind. ¡°Well not the granny, but the son as you put it¡ªno actual relation.¡±


    ¡°Hey that¡¯s the guy I was telling you about,¡± Jackal security guard said.


    ¡°Ahhh the magician! Well he must not be as stupid as you made him sound. He made his way through the maze.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s practice, all those breakfasts staring at the back of cereal boxes.¡± I shrugged. ¡°But you know I¡¯m all grown so I''ve moved onto cig boxes for breakfast. I think they¡¯re a little healthier than the cereal, but they sure make coin go fast.¡± I flipped a silver coin into the air and as it fell I waved my open palm, a little sleight of hand making it disappear in midair.


    ¡°Hahagh!¡± Grivonne laughed. ¡°Toss this poor bastard a few coppers for effort.¡±Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    The Jackal actually threw some copper coins at me, mouth parting in silent amusement. One of them caught me on the brow, forcing me to blink. The Gnolls laughed like the hyenas they were.


    Grivonne tossed them the thigh bone¡ªa foot long and thick as a sword pommel. Both Gnolls lunged, growling and yapping as they fought over it until they snapped the bone in two, Knifer getting the bigger piece.


    ¡°Now.¡± The troll wiped his greasy hand on his coat. He took out a cigar from his pocket, lit it and puffed, his eyes in the smoke looking like headlights of some haul truck. ¡°Why the hell are you really here?¡±


    ¡°Eyyy. Ya got me. I meant no disrespect. It¡¯s just you gotta bring some levity to this work. It¡¯s a dreary business, no? Being a tax collector?¡±


    ¡°Collector? I see. Who sent you?¡±


    ¡°Lady Pearl.¡±


    ¡°That old squid hooer. Hagh.¡± He tapped some ash from his cigar, then tapped his baton into the ground, both huge hands on its orb head. ¡°She¡¯s gotta make those tentacles work if she wants my money.¡±


    ¡°Well that¡¯s the thing. She only wants her money. 12 grand exactly.¡±


    ¡°Look, I don''t know if you''ve figured it out but she didn''t send you here to collect. She sent you here to die.¡±


    ¡°Die? The food here that bad?¡±


    ¡°You can hide behind your moron japes all ya like, but think about it. She sent you, a goblinoid, to a place where we¡¯re cookin¡¯ up them little gobbos easy as chickens in a pot. And she gave you this, what, old femna sidekick? Gahahaha!¡± His croneys joined in the laugh. ¡°So I¡¯m being generous letting you get the flog outta here with your conya still on your shoulders. Now quit wasting my time.¡±


    ¡°Don''t worry, I¡¯m not wasting your time¡ªthat''s a miniature murder in my book, a true sin if there is one. In fact this visit isn''t even about collecting. Not really.¡±


    ¡°Eh? What are you talking about?¡±


    Wicked mirth curled my lips. ¡°Well see an ah... entrepreneur like yourself, you know you''re only as good as your team, your network. Now I¡¯m still fairly new in the West Coast rogue scene, and so I¡¯m looking to make one of my own. Contacts, associates. I¡¯m not saying I¡¯m looking to work for you or nothin¡¯, but work with ya. If I can do a job for Pearl, do a job for you... A move here. A move there. I¡¯ll make a name for myself, ya know?¡±


    ¡°A young go-getter crook huh? Hahaw!¡±


    ¡°Exactly! And I know you must think I have something against your operation here but here''s the thing: just like you live for food I live for one thing: gold. And I got no room for gods or races or politics or any of that bull cagg. Hell you serve me a cup of that goblin stew you got cooking there and I''ll chug it like it''s my birthday.¡± Hyena squealing chuckles, a craggy finger rubbing triple pockmarked chins. ¡°And what''s more I''ll prove it to you. See this little old wahira here?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. The hell is with her?¡±


    ¡°You tell me.¡± I shrugged, genuinely baffled. ¡°I don''t even know her. She came up to me saying how she''s been reading the tea leaves and that I''m in her destiny¡ªwhich was already creepy as flog. Then she starts preaching about us goblins sticking together and all that cagg, how we need to free the goblins from this place. I went along with her just so she''d show me around, give me the lay of the land. Useful ya know.¡±


    ¡°Free the goblins?¡± His piss colored eyes darkened.


    ¡°Yeah. She thinks I''m like some noble paladin.¡± The Wahira gazed up at me with searching eyes, her cracked lips parting and closing hesitantly. I cackled real deep. ¡°What? Do I look like a flogging elf, ya old bag?¡±


    She reached out, for a second her arm looking like a toddler''s trying to steady itself. ¡°Wait, what are you saying?¡±


    ¡°She must think I look like a stupid elf because she offered me her inheritance to help her. Can you imagine? She¡¯s probably got 20 silver with a signed photo of Jooby Mack and thought that was worth more to me than 12,000 gold.¡± The troll and the human laughed, probably the only ones who got the reference.


    The Wahira¡¯s crow¡¯s feet deepened as she grimaced. ¡°Why are you doing this? This wasn''t part of¡ªSMACK!¡± I backhanded her and she stumbled with an old lady yelp.


    The whole room hollered. The hyenas in an utter fit¡ªEEeEeehhhEEeehEeHee.


    She struggled to get up and I kicked her then, right in the ass, plastering her down on the dusty ground.


    ¡°See what I''m willing to put up with?¡± I shook my conya at the troll in shared exasperation. ¡°Now she may look like a bag of bones with a diaper slapped on but see, being a Hob I can tell you she¡¯s got some cards up her sleeve. This little fem, if you gave her a chance would slip in some real mean poison to your broth here, hex ya, sick some angry ghosts on ya, or pull some other nasty trick. Trust me, I know.¡± A shadow of hatred swept across my face. ¡°A lot of Wahiras become... very happy widows, my darling mother one of them. So I leave her here for you to do as you wish. My gift to you. Now that''s got to be a sign of being trustworthy. A sign that I''ll take care of any job... for the right price.¡±


    The troll rubbed his chins. ¡°I gotta say, I''ve seen a lot of things but a hob turning in an old Wahira like this, this is some entertaining cagg heghhe. You know what, flog it.¡± His tophat swayed as he stomped over to a safe hidden in a cupboard, twisted the knob three times and grabbed a few stacks of bills fastened with wire clips, put them into a bag that Jackal security held open for him.


    ¡°Grivonne,¡± I said, ¡°this is going to be one beautiful partnership. I''m telling you, wet works, swag, cat burglary, contraband, you just name it, and I''m in.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve had a few mals annoying me in the city. I might get you to pay them a visit, see how good ya really are. For now, here.¡± As he talked his stomps brought him close until his shadow touched me. He smelled of old meat, smoke and honeyed cabbage. ¡°Give this to that tentacle femna, but tell her I''m going to expect a favor real soon.¡±


    ¡°I knew you were swank, govnah.¡± I reached for the bag.


    ¡°But first¡ª¡± He yanked it back. ¡°Prove it. Prove you''re the real deal, a stone cold heavy.¡±


    ¡°Whaddaya mean?¡±


    ¡°Off the old fem.¡±


    My fingers spread like I was holding a loaf of bread to him. ¡°I''m handing her over to you. She''s your problem now. Uh... My hands are washed from whatever you wanna do.¡±


    ¡°I thought you didn''t have no problems about no gods or races or nothing like that? That you''d do any job.¡±


    ¡°It''s not that. I mean I will, but don''t you want to get her ready first? You know, to cook her up or something?¡±


    ¡°Nawh. Too stringy. Too old.¡± He sniffed. ¡°Now hurry the flog up. You said gold was all that mattered. Nothing else. That you were trustworthy.¡±


    ¡°I am.¡±


    ¡°Then do it. Now.¡±


    My eyes roamed in thought.


    Taking a few crunching paces back, I glanced down at the Wahira. She was trembling, stirring up from the ground to her knees.


    A cold sweat ran through me.


    I slipped my handcannon out from its holster beneath my jacket.


    ¡°No... please. What are you doing?¡±


    My arm straightened, a beam on a gallows. Her own god¡¯s sentence:


    There is no good. There is no evil. There''s only glory.


    The gun rattled in my trembling hand.


    ¡°Stop!¡± She stood and took two paces back, quivering eyes locked on me.


    My thumb clicked the safety off.


    ¡°You can¡¯t! You''re a Hobgabarrin! You''re a¡ª¡±


    BANG¡ª

 Chapter 7

    The shot from my cannon was enough to drop a charging elk, loud as a thunder snap and bright enough to light up the room¡ªdragon¡¯s breath ammo, home made. And so the little Wahira went flying, eyes rounded, legs splayed out, braids tossing like a little girl jumping rope, the breath wheezing out of her. A plume of dust kicked up as she fell flat. Her body went motionless on the ground, dress rumpled, smoke fuming from her chest.


    GahaAHAHAhahaHAha! The troll and his minions hollered.


    My mouth wrenched but I turned and steeled myself.


    ¡°I gotta give it to you...¡± Grivonne wiped some tears, gulping for air between lingering laughs. This is better than any magician act I''ve ever seen. If you take care of this job in the city, you''re welcome to come on the road. I''m sure I''ll have a job for you here and there, and in between you can pull funny cagg like this. Hell, you might actually have an act. For now, here.¡± The troll extended his massive arm, handed me the money bag.


    ¡°Finally.¡± I relished the fabric¡¯s tugging weight in my grip. ¡°Someone appreciates my talent. You have a good eye.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right. And my word is good. ¡± He grinned a toadie friendliness, nodding down to the bag with generous pride. ¡°Your reward.¡±


    ¡°Great.¡± I inhaled deep: gold, the rosie smell of success. ¡°Now, here''s yours.¡±


    My elbow swiveled, was lost in a metallic blur, the gun barrel striking midnight under his chin.


    BLAM!


    The shot flashed up through his jaw, bursting an eyeball out, coming up right up through his conya, blowing his fuzzy top hat off in a mix of blood and bone and brains. As he was flailing, stumbling back, baton in his hand, I fired off a volley. It was so rapid fire that three explosive dragon breath rounds hit him on the arm just inches from one another, severing it at the elbow, bone tendons rupturing like sliced rope. The last shot went clear through his gut, leaving a visible hole and intestines spilling. His body thudded the ground like a giant sack of concrete, leaving him dead a foot or two from the cage where goblins were hopping in chittering shock.


    The room became a hen house of barks and cries and shouts and frenzied limbs.


    Security man was gunning for me.


    I sprinted as the first shotgun bark came, would have fired back but Racoon was running on all fours in a feral lope to intercept me. My hand holding steady in mid run, I fired off a round. It only grazed him but even so it shattered his collarbone and ripped his shoulder open and turned his barks into high pitched wines. I dove behind a huge castiron pot as a shotgun blast came at me.


    Even through my jacket, I felt the pot¡¯s cold iron on my back as I braced against it, while my one hand tilted the cannon¡¯s cylinder open so that empty shells clinked out and my other hand pulled a moon clip from my belt and slid it into the cylinder, my wrist flicking it shut with a metallic shlthunk, the whole act of emptying and reloading less than a second. No more explosive rounds, but these would drop bodies just as good. I peered out the side, had to get a good aim¡ª


    The shotgun sparked. Stacked wood tables next to me were torn apart, splinters and pellet shot nicking my ear bloody, tensing my neck with panicked pain. A hip pivot took me back behind the iron pot. More shotgun blasts¡ª3, 4, I couldn''t tell¡ªa constant roar that filled the tent.


    A lull in his shooting. My ears perked.


    Listening to him sliding shells into steel tubes as he ran, I popped up from the cauldron like a flogging mole on cocaine. My arms in a triangle shape tracked the sights on him as he raced across my field of vision, two trigger snaps and smoky bangs and blood plumed out his ribs, sending him into a face planting fall on the packed dirt, shotgun sliding, dead.


    I glanced over to the Wahira prone on the ground. She seemed to be stirring, my shield vest¡¯s stiff edge faintly outlined under her dress fabric as she rubbed her chest, wincing. Knifer had scurried toward her, sniffing in growing realization that she lived. He raised his dagger. But K¡¯matli posted her hands above her like a pair of red flowers. Little sparks of lightning shot out through her fingers, buzzing Knifer into a crackling confusion. A brighter Mana spark snaked through him and he was launched onto his back, left in fuming convulsions.


    Footsteps on the platform above. The silhouettes of a couple of security guards, rifles rising out from them, bouncing closer along the tent walls.


    The Wahira yelled, ¡°Let¡¯s get the goblins and go!¡± Then her hands lit up with Mana as she took aim at the platform.


    I ran toward the safe, where Jackal had dug his back into the wall, a key set hooked on his belt, his lightning stick trembling in his hands.


    My cannon trained on him point blank. ¡°Your caggy job worth dying for?!¡±


    ¡°Don''t¡ª¡± His face wrenched like he was about to bawl and he tossed his lightning stick. It clattered and rolled a few feet away.Stolen story; please report.


    I yanked him by his collar. ¡°You''re opening that cage.¡±


    ¡°Rgeegh! I don''t have the key!¡±


    ¡°The hell you don''t.¡± I pistol whipped him, opening a gash above his brow.


    He recoiled down onto his haunch, moaned, covered his bloody face. ¡°I really don''t! Nragh! Grivonne has it!¡±


    He pointed to the huge troll corpse on the ground next to the cage, some keys hooked on his belt, their metal tips touching the ground. That masked gobbo from earlier was holding the bars, trembling, the other gobbos in a startled frenzy, green yawping chickens.


    My boot crunched dirt floor as I pivoted for the dead troll.


    A silver glint above me. My heels dug just in time¡ªthe throwing dagger slit my cheek open rather than stab me through the eye.


    On the platform above: two trapeze artists decked in bright red and white leotards with diamond patterns all over, faces painted white with haunting black around the lips and eyes. One mal, one fem, like they were twins, acrobat bodies filled with uncanny poise.


    ¡°Aghh!¡± I reeled back, stumbling as two more knives impaled themselves on the ground, barely missing. One of the trapeze artists was swinging down toward me on one of the pulley ropes above, a tether holding a wicked knife. ¡°Cagg!¡± I flung myself back, back flat on the ground. The jester swooped by me, dagger arcing through the air. Rolling on the uneven ground, I took prone aim. The blast ruptured his back, sent him flying off his rope, smacking face first into the platform¡¯s edge, then tumbling down, toppling a stack of tables below.


    Just as I was getting up a growl prickled my neck. Raccoon, shoulder bloodied and ripped open, was pouncing on me. I back pedaled like an inept ice skater, firing, but in the panic under snapping jaws and raking claws several shots went wildly astray, leaving only the acrid smell of gunpowder and the burning crispness of hot metal on my fingertips. One of his swipes opened a gash on my hip. Gngh! I grunted and then taking aim I finally had him between the eyes.


    Click.


    An empty cylinder. ¡°No¡ª¡±


    He came roaring at me and another swipe tore through shirt and skin, made me lose my balance and I tripped. His slobbering jaws rushed to me. My hand groped for ammo, for anything. His yellow teeth plunged down but just as they would have torn my throat I stabbed Jackal¡¯s fallen lightning stick into his mouth, his cheek like stabbing a rubber band. With a squeeze of my thumb the lightning rod sparked alive. It lit up Raccoon¡¯s conya like he was at a healer¡¯s office getting X-rayed, and he twitched an eee eee eee of his last laugh.


    His body slumped fuming next to me.


    Gunfire above me.


    Glancing up I saw that at least two more security guards with their hairy arms sticking out of canvas sleeves and armed with the wood and steel of rifles were on the platform now. K¡¯matli was standing with her hands glowing but trembling, strained, the femna trapeze jester splayed at her feet. She saw the security guards taking aim again. Her hands swept up, tracing a mana circlet. Her sandals rushed off the ground as a crystalyne sphere took shape around her. She was floating in some kind of mana bubble. She began shooting off her thin Mana sparks, trading fire with the guards. Several of their rifle shots connected, making the bubble spark a white substance like ice had exploded on it, leaving a crack in its crystalline substance.


    ¡°Hurry!¡± she crowed.


    We had to get the flog out of here.


    ¡°The goblins.¡± Limping skips took me toward their cage, the gash across my gut from Raccoon¡¯s swipe a raw, burning pain, my hand digging under my coat for ammo. Just as my fingers felt the coolness of a fresh moon clip, something squeezed my ankle with inhuman strength.


    ¡°Nnnghhhh!¡± I looked down, wild eyed: it was the troll¡¯s severed forearm, torn sleeve and all.


    A sudden yank swept me off my feet, my back slamming to the floor¡ªthe flogging thing started dragging me like I was tied to a chariot. The rushing ground tried to peel my jacket off, exposing my lower back to a blistering skin sanding. In the shifting madness, I managed to see that the troll¡¯s severed arm was dragging me along its slick trail of blood which was thickening into a substance strong as cable and springy like a rubber band, and the arm went slithering in twitches like an injured snake, dragging me back toward its body.


    The troll body which was regenerating.


    New bone took shape in the troll¡¯s shattered skull like water congealing into ice. Sinews snapped alive. Brain blubber writhed. Waxy skin stretched to cover it. A new eyeball puffed in its bloody socket like a muffin rising in an oven.


    ¡°Hob...¡± Grivonne slurred as his mouth was still regaining its shape. ¡°No soup... eat you alive...¡±


    I frantically pushed through the pain, finally managed to align the clip and my cannon¡¯s cylinder, shoved the rounds in with a metallic clack. His arm rejoined his rising body, yanking me up¡ªI was a chicken in the grip of some deranged farmer. I flailed, kicked. My arm whipped, shot off once, missed wildly, whipped up to aim again, aim anywhere on his massive body, but he''d seen it coming. He hoisted me like he was about to pitch a ball, my cannon shots veering as the world twisted in my eyes, but one just managing to knick the troll¡¯s shoulder, coat and tendons tearing so that he released me earlier than intended and instead of my spine shattering on the ground I went flying.


    The tickle of hurtling through the air.


    I smacked against a set of chairs so hard I was pretty sure I broke a bone or two. My cannon went flying in the clatter, and for a split moment the world became a strobe light of stabbing, wincing pains.


    ¡°I¡¯ll bite your ribs out one by one while you watch...¡± the troll boomed as he stomped toward me, shoulder reknitting itself, his wand swinging in one fist. ¡°Whatever remains of you... I''ll throw it to my dogs.¡±


    ¡°Yaegh!¡± K¡¯matli shot sparking Mana at him from the platform above where a security guard laid unconscious, but the troll raised his bulky baton arm like a shield. The baton glowed like a lightning rod as it took much of the roiling mana. Even so, rich fabric, thick hide, fat and arm muscle sizzled under the sparks, tissues torn apart. But the manablast died down¡ªWahira only had so much juice. Though the troll¡¯s arm and sleeve were broiled in patches, his flesh quickly began reknitting itself. Now that we weren''t catching him off guard, it seemed like he could simply absorb whatever we threw at him.


    His baton¡¯s head glowed and then it became much brighter, and as he aimed it, out came a torrent of streaking prismatic jets. This torrent erupted into rumbling fireworks on the Wahira¡¯s translucent orb, cracked it, sent it reeling, a marble shot from an angry kid''s hand.


    She squealed, bouncing in her bubble, her body smacking on its surface as the sphere ricocheted off the balustrade into the air. Striking a wooden pillar, it shattered with a thousand ethereal clinks. K¡¯matli¡¯s small limbs thrashed in the impact. In her free fall she bounced off the platform then went smacking into the ground, a nut falling from a tree.  She lay unconscious.


    The troll now turned to me as I lay there bloodied and bruised and pinned by toppled chairs, no handcannon in sight...

 Chapter 8

    The troll¡¯s  stomps were almost a strut as he approached me with a hungry look on his face that verged on obscene.  He tossed his baton aside, the head now dissolved into colored steam.


    As he stomped closer and closer, I grit my teeth through the pain, pushed a couple chairs off me, making a scraping sound that metalicly echoed on the platform above as I managed to crawl under it, searching for my cannon.


    ¡°I''ll give you one thing hob, you¡¯re a natural born entertainer.¡± He pried the lightning stick out of Raccoon''s mouth, thumbing it on and off like he was an obese child carrying a sparkler. His shadow swallowed me. ¡°And you''re going to put on a very veeery long show for me before your last curtain call.¡±


    The metal scraping sound above me again¡ªnot an echo at all¡ªwhat¡ª


    ¡°Bossss!¡± a goblin screeched.


    ¡°Egh?¡± Grivonne looked up just in time to see the steaming pot spilling, the two goblins tipping it over, but not in time to avoid it.


    A twisting ribbon of boiling oil.


    It drenched the wide-eyed troll, kicking up a cloud of smoking flesh. His screams oscillated around the chamber like a siren. Skin melted, muscle charred. Covered in the fuming black oil like this, shrieking, he seemed like he was some kind of mascot in an insane chocolate syrup commercial.


    Grivonnne¡¯s raw flesh was exposed, sheared of its protective hide, his mouth was completely pried open as he wailed, a hippo yawning.


    Hrngh¡ªclenched teeth drove me through the pains shooting all through me. I hopped up, wood chair sliding off me, took two lunging steps, prying a wax capsule from my pocket and hurling it into the troll¡¯s gaping mouth.


    The capsule. The final concoction of my late night alchemy. It sparked a chain reaction with the troll mucus lining his throat and mouth. Foam fizzed through his teeth. His slug lips snapped shut, his throat seemed to seize up, raw muscle exposed as hide and blubber were sloughed off by the oil. Now his spine was curling as he tried to contain the growing pain of his swelling gut.


    Hlrrgh¡ªHLLLRRRGHHH! He wretched, every inch of his body swelling, distending like a corpse left to rot.


    An explosion of white foam and viscera. Troll pieces splattering everywhere.


    My nostrils burned at the chemical smells of the froth spilling from the two legged stump that remained of his body.


    ¡°Regenerate that, ya piece of cagg!¡± I spat. ¡°How¡¯s that for a recipe!!!¡±


    ¡°Hreeeheee!¡± The two goblins above howled in triumph. Even in the chaos I managed to see that one of them was the gobbo who¡¯d stared at us. He''d torn his chained mask off and with it the skin on his face, bloody sinews exposed now to open air.


    ¡°Boss! Boss!¡± this faceless one screeched. He must have gotten the keys from Grivonne then freed the other goblins because they were scurrying all over the room now, tipping over all the pots with boiling oil, swiping torches from their sconces and throwing them in flaming spins. In all the madness the whole room was getting drenched in oil and flames.


    ¡°Well get the flog down here!¡± I shouted, finally finding my cannon and snatching it off the ground.


    The gobbos scampered down the steps while I ran over to the far side of the room.


    ¡°Wahira! Ey Wahira!¡± I found her in a heap. ¡°Wahir...¡± I turned her over and hairs were spilled over her face, a veil made of dried grass.


    ¡°The troll...¡± she wheezed as she began rising, one eyelid swollen, lip cut.


    ¡°Turned him into soap,¡± I panted. ¡°Vomit soap.¡±


    ¡°You know... even wearing this thing... that cannon of yours nearly knocked me dead.¡± Her fingers touched the singed lead plating showing through the hole ripped on her robe¡ªmy shield vest that gave her torso a strange exoskeleton under coarse fabric. ¡°And you could have pulled your kick...¡± She rubbed her back.


    ¡°Hey we sold the scene.¡± Gang, if there''s something I take seriously, it''s bardery. ¡°You''re alive.¡±


    Her face lit up as she saw the gobbos running toward us. ¡°Skreecher!¡±


    The gobbo actually seemed to recognize her too. ¡°Old Wahi! Old Wahi!¡± He jumped around, barely containing himself, pointing between us. ¡°Boss! Old Wahi!¡±


    ¡°Come on! You can skip around outside!¡± I dashed for the hallway, but stopped dead in my tracks. ¡°The money!¡± Sweet god of flapping gold. ¡°The moneyyyy!¡± My whole body jerked and I ran back toward roiling flames.


    ¡°Teek!¡± the Wahira called, but I didn''t give a flying flog even as embers danced around me and the air began rippling with heat, my face lit as if by an enormous camp fire.


    ¡°I must''ve lost the bag... when uh Raccoon uh...bit...¡± I talked to myself in that madness that only gold can conjure in us hobs, ¡°or when that walking parade float threw me like a rag doll...¡±


    I ran to the clutter of chairs getting charred. Finding a grip on wood that wasn''t yet flaming I tossed aside a chair. Heat made me recoil. My heart wrenched as I saw a smattering of cash getting soaked in flaming oil, catching fire. The sizzling slickness seeped onto my boot and I tapped it frantically to get it off. Reaching down, I grabbed a wad of cash but my fingers recoiled as the oil singed them. ¡°Gaaaah!¡± Still, I shook some of it off and managed to save a chunk of gold bills. My eyes scanned the floor for more salvageable cash¡ª


    A crackling snap above me.


    ¡°Boss!¡± A warning screech came.


    A burning beam had split free of its joint above and was falling. Little hands yanked me back, the sizzling beam smashing the ground just inches from my feet¡ªhot oil splashing, sparks hissing.


    I¡¯d been pulled back by the gobbo with the skinless face drenched in blood, who was staring at me with crazed alertness, two round eyes on the bloody soup of his face.


    ¡°Teek!¡± K¡¯matli called to me as gunshots were going off in the distance. A piece of flaming canvas was sliding off its hooks, like a tilted window to hell. The whole place was going to come down.


    ¡°Flog! FLOG!,¡± I cursed, ¡°Fine! Let''s go.¡±


    Fire, wild beasts, and goblins are a terrible combination... or a great one depending how you look at it.


    As we ran, utter chaos chased us. The rest of the goblins had snuck out of the dining room and were causing a ruckus in the stage where the orc hound had chased some of them earlier, a ruckus which rippled and grew. Yeah gang, the gobbos had a field day of released insanity. Setting things on fire, using chains, fireworks and boards with nails through them as weapons, riding a red horned lion around like a biting, clawing battering ram, cracking crowd members over the head after who knows how many days or years of pent up rage. Smoke, fireworks, falling sandbags, trumpeting elephanti, echoing parrots, collapsing canvas and all the meanwhile dancing flames and goblins howling with joy. In the confusion, the crowd, gobbos, performers, and circus goons that remained all fell into wild fighting, looting and the fleeing panic of a growing stampede. Some choked on smoke, others were trampled under fleeing orcs and ogres and beardies and what not.


    The maze didn''t catch fire. Perhaps its magical nature protected it, but its striped canvas walls and candy fog were filled with a handful of confused fleers, most others that made it out having fled through the secret carnivals¡¯ many other passageways. K¡¯matli and I along with a gaggle of goblins made it out of the maze, out to the night air where the outer carnival was still kicking.


    ¡°Gobbos! Where you going!¡± Wahira yelled to some goblins that just ran in random directions as soon as we pushed through the maze¡¯s heavy canvas exit. They kept running, getting lost in the oblivious crowds of the mundane carnival. ¡°Hey!¡± She called to them. They didn''t even look back, just kept skittering, giggling with utter glee, scooping from a popcorn machine, climbing onto the ferris wheel, or just fleeing into the darkness.


    My throat stung as I gulped air, my hands resting on my knees¡ªall the cigs were catching up with me. We¡¯d ran until we made it to the rocky alcove where I¡¯d hidden my car. Me, the Wahira and 3 goblins. One of them, parrot nosed, skin a dark teal, barely fazed by the run, craned his neck, studying my Stallion¡¯s head lights with a curiosity of a cat mixed with a miner¡¯s. He hopped onto its charcoal hood with a metallic hollow thump. ¡°Hey! Get off!¡± I coughed and coughed, pains stabbing me in the chest, burning cuts and scrapes all over. ¡°You¡¯ll scratch the paint!¡±


    Wahira K¡¯matli wheezed to catch her breath too. Her hands reached behind her back, pulling her robe up and unfastening some clips at the sides of her hips. She shrugged, fingers pulling on straps. My shield vest thudded to the ground at her feet, and she stepped out of it like it was a strange metallic underwear, a perplexed furrow on her thin brows:


    ¡°It has shield runes on it, doesn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Had.¡± I winced at all my cuts and bruises as I slung it on my shoulder like it was a duffel bag, rubbed dirt off the runic symbols that my handcannon had blasted to a charcoal stain. ¡°Looks like most are gone... or damaged... At least they stopped one of my home made rounds. But flog... it¡¯s gonna cost a fortune to get it re-runed.¡± I popped my ride¡¯s trunk and dropped the vest in. Reaching in, I popped open a black briefcase, grabbed a small glass bottle. Closing the trunk, vertigo spun me. I gazed around, felt exhaustion warring with pain inside me, the carnival noise now lost in a constant buzz of crickets, a gilla moth bent a long fuzzy weed growing up between two boulders, before fluttering off, up, up, past the crag walls enclosing two thirds of our circumference, up, and across the moon.


    The bottle in hand was an antiseptic paste that knit small wounds, or at least stopped the bleeding, bought time for proper healer work. My mouth twisted at the paste¡¯s sting on my cuts, but my finger went on spreading it.


    ¡°My little gobbo!¡± K¡¯matli¡¯s hands cupped the faceless goblin¡¯s shoulders as he nuzzled to her, her robe smeared by his face¡¯s half congealed blood. He was a foot or so shorter than her and wearing only a pair of raggedy short pants, nails thick and crusty that reminded me of acorns on sinewy hands and feet real big for his frame. ¡°Look what they did to you. Your face.¡±


    ¡°I did! I yank face off!¡± His legs went stiff as he mimicked the motion of pulling on his chain with his whole body. ¡°Like that¡ªmragh!¡±Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    The Wahira dug through her purse. ¡°I have only one healing root.¡± She glanced between me and him, then handed the tuber to the faceless goblin.


    ¡°You only have one and you give it to him?¡± My teeth clenched as I held my waist where a claw swipe had gashed me, burning pain mixing with the paste¡¯s cold sting. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be all cut up if I hadn¡¯t let you use my vest.¡±


    ¡°Magic food?¡± The faceless goblin eyed the root in his knobby fingers, then held it out to me. ¡°Boss eats it!¡±


    I reached for it but then felt the Wahira''s appalled glare floating between me and his bleeding, skinless face. ¡°Egh... I guess... I guess you can have it.¡± He was after all, worth her entire inheritance. I''d live¡ªno point in messing up the deal.


    ¡°But boss...¡±


    ¡°I don''t know where all this boss talk is coming from but if I''m boss then you do as I say. Eat it already.¡±


    An eye flutter of hesitation. He gobbled it with loud, crunchy chews.


    ¡°He recognizes you as a natural leader. All the goblins did. That''s what drove the fear from them. This is your first step toward becoming a Hobgabarrin lord...¡±


    ¡°Whatever.¡± I spat, a little blood mixed in with the spit. ¡°All I care about is that the next step involves gold. A lot of it.¡±


    ¡°Of course... I wouldn''t go back on a promise.¡± Her small hand dug into her purse and my imagination sparked: a map to a buried fortune, a magic key to unlock a vault somewhere.  She handed me a small pouch. Unfastening the string that held it shut, I peered inside. There were coins, the kind they made before the war but that were still accepted as currency, though they were slowly being phased out.


    ¡°What is this? There''s 80, 90 gold in here...¡±


    ¡°97 gold.¡±


    ¡°So...¡±


    ¡°My inheritance.¡±


    ¡°That''s it?! All that trouble back there for 97 gold!¡±


    She smiled, wrinkles bunching so that her skin looked like palm trunk, eyes like walnuts in their shells. ¡°I did not lie. That is my entire inheritance.¡±


    ¡°Hats off to your flogging honesty! But I need to walk away with something else besides 97 gold!¡±


    ¡°Like what?¡±


    ¡°Like more coin! A lot more!¡±


    ¡°Well...¡± She reached for her purse again, started counting. ¡°I can offer you another, oh 60 silver...¡±


    ¡°I don''t want your silver!¡± My hand pushed her purse away then swept through my hair. ¡°I didn''t collect the debt!¡± I took some of the charred bills from my pocket, shuffled. ¡°I mean I saved¡ªwhat is this¡ª19, 20, 35, 36 hundred gold. I was supposed to collect 12 grand! I diverted my whole plan, risked my con¡¯ n¡¯ sack to get these damn gobbos out!¡±


    ¡°What... then... forgive me. What can I do?¡±


    ¡°What can you do? Wahi, aren¡¯t you listening? Get me cash, coin, scratch, glitz, racks, dough, moolah, money. Like you said. An inheritance. Money. A lot of it.¡±


    ¡°Is this money?¡± Screecher, his face still skinless, but at least not bleeding anymore, held something out to to me in his green hand. Inspecting it I saw that it was a severed troll thumb and bloody tooth.


    ¡°No! That''s not money!¡±


    K¡¯matli, pensive: ¡°There is one more thing I have of value...¡±


    My eyes landed on her earrings. They were gold and enchanted. That would be worth a decent amount of coin but moving black market artifacts meant cutting their price a great deal so for all I knew it might only be a few hundred gold, maybe a couple grand at most. They seemed integral to her casting so her giving them up might have been impossible anyway. They also had the symbol of Mog on them which stirred my ill superstitions.


    ¡°Skreecher.¡± She considered the faceless goblin, then gazed at me. ¡°It¡¯s only right he go with you.¡±


    ¡°What? Come on I¡¯m tired of the tricks.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not.¡±


    ¡°You said that his hive has been in your family forever.¡±


    ¡°It has. And as I think on my words, ah our agreement was that I give you my inheritance. He is part of it.¡±


    ¡°I''ve never lorded over a goblin.¡± Exasperated, I leaned back against my car. ¡°What would I even do with him? What would he do for me?¡±


    ¡°You provide him food, shelter and instruction. He''ll be a loyal servant for life.¡± The image of him pulling me back from the falling beam flashed in my mind''s eye. ¡°This is the way of Mog.¡±


    ¡°Look, I told you... I''m not religious. Not really.¡±


    ¡°Mog burns in your soul, tugs at your destiny like a flame does a moth. It matters not whether your eye is open to it.¡±


    I shook my conya as if this would dissipate the drudging metaphysical conversation¡ªIf only this wahira knew how many years that¡¯d been at the center of my life, and how exhausting it was to start weaving that thought matrix afresh. ¡°Ghhhff... Wahir, the whole point of you doing all this was to take him back!¡±


    ¡°I said that I wanted to free him. And now we have.¡±


    ¡°Look. I''m no bleeding heart¡ªI''m pretty sure you know that by now¡ªbut how''s he free if you can just order him to go be my pawn or whatever?¡±


    ¡°That ah... that comes from a Hobgabarrin who''s forgotten the traditions...¡± before I could protest she went on, ¡°but there is a certain wisdom in it, there is.¡±


    ¡°Alright. Then...¡±


    ¡°Then let us put it to the wheel of fate. Screecher, come.¡±


    The Goblin stepped to her on calloused feet.


    ¡°It is time you glimpse your futures.¡±


    The sound of her rubbing her creviced palms. A stray wind sneaking through the crag walls around us, tossing up a couple of gray hairs across her face. She cupped her hands. A tiny flame bloomed and danced above her palms and hovered there as if caught in a web. Her calloused fingers plucked at it as expertly as an old village Wahira on a loom, hands moving like artful spiders, pulling fiery strings, weaving the flame into the intricate shape of an occult rune. And as she completed it I realized it was the sigil of Mog, a mix of spirals and jagged lines, and the flames turned from their natural color to an ultraviolet rimmed flame that had at its center only darkness. The sigil hung there between all of us, hinting of some eternally vigilant, murky intelligence watching us. I swallowed.


    ¡°Screecher, your hive¡¯s thread has been in my clan¡¯s tapestry for generations.¡± She took out a pack of oracle cards from her purse and unwrapped the hide around them. As she shuffled them she spoke, ¡°Now comes a place where the flame of your life splits into many. Mighty Mog, reveal his fates.¡±


    She placed the hide wrapper on the desert ground, the cards atop it, took a small bit of finely ground wolf weed from her purse, and sprinkled it into the burning glyph. The glyph bled smoke, thick, pungent herb smoke that spread its tendrils like ghost fingers. These smoke tendrils sank to the earth slow as jungle snakes, then slipped several cards from the deck and arranged them around the rune in the air in a 3 x 3 top heavy diamond. The cards were worn, faded, torn in spots. Their illustrations of a quality that was becoming rare in the modern day. The images all hailed from a fading time, images of castles and knights and goblin peasants in medieval garb.


    The Wahira pointed to a column of cards: A beggar with a broken leg receiving alms. A ship sailing the seas on another. A bottle of wine on the last. ¡°Your first fate is it to leave both of us. To walk your own path entirely. You will see the world. You will experience some of its pleasures, more than many, but you will walk your life alone. Surrounded by others, perhaps, but alone.¡±


    She flipped a finger to the next column of cards, which twinkled from the glowing rune as they winked like tree leaves in a whispering wind: A gaggle of goblin peasants playing in an orchard. A Wahira carrying a jug of water on her scarved conya. A warg, a goblin hound that is, sleeping in a cobbled street. ¡°Your second fate is to go with me. South of the Union, even beyond Aztlan. You will always be among your own kind. Your life will be quiet toil but you will have true peace.¡±


    ¡°Gobbos...¡± Skreecher said, eyes unblinking on the cards, fixating on the one filled with goblins especially, as if for a moment he believed one of them was somehow his own portrait.


    ¡°Your third fate is to go with Teek.¡± K¡¯matli pointed to the next column of cards: Two Lords in armor, swords clashing, one an Elf, one a Hob, their armies warring in the background. A hand rising from a pool of gold coins. A princess falling from a tower, eyes with the shock of coming death, the tower ruptured by a bolt of lightning. ¡°Go with him and you''ll be surrounded by constant strife, the pursuit of riches and sorrows deeper than the sea.¡±


    My arms crossed, jaw restless with an obscure resentment. ¡°Sorrows deeper than the sea? That''s why you¡¯re a witch and not a bard.¡±


    Wahira looked intently at the gobbo. ¡°Speaking now, in Mog''s presence, do you wish to  go on your own, remain with me, or to go with¡ª¡±


    ¡°BOSSSSSSS!!!!!¡± He shot his fists up into the air, big fists for a goblin, fists on green reeds for arms. ¡°Boss boss boss boss!¡± He hopped around me like I was some friggin¡¯ idol, to the point that even I myself was left uneasy.


    ¡°It looks like... he''s chosen.¡± The cards all drifted back into their stack, which she slipped into her purse. The rune collapsed in on itself, into a tiny flame that slowly drifted to the ground, gently Illuminating our faces as it dimmed until it was only a lit match dwarfed by the white light of the moon.


    ¡°Look, I didn''t come here meaning to take away your family goblin...¡±


    ¡°Mog takes and he gives. I have these two now. ¡± She glanced at the two gobbos next to her. They stepped closer. One of them was 3 feet tall or so, the teal bald one, the same size as Screecher. The other one was about half that, a runt childe of a goblin with a mop of wild hair. This one tugged on Wahira''s robe and called, ¡°Wahi. Wahi.¡±


    ¡°We should go.¡± She smiled, embraced Screecher tight. He just kind of stood there, limp, unsure what to do. For a moment she looked like some little girl holding a stuffed animal. I looked away.


    ¡°Look,¡± I hissed. ¡°I''m no Hob lord or whatever... but at least one thing''s for sure,¡± I thumbed at Skreecher, ¡°he''s better off than he was before. Right? So, so the whole ocean of sorrows thing, I mean that seems ridiculous. And anyway how good of a scryer are you really? Once the Arcanum put the Tellurian Veil up it created a parallax current through all the frequencies of the space time continuum.¡± I used words like frequency and paralax, half unaware of my pompous attempt to stick my nose up at her with my supposed erudition. ¡°Are your cards really even synced right? Did you account for the Astral mass ejection? The echoing void point in the hybrid manasphere?¡±


    ¡°Do not fear, hobgabbarrin.¡±


    ¡°Fear?!¡± I blurted.


    ¡°We are always weaving our fate.¡± The Wahira reached into her purse and took out something wrapped in a home woven patterned cloth. Inside it was some kind of pale twig which she dipped into the tiny fire at her feet. She closed her eyes and murmured some ancient words shuekshakshurri shuekshakshurri shuekshakshurri shubba... She waved the incense around herself and around the two gobbos, inscribing runes with the smoke. And on she went chanting shuekshakshurri shuekshakshurri shubba...


    Sealing the ritual she clapped her hands together and intoned oyanqui olha.... Her earrings clinked and sparkled with hidden flames. Her body along with the two goblins took on this sort of smokey form, starting at their feet and rising up their legs, their hazy toes lifting into the air. ¡°Yes, fate is ever changing. But the stronger the fate, the more difficult it is to escape, the more the cards reveal them. Are the cards true? Can you escape your fate? I cannot see that far, only read the look in your eyes, as all things are signs, and I see there that just as your vassal¡¯s fate split to three, so yours splits in two. One is the path of Mog, the other his opposite. Which you will chose, I cannot see. Only Mog can see in the final night.¡±


    ¡°Hey, don''t pull that mysterious mage thing on me!¡± A strange sensation in my chest. An embarrassment, a regret, I couldn''t say. Like listening to a song you once loved but upon playing it for another now seems the most childish of tastes. The sensation was piercing enough to turn my lip heavy, to animate my limbs with half flails that enunciated my words. ¡°You think your spells impress me? You have no idea who I am!¡±


    ¡°Perhaps.¡± K¡¯Matli went on rising, a slow ember. ¡°But I can tell that whichever path you take, you carry with you a burden... and at either of your two paths¡¯ end you look for one who can lift it from you. I tell you now as far as my mortal eyes can see: only one truly can. And that is Mog. Worship him. Follow his path.¡±


    My eyes glassed. ¡°Yeah? Well first I gotta ask him some questions! Like if there''s no good or evil, why I shouldn''t have just put a bullet in your skull¡ªI¡¯d be up a hell of a lot right now! Yes, Maeh, I got alotta questions! Questions that would make your skin crawl that would turn your bones cold! Questions he better answer before I so much as throw him a flogging copper!¡±


    ¡°In time he will answer them... He is where all things end...¡±


    She drifted off in a gust, she and the two goblins turning into ghostly winds.


    Then they were only an ashy stain on the desert sky. I swallowed a lump in my throat. Felt my jacket pocket¡¯s soft inner lining. Stared at the charred gold bills in my hand, then back up to the sky, now only stars and a frayed cloud. Empty.


    Gang, I can tell you that there is no pain that compares to a debt you can never repay. And as I stared at the desert sky I thought back for just a passing mirage of a thought to someone who had worshiped with me long ago when I was still a child.


    Child. Hgffhh. Even then I was a knave.


    ¡°Boss! Boss! What we do now?!¡± Skreecher hopped about.


    I shook my conya, hand on my neck. Breathed.


    ¡°Kill more trolls?!¡±


    ¡°...The hells am I gonna do with you?¡±


    ¡°I dunno. You boss!¡±


    I opened my ride¡¯s door. ¡°All I know is you need a new face, that''s for sure.¡±


    ¡°Yesss! Can I get monkey face? Oh! No no no! A tiger!¡±


    My Stallion revved and its red taillights snaked into the darkness.

 Chapter 9

    The payphone headset cooled my pointed ear.


    Ringing.


    The rising sun reflected on the gas station¡¯s OPEN 24 HOURS sign, bathed me in pinkish light. I glanced back at my Stallion, charcoal paint desert stained, gothic grill hissing heat, the goblin¡¯s ears visible in the window, both of them now sagging against the seat. He had fallen into an impenetrable sleep, his conya lolling as we drove. It was such a deep slumber that I could blare music and call his name loud as I wanted, and he would just carry on like he was drugged. Maybe he was.


    More ringing. Come on. Wake the hell up.


    ¡°Hello...¡± Vinny''s voice croaked over the phone, still half asleep.


    ¡°It''s me. You still wanna meet our masseuse lady?¡±


    ¡°Teek?¡±


    ¡°Talk to Diamond for me. There¡¯s something I need. Soon as possible. Today if he can.¡±


    ¡°Uh what?¡±


    ¡°A biomancy centrifuge machine.¡±


    ¡°... How''s he supposed to get that?¡±


    ¡°He''s an artificer.¡±


    ¡°He makes jewelry.¡±


    ¡°Close enough. Come on, he''s a Gold Jaw. He should be able to get it. One way or the other.¡±


    ¡°Right. Wh¡ª¡± He yawned. ¡°What did you say it was? A bio what?¡±


    Irritation simmered under my voice. ¡°A biomance centrifuge machine.¡±


    ¡°Aren''t those things expensive?¡±


    My thumb rifled the charred edges of gold bills in my jacket pocket. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it. Just get it.¡±


    My joints ached as I maneuvered the byzantine metal stairs that caged my apartment complex¡¯s tall slum courtyard, the goblin slung over my shoulder, my jacket draped over him. My nose wrinkled in confusion. Where was that urine smell coming from? Ugh. Of course. Where else? The little cagg had pissed his pants while he slept, turning their motley fabric a darker shade down one leg.


    Setting him down in my ironcast tub, I twisted the knob on the faucet and the ancient pipes trembled and groaned before sneezing out hissing warmth.


    The gobbo¡¯s naked legs rippled in the bath.


    Calcified droplets stained my bathroom mirror where I pulled up my shirt enough to see my gashed red flesh. Back in the desert, I¡¯d used some skin putty from my alchemy kit to stop the bleeding, but it was flaking now. My bruised face, my split lip, my twisted ankle, a broken rib I think, it all made me wince. I rummaged in the cabinet under my sink for a bottle of saline.


    The tree cig¡¯s charring end winked in sync with my breath as I sat on one end of the couch, Skreecher lying on the other, mummy like. His face was wearing a mask again, but this time it was made of gauze and medical tape. He¡¯d slept right through the bath and me dressing the wound. I''d slipped a pair of my shorts on him, which for his size were more like baggy pirate pants, thrown a blanket over him. I probably could have thrown the damn gobbo into a wood chipper and he would have stayed asleep. But I had to break his rest. I didn''t want him waking up with me gone and doing who knows what to my apartment in his complete disorientation.


    ¡°Hey.¡± I shook him and his conya bobbed on the sofa¡¯s cushioned arm like a bandaged bowling ball. ¡°Hey. Come on wake up.¡± Nothing. ¡°Hey! HEY!¡± Still nothing. I got up to look for something that would wake him, perhaps some smelling salts, when suddenly a dog barked down the street.


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°Eeeeeghhh!¡± Skreecher twitched, jumped awake. He sat up in bed, his conya searching in confusion, bony shoulders trembling. ¡°Nooooo!¡± He felt the gauze mask on his face.


    ¡°Don¡¯t!¡± I stepped to him. ¡°Don''t take it off!¡±


    ¡°But it''s mask!!!  You a troll!¡±


    ¡°No! I''m not!¡± My hands seized his skinny wrists, like holding dog legs, surprisingly strong. ¡°And that''s not a mask. That''s a bandage. It''s alright. You''re fine.¡± His eyes roamed the couch, the curtains, the frayed pattern rug under my coffee table, up to the TV (an RVA model the size of a picnic cooler, rounded corners, black and white image, a lopsided antenna).


    ¡°You have TV?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± A contained laugh came out only as a sharp breath that shook my chest. I let go. ¡°I have food in the fridge too.¡± I nodded toward the kitchen as I stood. ¡°Have some. I have to head out.¡±


    ¡°Boss leaving?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± As I stood a post shower buoyancy filled me like cold fog. My jacket made faint flapping noises as I took it from its hook and slipped it on. ¡°I''ll be right back. While I''m gone... don''t make a mess. And whatever you do, do not answer the phone, do not answer the door. Those are boss¡¯s orders.¡±


    Green light rippled over cold concrete walls. An old malno, snake spotted flesh, limbs like half empty waterskins, floated inside the dream chamber. Spreading its cables and tubes and chassis all over the floor and wall it was anchored to, the artifact coffin seemed almost like a strange metal plant growing below ground, a giant mechanical tuber humming softly into the basement¡¯s shadows all around us.


    Across the room, under an ornate ceiling lamp¡¯s severe light, we sat for business, Lady Pearl and I. She sat opposite me at the octagonal table, a long ivory length of leg protruding from under the black silkiness of her dress at a crossed angle. Hector was a few feet away, looming like a gargoyle. I tossed a charred wad of gold bills onto the tabletop.


    ¡°3,200 gold. That''s all I could collect.¡± I winced at the rakes across my stomach, still burning.


    ¡°That''s a fraction of his debt.¡± Her arched brows knit together. ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°He got heavy¡ªwhich for him is saying a lot.¡±


    ¡°When you hand me my 12 grand you can get back to your bard career.¡±


    ¡°I didn''t mean nothin¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡ªHow do I know you''re not crossing me?¡±


    ¡°Pearl, I''m not playing games here. Does this look like I¡¯m spinning yarns?¡± I pointed to the bandages on my face. ¡°I mean if I was skimming from the top I sure as hell would take less. That or I wouldn''t be showing my face at all.¡±


    ¡°You are a gambler, are you not?¡±


    ¡°That, that¡¯s irrelevant.¡± Resentment mixed with lusty admiration¡ªwas she digging up dirt on me? ¡°Look the whole reason I came to you in the first place is cuz I wanna use that chamber. I didn''t come here trying to mine gold. I''ll never turn coin away but right now it''s a means to an end and that end is the chamber. I wouldn''t ruin that just to stack.¡±


    ¡°Trust. That was always up in the air with you... and now... there better be an...¡±


    ¡°If you recall,¡± I held a finger up, ¡°um the deal was that if I didn''t bring all the coin I would bring something more valuable.¡±


    ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°And I did.¡± My hand slipped out of my pocket and slipped to the coffee table. As my bruised fingers pulled back, the messy wad of cash looked like some kind of nest under the troll tooth that now lay at the wad¡¯s center.


    Pearl delicately picked up the chunky, stained tooth between her manicured fingers. ¡°Something... more valuable?¡±


    ¡°Your reputation.¡±


    ¡°Grivonne. He is...¡± A lock of stygian hair slid onto her cheek in the tilt of her gaze, a gaze I held cold. ¡°I see.¡± She collected herself, smirked a rueful understanding. ¡°Well then... hm for that... the chamber is yours. For one night.¡±


    I leaned forward in gentlemal fashion. ¡°You know, I gotta say, all these cuts and bruises, that smile of yours is worth it.¡±


    ¡°Please. You''ve been smoking too much tree.¡±


    I chuckled, rose from my chair, caught sight of Hector¡¯s irritated glare.


    ¡°Teek,¡± Pearl¡¯s clear voice turned me back to her; if my gaze was cold, hers was freezing. ¡°Why did you kill him? Truly.¡±


    ¡°He... he said something not worth repeating.¡±


    ¡°We know each other only a day. But still, you should know that answer is unacceptable.¡±


    A hot hissing in my throat. ¡°He called you... that old squid hooah.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. So I says to him, I says: you can call her a squid, you can even call her a hooah, but you can never ever call her old. Then I shot him and burned his circus down.¡±


    She picked up a few of the charred bills. Their wrinkled, blackened edges trembling, she stared between them and me. Then her teeth flashed and her laugh rippled the air. I couldn''t help but echo it, my chest thrumming. Her smile lingered. ¡°Come tomorrow. I will have it ready for you.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a date...¡± I said, but my bard tone vanished as I stared at the chamber¡¯s artificed metal, its eerie glow, my very bones aching suddenly as I felt the oncoming rush of cold reality, time¡¯s precipice, duality inescapable.


    Her tentacle chair writhed as it carried her around the black octagonal wood. Then she rose and stepped on her own dame legs, closer to me, so close that her sultry voice tickled the back of my neck.


    ¡°You do realize Teek... that you cannot wear anything into that chamber?¡±


    ¡°...What a thing to say. For a lady no less.¡± I recovered my postured nonchalance. ¡°What an invitation.¡± I smirked and a bat of her lashes pressed through my jape.


    ¡°That means that you cannot hide behind that lead vest any longer.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡± I stared at the chamber, felt Pearl¡¯s cold breath on my neck, Hector¡¯s dour presence, but spoke to neither. I spoke instead... to the last decade and change, each year a thousand members of an audience, all hungry ghosts, starved, jeering, all lunatic braying and hooting and hair pulling through soundproof iron walls, sentient rats begging for scraps from concrete cracks on street corners, as the song says. ¡°I¡¯m done hiding.¡±