ã€ŠNow is the Time of Monstersã€‹


 Book 1: Halfling Duty of Care

    (CC) 2025 Cori Palladium

    Author¡¯s notes

    Hey, don¡¯t skip this.

    Now is the Time of Monsters is, at its core, an exploration of what it means to live and survive in the American Midwest, through the lens of a fantasy. In this land that I call home, there are many colorful cultures, peoples, and creeds. Here we have German descendants in places like Hermann, or St. Louis. St Louis is also home to large populations of Vietnamese, Bosnian, and Hispanic Americans. Kansas City is home to large Sudanese, and Somali Americans. Through the Great Migration, we have received many important populations of African Americans in our cities and small towns. We have a long history of Native American habitation, including the Missouria, from which my home state is named. Many more tribes have inhabited, and to this day still inhabit, the land.

    The character, Kansa, is named after one culture (Also called the Kanza, or Kaw.). I picked the name partially because the word was beautiful, but also as a nod to local Kansas City history and culture. The tribe lent its name to the Kansas River, the city of Kansas City, the state of Kansas, and the Kaw River Railroad.

    An 1825 treaty reduced the size of the tribe¡¯s domain from 20 million acres, to just 2 million west of what is now Topeka. Another treaty in 1846 would reduce the territory to only a quarter of a million acres at present day Council Grove. Another treaty in 1859 removed the town of Council Grove from Kaw Lands, and left the people with only 80,000 of the poorest acres. In 1872 a federal act moved the Kaw people to a 100,137 acre site in Kay County Oklahoma, far from their old homelands in Kansas and Missouri.

    The last fluent speaker of the Kaw language, Walter Kekahbah, died in 1983. The tribe still makes great effort to preserve their culture and identity in the face of neglect and dwindling numbers.

    It isn¡¯t my place as a White-Hispanic American to tell the full story of the Kaw Nation, but it is my responsibility to give due respect to those who came before me, who lent their name to this beautiful patch of grass we call the Kansas City area.

    Much of the history of the Kaw Nation was obtained from their website, kawnation.gov, where more information on the history and culture can be found. Further information can be found at the Kaw City Museum, located in Kaw City, Oklahoma.

    Prologue

    September 26<sup>th</sup>, 1862

    The trees of autumn were a scarlet red through the quaint roadways of a small town along the Northwest Passage River. It was early morning, and the early morning sun stained the river with all of its colors of flame and passion.

    A prostitute was giving birth in the town¡¯s small militia headquarters. The only doctor, a militia medic, presided over the birth. He wore his militia light blue uniform, it was mostly clean, as he was a man of care and caution.

    The woman grunted with each contraction, and over the sound of her yelling, the doctor could not hear the sound of distant gunshots.

    The militia¡¯s Captain threw the door of the room open.

    ¡°Doctor!¡± The captain shouted. ¡°You need to evacuate everyone now, hurry!¡±

    ¡°What in the gods¡¯ names can be so important? A woman is giving birth here.¡±

    ¡°The Elves of New Thallon are attacking, they brought their whole army, gray coats as far as the eye can see. Grab her, take my horse and carriage, and go!¡±

    The doctor¡¯s face went pale. Even he knew the Thallonites would show no one in this Chunish town mercy, even him, a fellow Elf.

    He grabbed the Prostitute, she clung onto him for dear life. He picked up men, women, and children on the way north, filling the small agricultural cart up beyond its limits. The prostitute lay on the floor of the cart, and all of the other passengers didn¡¯t know whether to look at her or the growing fires in the distance. In mere moments, their lives would come to an end.

    The town¡¯s 15 militia soldiers fought bravely, setting up barricades, burning bridges, and working to evacuate the civilians, but to no avail. The Thallonites burned, murdered, and took for slaves anyone in the town that they could get their hands on. Blood ran down main street as they piled bodies near the courthouse.

    Not even a full hour after the attack, the cart fell into soft mud, the horses strained to pull it any further. They heard the sound of horses stomping up the road, some Thallonite cavalry in their gray and yellow uniforms. They raised their carbines up to their shoulders.

    ¡°Wait!¡± the doctor shouted. ¡°Don¡¯t shoot, I¡¯m a medic, these-¡± His sentence was cut abruptly short as the cavalrymen opened fire. The people in the cart tried to jump out, but were caught in the fire of their advanced repeater rifles. They didn¡¯t stop until they were certain everyone was dead, and then turned around back to the town.

    ¡°Father who art in heaven¡­¡± The doctor muttered. His arm was bleeding, the blood was already pooling in the elbow of his jacket, and dripping onto the cart. He looked around him to see nobody left alive, the women, children, the horses. The only one left alive was the baby.

    He was determined to save a life, even if only one. He held the baby in his arms and grabbed the only valuable possession in her family, a golden necklace the mother always wore. He wrapped it around the baby before climbing down from the cart. ¡°Father who art in heaven¡­¡± he tried to mutter again, his mind struggled to form a complete thought as he fought for every inch of ground.

    He fell to his knees, unable to keep up his balance, with the baby held tight in his arms. ¡°Lord, please, give me strength, don¡¯t let the child die, please.¡± His plea was his last thought before falling into darkness forever.

    Some halflings from a nearby village had searched the town for survivors, and found none. They spend much of the morning burying the bodies before making their way up the north road to continue the search. They found the bodies from the cart and piled them with care in their carriage to be buried back at the town.

    ¡°Pa, there¡¯s blood up here.¡± One of the young halfling men said.

    ¡°Lets go look, Hezekiah.¡± The father said. They followed the trail on foot, hoping to find one survivor.

    ¡°I found him, pa! ¡­ He¡¯s dead.¡± Hezekiah said. ¡°A medic. Those Thallonites had the coldest of hearts.¡±

    ¡°I suppose we will let the others know to head up that way.¡±

    ¡°Wait, papa, there is something in his arms. That¡¯s¡­ Gods! That¡¯s a baby! This medic crawled 7 miles while bleeding to carry a baby!¡±

    ¡°Is the baby dead too?¡±

    ¡°No, she is breathing.¡±

    ¡°Then we must take her back to the village.¡±

    ¡°I agree, we will raise her ourselves, my wife and I.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a good idea. She just gave birth, she will be able to nurse this baby too.¡±

    "Golly, she''s big for a Chunish baby."

    I leaned against the pillar of the train platform. A short freight train stopped on the siding track, and some chunish men unloaded several crates from a boxcar and into the rail depot. The platform was built in the middle of a few halfling villages, but it was built to a chunish height, since most of the railroad workers were chunish. It seemed enormous compared to the halfling houses I was used to, but everything still felt strangely short to me anyway. At 5¡¯5¡±, I¡¯m extremely tall for a chune, papa tells me he thinks I might have been half elf or half human.

    An old chunish man gave me a slip of paper with his neat cursive handwriting on it. I looked it over to see the list of people who paid to have their package delivered to their business. It was only one, a small crate of imported Saronin dyes, bound for Overhill, a halfling village about 7 miles from here.

    ¡°You¡¯re running a bit late today, aren¡¯t you, Pascal.¡± I said to the elderly Chune.

    ¡°The locomotive has a mind of its own, she arrives exactly when she means to.¡± He said.

    ¡°I should let you get on your way then, no reason to delay you and your second wife any further.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t just yet, Charles told me he saw some smoke from a bearing box and I have to take a look at it. This second wife is more dependable than the first, but that is such a low standard, it would be hard not to clear it.¡± He said as he kicked the side of the boxcar. ¡°Stay for a while, Kansa, I can talk while I check the oil levels in the bearings.¡±

    ¡°Sure.¡± I followed him as he looked under each hatch for each axle bearing, he used chalk to mark the ones that needed oiling.

    ¡°So how¡¯s Possum Trot?¡± I asked.

    ¡°I haven¡¯t been home in 3 months, there was a flood in Hermann, they wanted me to help repair the tracks.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t sound too excited about it.¡±

    ¡°Last time I saw my wife, we had a bit of a big fight, right in front of the children too. I can¡¯t help but feel a little embarrassed. I¡¯m rarely home and I still manage to be an awful father even when I am home. I was raised a soldier, I was born in a militia infirmary, joined the militia at 16, and fought in the civil war. I was never taught how to be gentle, or caring, or nurturing. I feel a little like that was taken from me.¡±

    ¡°If I were you, I would start by apologizing.¡±

    ¡°It can¡¯t be that simple.¡±

    ¡°The first step is always something simple, that¡¯s the point of a first step.¡±

    ¡°Okay, well, to change the topic. Everything else in Possum Trot is really not doing so well. The city has grown so fast, there have been a lot of growing pains. Organized crime is on the rise because a lot of young people are having a hard time finding work in legitimate industries that don¡¯t involve either riverboats or trains. I hear they are starting a Metropolitan Militia to help deal with that, but I¡¯m not sure that will actually happen, they¡¯re struggling too much to find recruits.¡±

    ¡°How many people live in Possum Trot anyway?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, almost two hundred thousand in Possum Trot Ssotsrode, and maybe half that in Possum Trot Dublay. The fact that the city is on a state border is the problem, the two militias don¡¯t want to work with each other, so the federal government has ordered the construction of a metropolitan militia that will answer to the governor of Ssotsrode, and has authority over the entire Possum Trot area, not just over city limits.¡±

    ¡°Sounds dangerous.¡±

    ¡°I wish I could join. When I was young, Possum Trot was such a small town, not even five thousand. Westport was a separate town back then, and there was a lot of competition between the chunish men of the river banks, and the human men out in the hills to the south. Now the city is big, diverse, and much more exciting.¡±

    ¡°I want to go.¡± I said.

    ¡°And join the militia? A woman? Well I hear a lot of the western militias are doing it because they are having a hard time filling recruitment quotas. Possum Trot might do the same thing. Besides, they will need a girl who is good on a bicycle, its the fastest way to cross the metropolitan area, they say faster than a horse.¡±

    ¡°Then they will hire a bicycle courier like me, huh.¡±

    ¡°I would think so, yes. Besides, I have known you since you were small enough to ride a halfling pony. I knew you would outgrow the village eventually.¡±

    ¡°So you think I should?¡±

    ¡°I think it might be best. When you are ready to leave, I can carry you and your bicycle in the caboose, we can go to Possum Trot, I will send a telegram to my wife and ask her to let you stay for a few days until you get the militia recruitment sorted out.¡±

    ¡°Wonderful! Thank you, I would hug you, but you¡¯re covered in grease.¡±

    ¡°Yeah. Hey, I¡¯m almost done checking the bearings, you should probably get going so you can make your deliveries and be home in time for dinner.¡±

    I got home just in time to see the sun go down over the hills. My brother, Puck, was standing by the front fence gate, smoking his pipe. The home wasn¡¯t built to reflect any upper class sensibilities, it was a simple shack, built a bit larger than the usual halfling size, papa built it after he found me, so he knew he would need something bigger. It wasn¡¯t quite big enough, and I still had to duck to get through the front door.

    ¡°Kansa, hurry up, mom just finished dinner. You better settle in before the rolls get cold.¡± Puck shouted.

    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ll be right in, just a minute.¡± I set my bike down against the fence and did my daily checks to make sure everything was still in good shape. The brake pads were starting to come loose, and the back wheel wobbles. There were no bike shops in the halfling villages, so I will have to fix these issues myself later. I washed the brake dust off my hands and sat down at the table. Mom had already set the table, and everyone was waiting on me.

    ¡°How was work, dear?¡± Mother asked me before I even had the chance to sit down.

    ¡°It was easy at first, just a simple box of dye. The reason I¡¯m running late is because someone wanted me to deliver a six hundred pound crate of machine parts. I had to get the trailer out, and getting it up the hills was a nightmare.¡±

    ¡°Oh that sounds difficult.¡±

    ¡°When I got to the customer, he was building a strange machine, like a bicycle with an engine inside, he says it can move under it¡¯s own power.¡±

    ¡°Is he that elf wizard that lives up in Gilliam? Queer fellow.¡± Papa said.

    ¡°Yes, it could only be him.¡±

    ¡°Anyone who knows anything about bicycles knows that won¡¯t work, all that extra power will destroy a chain, and it will only spin the wheel fruitlessly in the dirt.¡± Puck said.

    ¡°I believe in him. All you need is a stronger chain, stronger cogs, and a wider wheel.¡±

    ¡°You have too much faith in technology. It¡¯s probably one of your least halfling traits.¡±

    ¡°Well that¡¯s fine because I¡¯m not a halfling.¡± I said. The dinner table got quiet.

    ¡°¡­ Kansa, you shouldn¡¯t say it.¡± Papa said.

    ¡°It¡¯s true.¡± I said.

    ¡°I know but you shouldn¡¯t say it.¡±

    Dinner was quiet for several minutes more while I ate potatoes and stuffed mushrooms.

    ¡°I meant to tell everyone something.¡± I said, quietly.

    ¡°Yes, dear?¡± Papa said.

    ¡°I¡¯m leaving for Possum Trot. I don¡¯t know when.¡±

    ¡°Of course you are.¡± Papa said.

    ¡°I¡¯m really going this time, I¡¯ve made plans.¡±

    ¡°You said that last week.¡± Papa said.

    Puck looked up at me, then back at his food, then back at me. ¡°You¡¯re really going this time?¡± He asked.

    ¡°No.¡± Papa said.

    ¡°Yes.¡± I said.

    ¡°You better write to us. I know leaving is whats best for you, but damnit we¡¯re going to miss you.¡±

    ¡°Language, Puck.¡± Mother said.

    ¡°She¡¯s not going.¡± Papa said.

    ¡°Father¡­¡± Puck¡¯s eyes darted around, he never thought he would start an argument with Papa. ¡°We both knew for years now that Kansa would outgrow the village. I know we all raised her with love and care, but she has to go and find her own people.¡±

    ¡°We are her people.¡± Papa said.

    ¡°We¡¯re not, we all know that. Sometimes the birds have to fly to the south for winter, or some river fish that swim to the ocean to breed. Chunes are a social race, they thrive in close proximity to each other. Why do you think she started working as a courier? So she can spend her time around others as much as possible, meet other Chunes, and maybe find a Chunish husband. She will never be fulfilled here.¡±

    ¡°She may have been born a chune, but she was still raised a halfling, just as you were.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t stop her from leaving anyway.¡±

    Papa was silent for a moment. ¡°No.¡± He said before returning to silence.

    I had packed some clothes and some food into the mail bags I keep on my bicycle. The bags were all stuffed full and I rode to the train depot in the morning just as the sun was rising. The train pulled up to the platform, and Pascal was leaning out of the window of the caboose. He gestured for me to come inside where there were some beds, a single stove, and just enough room for the bicycle. It was a two day long train ride to Possum Trot, with frequent stops to load and unload freight. I knew it was against railroad rules to bring a passenger onto a freight train, but Pascal said if I wear a locomotive engineer¡¯s overalls and help with the work, nobody will notice the difference. It seemed like nobody did.

    We arrived at Possum Trot and I wasted no time. I left my bags of belongings at Pascal¡¯s wife¡¯s house. She didn¡¯t seem thrilled to have me over, but her Midwestern sensibilities prevented her from telling me I can¡¯t stay. Immediately after, I cycled to the militia headquarters in downtown, sat down with a recruiter. I hadn¡¯t thought to leave my bicycle outside, I brought it in with me and leaned it against the wall in the recruiter¡¯s office. Two men were at the desk, one, a chunish man, was sitting and doing paperwork, the other had the stripes of a Sergeant, he was an Elf, and looked like he was just having a conversation before I stepped in.

    ¡°Ah, a courier. I¡¯ve been waiting on a letter from the governor.¡± he chune said.

    ¡°Oh, no, I was a courier, back home in Franklin Village, I came here to join the militia.¡±

    ¡°Join? A woman? I don¡¯t think you know what you¡¯re doing.¡± The chune said.

    ¡°Corporal, sign her up.¡± The elf Sergeant said.

    ¡°Huh?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s clearly good with a bicycle, she will be a good fit for the Metropolitan Militia¡¯s mechanized dragoons.¡±

    The next day, the recruiter had taken me to meet my new crew. It was a small crew of only 5 men. The captain was a tall elf man who looked only slightly aged. He had his hair long and tied up in a bun underneath his cap. Their uniforms were green, with golden trim, instead of the usual urban brick red.

    The captain looked at me, then back at the recruiter, then back at me. He scoffed at me. ¡°Look at her, she has all the delicate weakness of an elf, the blank and stupid expression of a chune, and if your paperwork is honest, you have all the survival instinct of a spoiled halfling.¡±

    Chapter 1

    October, 1897

    A police officer blew his whistle and gave chase through the alleyway. A brutish murderer with the blood still on his hands ran with almost inhuman speed through the narrow garbage filled street. The murderer jumped onto a stranger¡¯s horse, cut the rope with his bowie knife, and slammed his boot into the horse¡¯s side. The horse took off in a sprint down Main street.

    I was about to walk into a bar with the guys when I saw it. I was still in my civilian clothes, but I still had my militia hat in my bag. The police officer was uselessly trying to chase on foot, but the horse was quickly getting away.

    ¡°Sarge, look out!¡± I pointed at the horse, the murderer was looking behind him at the police officer and laughing.

    I grabbed the hat from my bag, put it on, and jumped onto my bicycle. ¡°Sergeant Hawken, are you crazy? We don¡¯t have our weapons.¡±

    ¡°Then I¡¯ll use my hands.¡± I said

    Riding a bicycle in a skirt was never the easiest thing, but I spent years as a mail courier doing just that. I kept pace with the horse. The Sargent had decided finally to follow me, and he slowly caught up as we got close to the old southern city limits. The nice brick road gave way to gravel. The horse started to tire and slowed down to a trot. When things slowed down, I grabbed a wrench from my bag and threw it at the murderer. It slammed into his head and he fell from the horse hitting the ground with a loud crash.

    He saw me and scrambled to his feet. He held his bowie knife out at me and snarled like a scared dog. I slowly approached him, he backed away until he bumped up against a bungalow.

    ¡°I¡¯ll kill you, woman!¡± He growled.

    ¡°Not likely.¡± I said

    He thrust his knife at me, but it was a move I have seen a million times before. I grabbed his wrist and twisted it until I heard a pop at his shoulder. He dropped the knife and shouted in pain. I shoved his face in the dirt and put handcuffs on him, with his arm still bent in an unnatural way. He started whimpering and crying.

    ¡°Suffer quietly, criminal.¡± I demanded, kicking his side as hard as I could.

    ¡°Calm down, Hawken, I think you got him.¡± the Sergeant said.

    ¡°Send for the police, tell them to bring a wagon. We¡¯re going to lock him up for the good of society.¡± I said.

    Me and one of the police officers walked into the interrogation room. I was in full green and black uniform this time, the officer was in his usual light blue. We sat down together, and the murderer looked at me with terrified eyes. His shoulder and elbow were both in bandages and he had several scrapes on his face.

    ¡°Name?¡± The officer asked him.

    ¡°John Schneider.¡± He said.

    ¡°Race?¡±

    ¡°Northern Saronin human.¡±

    ¡°Age?¡±

    ¡°47.¡±

    ¡°Two of our officers heard a woman screaming from her home early in the night and went to investigate. You murdered one as soon as he entered the house, the other didn¡¯t see exactly what you did, but gave chase. A recent visit to the site suggests you had raped and murdered the woman. Is this correct?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± The criminal said.

    ¡°I promise you that you want to do this the easy way, Mr. Schneider. We are going to ask you more questions, and you are going to answer honestly. You don¡¯t want a repeat of what happened at the outskirts of town with Sergeant Kansa Hawken, do you?¡±

    ¡°That feline wench is a monster!¡± he said.

    ¡°Now now, that¡¯s no way to talk to a Chunish woman in the Metropolitan Militia. As you know, we Police are usually very adverse to brutality, but our friends in the militia are not.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll break your other arm and your legs too if you call me feline again.¡± I said.

    ¡°Tell me, Mr. Schneider, why did you do it?¡±

    ¡°I was hired to get something from her.¡±

    ¡°Well that might explain why you were in her house, why did you rape and murder her?¡±

    ¡°She caught me going through her bookshelf while she was wearing nothing but a sheer nightgown. My boss told me he didn¡¯t care what happens to the woman, he just wants the book. I decided to help myself.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡± The officer wrote some notes in a notebook. ¡°Now what were you after?¡±

    The criminal looked at me, then back at the police officer. ¡°It was a book, written in Old Chunish, I don¡¯t know what it is, why the boss wanted it, but I know what the language looks like.¡±

    ¡°I believe it was found in your coat pocket, so we have it in our possession now. Last question, Mr. Schneider, who is your boss?¡±

    ¡°I uh, I don¡¯t believe I can tell you that. He will kill me if anyone knows.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re looking at a very long jail sentence, Mr. Schneider, breaking and entering, theft, rape, murder, evading a police officer, grand theft equestrian, we can make you safe in prison, or we can make the rest of your life worse than hell. It¡¯s your choice.¡±

    The criminal once again looked at me, then back at the officer. ¡°He¡¯s an elf, tall, blue eyes, very dark skin. I don¡¯t know his name, or where he lives, we¡¯ve only met 3 times in a bar about a mile outside of city limits, he wore a mask each time. That is all I know.¡±

    The officer wrote more into his notes and closed the notebook. ¡°Thank you, Mr. Schneider, that will be all for now.¡±

    3 months had passed. Mr. Schneider was given an appropriately harsh sentence. Every time I had to visit the evidence locker, I had to see Schneider¡¯s book sitting on a table, unmoved. I wondered if the case of his boss had even been attempted. I hadn¡¯t bothered to investigate the case further myself until one day me and the Captain were, by chance, in the evidence locker together.

    ¡°Captain Alston, do you know anything about the case of Mr. Schneider and his boss?¡± I asked.

    ¡°No, should I?¡± He said. Captain Alston was a tall and stocky human man, built like an ox, and nearly as strong. He was made of almost equal parts fat and muscle, and could barely keep himself contained in his uniform.

    ¡°Well, we did kinda catch a guy who raped and murdered someone for this book, and someone paid him to do it. I think we should find out who before he comes after one of us.¡±

    ¡°That sounds like a police job, not a militia job.¡±

    ¡°You may be right, but the police just don¡¯t have the funding, they can¡¯t keep up with how fast the city is growing. We can afford to lend them a hand, can¡¯t we?¡±

    ¡°You can if you really want. Just don¡¯t bother me with it.¡± He said.

    ¡°Can I at least bother you for any suggestion on who can read this strange writing on the inside?¡±

    ¡°Old Chunish. That¡¯s a dying language. Some people learned to write it during the civil war, but even that is a modern reconstruction. You will need to find someone extremely well educated on the topic. The only guy I know of in town is the old wizard Gregory, but you¡¯d be lucky to get any useful information out of him.¡±

    ¡°I might as well try.¡± I said. I placed the book in my haversack.

    ¡°You don¡¯t have any investigations experience, I don¡¯t think you¡¯re going to make it far.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve heard that one many times before.¡± I said before making my way out of the evidence locker.

    Everyone in Possum Trot knew who Gregory was, but few had ever met him, not many are even sure what he looks like. He has a tower that is older than the city, it stands about a half a mile south of the river on 7<sup>th</sup> street. The tower was about a hundred feet tall. His plot was surrounded by an old stone fence, and the tower was just off center on the plot. I have never had a reason to enter the tower before, or even get close. The gate was never locked, and I see children go into his yard to play, but few have ever seen Gregory in the flesh.

    He was almost an urban legend, some wondered if he existed at all, others repeat old tales of those who have seen him, and assume them to be true. I have had my doubts since the first time I heard of him. He would have to be 500 years old, not even elves live that long.

    I walked up to the tower and didn¡¯t see any doors. The first floor¡¯s walls were completely smooth, the floors above had boarded windows. I made a couple of laps around the tower trying to find something to knock on, and found nothing, so I knocked on the stone and waited to see if I would get a reply.

    A cat walked across the fence, he looked at me for a few moments before jumping into the grass and trotting up to me.

    ¡°Hullo! A cat!¡± I smiled and knelt down to see him closer. ¡°Wow, you have fur like black satin and eyes like the morning sun, you are such a handsome kitty.¡± I said. The cat seemed to have understood me, he rubbed his face against my boots and purred. I pet his soft head, he jumped into my lap. I sat with him for a while and had almost entirely forgotten about the task.

    The cat jumped back off my lap and started meowing loudly. He walked to the fence and looked back, continuing his meowing. I decided to follow him toward the river, several blocks north, until we arrived at a merchant stand selling produce. He stood next to a barrel of oranges and meowed at me.

    ¡°Those are a bit expensive, buddy.¡± I said to the cat.

    The salesman smiled at the cat. ¡°They¡¯re expensive because they¡¯re out of season, kept fresh through the magic of refrigeration, and shipped all the way from the south Calibarkian coast.¡±

    ¡°Well, the cat seems absolutely adamant that I buy some, I think I can afford 3, I¡¯ll just take 3.¡± I said.

    I paid the salesman, grabbed the three best looking oranges, and followed the cat all the way back to the tower. ¡°What in the world do you want oranges for?¡± I asked, as if I was expecting an answer. The cat jumped onto the fence, and into a small hole in one of the boarded up windows. I watched the hole so intently that I didn¡¯t notice an entrance form as an entire section of wall slid downward. An old elf man with a very long Van Dyke beard was standing in the middle of the tower¡¯s foyer. He must have been very old, as elves rarely grow facial hair except well into advanced age. He wore long robes made of plain fabrics and had a hood partially covering his face to keep sunlight from his eyes.

    ¡°Who are you and why did your cat send me out to do grocery shopping?¡± I asked him.

    ¡°I understand you need some information from me.¡± He said.

    ¡°Yes, how did you know?¡±

    ¡°Prince Rupert told me.¡±

    ¡°Who is Prince Rupert?¡±

    ¡°You just met him, my cat. Nothing goes on in the city without him knowing of it. Come on in, I¡¯ll consider the oranges payment for whatever information you need.¡±

    ¡°Well okay I guess.¡± I stepped into his tower. Everything was old and worn except for some electric lights. He pulled out a wand and used it to close the door behind me, the electric lights were hardly enough to keep the room illuminated.

    ¡°We need an expert in Old Chunish.¡±

    ¡°The civil war was only a couple of years ago, surely you can find a Chune who used it to talk in code under the noses of humans.¡±

    ¡°The civil war was 30 years ago now. Yes, you can find people still who read code chunish, but code chunish is only loosely based on Old Chunish, one of our experts told us this is colonial era at least.¡±

    ¡°Let me see it then.¡± He sat down at a desk, lit a pipe, and put on some reading glasses. I gave him the book and he flipped through the pages. For a moment there, it seems as if he had forgotten about me, I wasn¡¯t sure how long it was before he spoke again. I checked my wrist watch, then looked back at him.¡±

    ¡°You see there is a problem. This isn¡¯t colonial era, this is older.¡±

    ¡°How much older?¡±

    ¡°This text is written in primordial chunish.¡±

    ¡°What does that mean?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know exactly, so little is known of them, and there are no real experts I can point you to. Where did you get this?¡±

    ¡°I had captured a criminal who was paid, I don¡¯t know by who, to take this book from a woman in the city. He had murdered her for it.¡±

    ¡°I would say so.¡±

    ¡°What could possibly be in that book worth killing someone over?¡±

    ¡°This is a very old spell book, primordial spell books are very rare, and are usually thought to have been written by the gods themselves. I don¡¯t know if this is an original or a replica, but the information contained within could be valuable regardless. Can I have a few weeks with the book so I can copy it over?¡±

    ¡°You can keep it as long as you need to, but you have to tell us everything you learn from it. We are hoping knowing that a little bit about what it is could help us track down the man who was so desperate to get it that he paid a thug to kill for it.¡±

    ¡°Yes, of course.¡±

    A week later, I knocked on the wizard¡¯s door, or where the door was. The cat stuck his head out of one of the windows, then went back inside. The door opened, and the cat was standing in the middle of the room, I followed him upstairs to the top floor, the cat jumped up onto a dining room table that looked older than any living humanoid. Wizard Gregory was not in the room, so I sat down in a chair next to the cat and pet him while I waited.

    ¡°Sorry I¡¯m late, Ms. Hawken.¡± Gregory walked into the dining room using his wand to carry several books and a tea set. The tea smelled strange, exotic even.

    ¡°You probably don¡¯t get a lot of guests, do you.¡± I said as he set the tea set in the middle of the table and arranged his books in front of the seat across the table from me.

    ¡°Not from in town.¡± He said.

    ¡°You get guests from out of town?¡±

    ¡°I have a couple of contacts in the Sone Coast Free State.¡±

    ¡°Never heard of it, but I think the Sone Coast is in Avemora.¡±

    ¡°I think they¡¯re based out of Terrosia, yes.¡± He opened both of his books and flipped through the pages. I enjoyed a sip of his strange exotic tea.

    ¡°How long have you been in Possum Trot anyway?¡±

    He stopped flipping through the pages and looked out the window, as if the answer was written in the sky. ¡°Two centuries? Maybe two and a half? When I moved here, I lived among the native humans. They were good people, I still remember playing with their children in the river, learning to trade with other communities further down the river, and listening to them tell their tales of strange lands and exotic gods.¡±

    ¡°Whatever happened to them?¡±

    ¡°The Motornin Republic sees all of North Motorn¡¯na as its domain, and everyone on the inside is either a citizen or a subject of the Republic. The natives had little choice but to either move north into the frozen wild-lands of the north, or move south onto a reservation. It¡¯s rare to meet one nowadays. It was Saronin humans and Chunes who settled in the area around the time the natives were leaving, they built river ports, farms, now railroads and towers. I don¡¯t think the Saronins had any good reason to tell the Natives to leave, they would have shared this land with them, same as they did with me. One of the strange worldviews of the Saronins is that they don¡¯t think everyone can be successful at once, if you want to get ahead, you can only do it by cutting someone else down. Once you realize this, you see it everywhere.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know that I agree.¡±

    ¡°Of course you don¡¯t, you were raised by halflings.¡±

    ¡°How did you know that? I don¡¯t think I ever told you.¡±

    He shrugged his shoulders. ¡°See, Motornin is a complicated culture, there is absolutely nothing you can say about its culture that is totally inclusive of all Motornins. It¡¯s a big melting pot of Central Saronin humans, Western Saronin humans, Thallonite elves, different diasporas of Chunes, several different cultures of native humans, with a bit of Rhenian and Zunish as well. You have to break it down by culture, but those cultural groups can be hard to define, and drawing hard boundaries between who is part of what group is a dangerous trap of potentially excluding people and exacerbating racial tensions.¡±

    ¡°Yes, it¡¯s a big country full of lots of people.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, couldn¡¯t have put it more simple myself. Look, I suspected you were raised by halflings because of the way you walk around town without any shoes on. I saw you walking to the market the other day entirely shoeless. The chunish industrial diaspora typically sees fine footwear as an important wealth signifier, a chune wouldn¡¯t be caught dead without their boots. Halflings on the other hand only wear boots if they absolutely must. Humans and elves wear shoes knowing that they can take them off at the doorstep to keep the inside of the house clean. Humans and elves wear shoes outdoors, barefoot indoors, halflings are barefoot all the time, chunes are almost never barefoot. It¡¯s a useful cultural signifier.¡±

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    ¡°You¡¯ve clearly spent too much time thinking about this.¡± I said.

    ¡°Perhaps. I like to think of myself as something of a cultural theorist, I¡¯ve been writing a paper on how economic forces and systemic racism drive these differences in footwear choices. I¡¯ve been working on it since 1797 and I¡¯m still not finished.¡±

    ¡°Better late than never, I suppose.¡±

    ¡°Well you see, I wasn¡¯t really sure I was entirely educationally equipped to handle such a task because the economic forces were still not well understood back during the early days of the liberalization of Saronin cultures, but here recently a Chune from Estervetch named Carl Marks wrote a book about it, and I¡¯ve been studying it carefully since I got my own copy in 1870. So he wrote a lot about this idea he calls Capitalism and-¡±

    ¡°Hey, I don¡¯t mean any disrespect, but we really shouldn¡¯t get too carried away. I don¡¯t have a lot of time, and I came here to ask about the Primordial Chunish book I brought in last week.¡±

    ¡°Right, there will be time to talk about my other intellectual pursuits later.¡± He said with a bit of sadness in his voice.

    ¡°Next time I visit, okay? I only have so much time today, but next week I will clear an afternoon.¡±

    ¡°Okay, I suppose that gives me time to make a proper presentation.¡± He looked back at his books. ¡°I have only a few pages translated. The language is difficult, and I¡¯m used to translating books of a more mythological type. This one seems to be personal, like a diary. It talks a bit about food, and has mentions of what seems like personal anecdotes. It frequently mentions the hardship the author goes through, but it isn¡¯t clear what the hardship is.¡±

    ¡°Well, it is progress. Just keep it up, we appreciate your help. I really should get going soon, but before I go, could I ask where you get tea like this?¡±

    ¡°This tea is imported from Timothea.¡±

    ¡°The¡­ planet?¡±

    ¡°Yes. My friend in the Sone Coast Free State is from there.¡±

    ¡°From the stars? That¡¯s impossible. How do you even get that far? Is your friend some kind of large magical bird that can fly to the heavens?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t understand their technology, but I suspect one day you will get the chance to understand.¡±

    ¡°Well, the tea is wonderful, I hope you could make me some more next week.¡±

    ¡°I will, of course.¡±

    A week later, I knocked on the wizard¡¯s door, or where the door was. There was no response. I knocked again, with no response. I looked around the building to see one of the boarded up windows on the second floor was broken, I could smell the bitter metallic scent of blood.

    I placed my bicycle against the wall and stood on the frame to reach the window and look inside. I could see the remains of his study, everything tossed around, bookshelves on the floor, books strewn all over, blood had dripped in a trail to the window.

    I climbed inside and followed the blood, I found the remains. Gregory was on the floor, his staff broken in half, and his head cracked open. His brains were strewn across the floor and onto the opposite wall, where some of the white matter was still sticking to the wall.

    I called the Possum Trot police to come to the tower, collecting evidence and taking notes from the scene. I watched by the window, I had no experience in investigation and didn¡¯t want to touch anything.

    ¡°It¡¯s a good thing you found this so quickly, Gregory is so reclusive, I doubt if anyone else would have noticed for years.¡± A police sergeant told me.

    ¡°Any leads on who may have done it?¡±

    ¡°Not yet. This doesn¡¯t look like the work of a professional, but I don¡¯t have a clue who a man so reclusive may have angered enough for an unpremeditated murder.¡±

    ¡°If you find out, please let the Metropolitan Militia know as soon as possible. The murderer may have something of ours.¡±

    ¡°What would that be?¡±

    ¡°A mysterious book that we need to translate from Primordial Chunish.¡±

    ¡°What does Primordial chunish mean?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a language older than man. Gregory may have been the only one who knew how to translate it. I came by to check on his progress, and it seems both the original, and his translated work, are missing.¡±

    ¡°Chasing after ancient artifacts? Don¡¯t you have real work to do?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m investigating the rape and murder of a woman on 45<sup>th</sup> Street and Main that we believe to be linked to gang violence, and this book is an important part of linking the two and establishing a motive, but you police officers left it entirely untouched in the evidence locker for weeks.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s because you don¡¯t need to translate the book to establish motive. I think you¡¯re doing this for personal reasons.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s personal now, that¡¯s for damn sure.¡±

    I was in my room after my bath, wearing nothing but bloomers and reading the newspaper. Gregory¡¯s murder was mentioned on the front page, the police had included sketches of the scene, and all the details.

    There was a knock on my door, I threw on a jacket and held it closed with my hand. ¡°Come on in.¡± I said.

    A young halfling courier stepped inside. ¡°We got an anonymous tip that might help you out with your investigation.¡± He said. He gave me letter, neatly typed with a typewriter, on high quality stationary with gilded edges.

    ¡°Ms Kansa Hawken, Possum Trot Metropolitan Militia,

    The murder of Gregory the Wizard sorrows and greatly disturbs us. Gregory has long been a fount of wisdom for our organization as well, and his passing is a great loss to us all. We do have some special knowledge of who may have carried out this murder, but we wish to remain anonymous and untraceable, so we are unable to reveal too much about ourselves in a letter that may be seen by the wrong people. We request that you meet one of our representatives in the Old Clark Tavern November 5<sup>st</sup> at midnight. Wear a uniform.

    Signed,

    Thomas¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s afraid of anyone else getting the information, but he also wants me to meet him at one of the busiest bars in Possum Trot on a Friday night? This is strange.¡± I said.

    ¡°I don¡¯t imagine I have to warn you to bring a gun.¡± The halfling said.

    ¡°No sir. I might need someone to come with me, though, but I really doubt the Captain will let me bring anyone when this investigation is mostly personal.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m free that Friday night, ma¡¯am.¡± the Halfling said.

    ¡°You¡¯re a courier, and a halfling, do you even know how to fight?¡±

    ¡°I used to wrestle with goats on my patriarch¡¯s village when I was younger. That has to count for something, right?¡±

    ¡°I was raised by halflings, and I know the average halfling has never once heard of the concept of aggression.¡± I said.

    ¡°But surely you know halflings have a strong sense of duty of care. Besides, I do know how to use a firearm, even as a courier I have to train with one.¡±

    ¡°Alright, but just know I do not want to have to tell everyone in your village if you die. I don¡¯t think I could handle that.¡±

    ¡°My family would be heartbroken. I have to write them 8 individual letters every week, one to mom, one to dad, two for my grandparents, two for old friends of mine, one for some of my cousins, and one for my siblings.¡±

    ¡°My family is much the same.¡±

    ¡°Say you don¡¯t look half halfling.¡± He said.

    ¡°Half elf, half chune, and adopted by halflings after my parents were killed in the war.¡±

    ¡°Ah, wonderful. I don¡¯t meet any other halflings in the city, it¡¯s nice to meet someone who understands our ways.¡±

    ¡°I agree.¡±

    ¡°Maybe after we go to the bar, we can go out for dinner sometime?¡± He said.

    ¡°You¡¯re flirting with me. I¡¯m flattered but I¡¯m not looking for a relationship.¡±

    ¡°Oh, well, unfortunate but I¡¯d still love to be friends.¡±

    ¡°Okay, just as long as you understand the boundary.¡±

    ¡°My name is Mignone Apeldoorn by the way.¡± He held out a hand.

    ¡°Kansa Hawken. I think I know of the Apeldoorns, about 20 miles west of the Hawkens.¡± I shook his hand, I had the letter in one hand, and used the other to shake his hand, my jacket slipped open. I wasn¡¯t bothered by the nudity, that¡¯s something you have to get used to in the militia. He looked, blushed a deep red, and then locked eyes with me, trying not to look at my breasts.

    ¡°Yes, I know of the Hawkens, fine folk, my father spoke highly of you.¡±

    ¡°I believe I¡¯ve seen your orchard, I worked as a courier.¡±

    ¡°Oh, right! I think I remember, I was thinking what a tall and beautiful chune.¡±

    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s me, the tall and beautiful chune.¡± I placed the letter on my bedside table. ¡°Anyway, I probably should be getting to bed. I¡¯ll see you Friday.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, maybe I should too, but I do have a few more deliveries to make.¡± He stepped back toward the door, leaned against the door frame, and looked again at my breasts briefly before looking again into my eyes. ¡°I¡¯ll see you Friday.¡±

    Chapter 2

    There was a chill in the air, a cold breeze blew through the streets of the city, blowing leaves across the road. It was busy by the bars downtown, some people were already drunk and revelers were singing their drinking songs under the bar awnings. It would have been a wonderful afternoon to join them, the feeling of a belly full of beer is always warmest in the chilly wind of fall, but my day of rest is yet to come.

    We found the Old Clark Tavern, a small group of chunish men were leaning against each other and singing horribly off key. One man playfully pushed his friend and he stumbled down in front of the door as I arrived. The man saw my uniform and scrambled to his feet, leaning against the door frame. His jacket fell off his shoulder and his hat fell to the ground.

    ¡°Oh! Uh! I¡¯m sorry maam-¡± he spoke with a heavy slur. ¡°We don¡¯t mean no harm, just horsing around between friends!¡±

    ¡°Just get out of my way boozer, I¡¯m not here for you or your friends.¡± I said. He scrambled out of my way and leaned against one of his friends. I stepped inside to see the bar was already rowdy. Apeldoorn apologized to the drunken men out front before following me to the bar.

    I sat on the stool, the bartender was a dwarf. I had never seen a dwarf up close before, he was hairy from head to toe, from his beard, that was tucked under his apron, and his arm hairs that were full red tufts even over his wrist and hand. He was cleaning a mug as he watched me sit down, and looked over the counter at Apeldoorn who climbed his way to the top of a stool.

    ¡°What in blazes is the militia doing here?¡± He asked Apeldoorn and I.

    ¡°Can I not ask for a pint of beer?¡± I asked.

    ¡°It comes in pints?¡± Apeldoorn asked.

    The dwarf looked at Apeldoorn, then back at me, and then looked toward the door to the kitchen. ¡°Thomas!¡± The bar tender shouted into the kitchen.

    A tall and slender elf with skin so pale as to be almost transparent stepped out of the kitchen. He stood behind the dwarf and put his hands on his shoulders. ¡°Yes, love?¡±

    ¡°Do you know these two?¡± The dwarf asked the elf.

    ¡°Perhaps.¡± He leaned against the counter with his head held in his hands, he had bent himself quite a ways down to get to the table. ¡°What are you two coppers doing in our little tavern?¡±

    ¡°You sent us a letter.¡± I said. I grabbed the letter from my pockets and slid it across the table.

    He took a quick look at the paper and then placed it in his pocket. ¡°Ah yes. Follow me.¡±

    I nodded. The three of us walked up a flight of stairs and stepped into a lounge. The walls were lined with bookshelves, the room was furnished with fine satin upholstered sofas, Thomas lifted the top half off of a globe and revealed liquor and glasses inside.

    ¡°Scotch, maam and sir?¡± He asked.

    ¡°Oh hell I haven¡¯t been able to afford scotch in so long.¡± Apeldoorn said.

    ¡°I probably shouldn¡¯t, but I won¡¯t turn down a glass.¡± I said. Apeldoorn and I sat next to each other on a sofa and Thomas poured our glasses. He poured one for himself and sat crossed legged across from us in an armchair.

    ¡°I hope you enjoy it, Eriksson brought it all the way from the highlands of Deuchel¡±

    ¡°Certainly finer than anything I¡¯ve had in the past, but we didn¡¯t come here to discuss your refined alcohol tastes, unfortunately.¡±

    ¡°Of course not, we came to talk about our dear friend Gregory. Before I tell you anything, you have to assure me of one thing, and that is you will tell absolutely no one where this information came from.¡±

    ¡°I swear on the respectability of the Hawken household.¡± I said.

    Apeldoorn was in the middle of sipping the scotch when I looked over at him. ¡°Oh, yes, I swear too, on the respectability of the Apeldoorn village.¡±

    ¡°Do you know anything about the Magnolia Opera House in Martinsburg?¡± He asked.

    ¡°Opera has never really been my cup of tea.¡± I said.

    ¡°It opened only a few years ago by a human man named William. H. Hartman, a Martinsburg businessman. He¡¯s not your man, but a friend of his is. You need to find an elf named Fiore Ceito, I believe he is the man who hired a hit on Gregory. I would kill him myself, but I don¡¯t know where exactly he lives. As an authority figure, you might be able to get some information from Mr. Hartman.¡±

    ¡°How am I going to convince him to rat out his friend?¡±

    ¡°Simple. Hartman has taken on a little lover, a woman named Mollie Lubrick from Higgensvetch. The problem is that Mollie is married, and if word got out, it would devastate his reputation. Her husband, a Mr. Adolf Lubrick, is a man with a bit of a reputation for aggression, and no doubt would take the chance to retaliate as well, should he find out.¡±

    ¡°Understood.¡±

    ¡°Wonderful, if you manage to either kill Ceito or put him behind bars, I would gladly work with you again. I suspect your organization and mine could form something of a partnership.¡±

    ¡°What exactly is your organization? You know exactly what mine is all about, what is yours?¡±

    ¡°Oh, we run a very simple racket here, consider us a private security firm, who does a little bit of under the table sales and distribution on the side.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re a criminal.¡±

    ¡°Oh honey.¡± He chuckled. ¡°Of course we are, but I wager you won¡¯t do anything about it, after all, we could be a very useful source of information for your young and inexperienced organization.¡±

    ¡°I hate to agree, but you may be right.¡±

    Apeldoorn and I boarded the front car of a Ssotsrode and Western train. We had our weapons, a somewhat obsolete single shot breech loader, sized as a carbine to better fit on a bicycle. A revolver, six shot double action. It was starting to feel outdated in a world where semi automatic pistols were being advertised in mail order catalogs. I also carried a sword bayonet, typical of the dragoons. We weren¡¯t the only soldiers on the train, it looks like some of Martinsburg¡¯s own militiamen were coming home from a visit in the city, they were typical of small town militiamen, with almost all of their equipment provided by themselves, with hand sown jackets over normal civilian clothes, and rifles that were civilian models, and were noticeably more advanced than ours, with magazines and a lever action.

    The train steamed through red leaf forests that were going dormant for the winter, and passed fields full of young men, both human and Chunish, harvesting wheat. Some harvest with sickles, others have brand new traction engines, with their pillars of smoke reaching into the heavens.

    The Martinsburg station was located in the middle of downtown, most of the streets were empty as most of the locals were hard at work in the farms. I found one man who helped me locate the Magnolia Opera House, at Pine and Washington. It was just across the street from a grain mill, also called Magnolia, and next to a few sleepy small town businesses. Shop owners were sitting out front smoking pipes.

    I entered the opera house, it wasn¡¯t very busy either, and I had to look for anybody at all on the inside. I found an actress wearing only most of a costume, showing a shocking amount of skin for a small human populated town. She seemed to have been in only a slight hurry, so I hoped I could ask her quick.

    ¡°Excuse me, maam, I¡¯m looking for Mr. Hartman.¡± I said to her.

    She stopped and looked at me, taking in my uniform. ¡°What in hell does Possum Trot want with Mr. Hartman. Don¡¯t you have real problems up there in the city?¡±

    ¡°Yes¡± I said with an exasperated sigh. I spoke with my raised authoritative voice, ¡°We do, yes, and Mr. Hartman is involved. Are you going to help me, or are you going to risk being charged as an accomplice?¡±

    ¡°Sheesh, calm down lady, I¡¯m in a bit of a hurry, I tore my dress and I-¡±

    ¡°Did I fucking stutter, whore? I don¡¯t care about the dress, tell me where Mr. Hartman is!¡± I shouted.

    Apeldoorn grabbed my hand. ¡°Hey, let¡¯s not take this too far.¡±

    ¡°That halfling is the only sensible person here.¡± The actress said.

    ¡°And you should consider yourself lucky I prefer to be gentle in front of him.¡±

    ¡°Fine, Mr. Hartman is in his office, just down the hallway, room 20, just don¡¯t kill anybody please, we have a nice and peaceful little town. Am I free to go?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, go get your stupid dress let out, it really doesn¡¯t look good on your figure.¡±

    The actress didn¡¯t reply to my comment, she only gave me a nasty look as she walked away.

    ¡°Did you have to be that harsh?¡± Apeldoorn asked.

    ¡°Yes, she¡¯s the one who decided to test me.¡± I said.

    ¡°Yeah sure but-¡±

    ¡°No buts about it, courier, let a professional do her work.¡± I said, and I walked toward door 20.

    I knocked hard. ¡°Metropolitan Militia, open up!¡± I shouted. There was no reply, I tried the doorknob and it was locked. I gave it a few seconds before knocking again. ¡°Open up or we¡¯ll knock the door down!¡± I shouted.

    The door was opened by a middle aged man in a robe, he had a large mustache hanging over his concerned frown. ¡°What¡¯s the meaning of this?¡± He asked.

    ¡°We need to talk, Mr. Hartman. Sit down so we can close the door behind us.¡±

    He sat at his desk. On his desk, a beautiful young woman sat, wearing nothing but a sheer slip. I closed the door behind Apeldoorn and we both sat down in chairs across from Hartman¡¯s desk.

    ¡°Ah, this is your little secret, Mrs. Mollie Lubrick, I presume?¡± I asked.

    She gasped and looked at Mr. Hartman.

    ¡°Who are you to walk in here and make quips about my personal affairs?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m Sergeant Hawken of the Possum Trot Metropolitan Militia. You have some information that we need, surely we can do this the easy way, I will be out of your hair and you can get back to your¡­ your ¡®affairs¡¯. If not, I may have a word with Mr. Lubrick later in the week.¡±

    ¡°No, Adolf is a madman, he will kill us both!¡± Mollie said.

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t appear to be my problem. Now, we¡¯re looking for a Fiore Ceito, a tall and dark skinned elf.¡± I said.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know a Mr. Ceito.¡± Mr Hartman said.

    ¡°No, babe, you have to tell them, we can¡¯t risk Adolf finding out!¡± Mollie said.

    ¡°Mollie you idiot, you-¡± Mr Hartman sighed. ¡°306 W. Culton st. Please don¡¯t tell Adolf.¡±

    ¡°Good, now we will get out of your hair.¡± I said. I loaded the breech of my rifle as we left the opera house.

    Apeldoorn had to run to keep up with me as I walked toward our target. It was a small house on a residential street. Everything was quiet except for the wind rustling through what was left of the leaves on the trees.

    ¡°I hope your guns are loaded and you¡¯re ready.¡± I said.

    ¡°Yes maam.¡± Apeldoorn¡¯s voice quaked

    I kicked the door down and aimed my rifle into the living room, there was a small group of elves on the couch, one man and three women, all completely naked.

    ¡°Everyone scramble, I¡¯m only here for one man!¡± I shouted. The women ran for the back door without taking the time to put clothes on. The man grabbed a revolver from the coffee table, I shot him before he could cock it, he fell and his muscles convulsed hard and in his death throes, he knocked the coffee table over, spilling a bottle of expensive whiskey all over a few hastily written ledgers.

    ¡°I loaded the breech of my rifle again and stepped inside. I checked the bedroom, nobody was in there except a very frightened elf woman. I told her to leave and she complied without a word. I checked the bathroom and nothing was in there except for several small vials of opium, which was not my concern. The last door lead down some stairs into a basement. I walked down there and saw my man sitting calmly at a table.

    ¡°We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Mr Ceito.¡± I said.

    He took a puff off of his cigarette. ¡°Oh Mr. Bastian, come take care of this feline and her tiny friend, will you?¡± Ceito said.

    I wasn¡¯t sure who he was talking to, but I turned around just in time to see a hulking half giant of a man swing a baseball bat at Apeldoorn. I put up my rifle to block the blow. Apeldoorn fell to his knees and the blow knocked me back on my ass.

    Bastian was at least 8 feet tall, wearing only a pair of strongman¡¯s trunks, his muscles looked ready to rip out of his skin, his body hair made him look like a mangy gorilla.

    I grabbed my bayonet from its scabbard. Bastian was already upon me and swung his bat like he was going to turn my head into paste. I held the bayonet in both hands to block it and the blow bent the blade. He was about to swing again when something blew a hole in his chest. The blood splattered all over the wall, and onto my face. Bastian fell on top of me, and the weight felt crushing. I looked to the side to see Ceito, realizing he lost and running to climb out of the small basement window.

    Apeldoorn stood on the other side of the room, holding his revolver, he was shaking and crying. I tried to yell at him to shoot Ceito, but the weight had pushed the air out of my lungs.

    He had already escaped when Apeldoorn finally realized what had happened. He ran to me and tried to pull the dead body off of me. It took several minutes of him pulling to get it and he hugged me tight when I was free.

    Now things were calm, quiet even. The smell of gun smoke still lingered along with the smell of blood, it was an uncomfortable, yet still familiar scent.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry Kansa, I should have shot Ceito too.¡± He said.

    ¡°Don¡¯t beat yourself up over it, you saved my life, that¡¯s not bad for a little courier.¡± I said. I ran my fingers through his hair and pulled him in for a kiss. He was delighted and held me tight, he held my head even as I pulled away.

    ¡°I shouldn¡¯t be thinking about arranging a date with you right now, but I am.¡± He said.

    ¡°I¡¯ll think about it, but there are no promises, okay?¡± I said. ¡°In the meantime, we may have to get a hotel in town for a while and use it to track down Mr. Ceito.¡±

    ¡°Agreed. We should share a room, I think, you know, for uh, for security reasons.¡± He said.

    ¡°I get the feeling that isn¡¯t the reason you want to share a room, but it is a good idea.¡±

    ¡°Maybe share a bed too?¡±

    ¡°You are desperate. Can¡¯t I at least wash the blood off my body before you start getting too touchy with me?¡±

    ¡°Sorry, I think it might just be a response to the stress.¡±

    ¡°You get horny when you¡¯re stressed? That¡¯s weird.¡±

    ¡°Maybe a little.¡±

    Chapter 3

    January 1893

    ¡°I¡¯m starting to think this farm might not be sustainable anymore.¡± An old halfling smoked his pipe while looking over a table full of ledgers.

    ¡°Our family has had this orchard since the 1830s, father, we have to do something.¡± A slightly younger, but still well worn halfling stood next to the table and looked through log books full of details on all the expenses.

    ¡°I know we do, but the cost of shipping cider has nearly doubled since the Saronin investment firms pulled support for the Ssotsrode and Western.¡± The father said to his son.

    ¡°Blast it, I knew those railroads were nothing but trouble. They fill our air with smoke and wake the cattle with their horns, and they can¡¯t even deliver on the promise of cheap transportation. They¡¯re going to ruin this country.¡±

    ¡°Maybe so, but our priority is to be sure it won¡¯t ruin the Apeldoorn orchard. We need to make some strategic investments in mechanization. We can automate parts of the cider production process so we can produce in larger volumes, plant more saplings, and we will be able to keep up with the production of more apples, with the machinery. We will need to take out a loan to buy all this, and send some of our young men into the city to work to pay off that loan. We should return to solvency within a decade at most, 5 years at least.¡±

    ¡°And how will we pick who has to go? No mother is going to want her son to move away that far.¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t have to decide. We need men of steel moral conviction who won¡¯t be corrupted by the evil influence of human society, and the best way to find the most moral young men is simply to ask, and see who believes in duty of care enough to volunteer.¡±

    Mignone Apeldoorn sat on a tree stump. Him and his family had spent days clearing forest for new farmland. He had worked very hard, was tired, and decided he deserved the rest. He had brought a bottle of hot tea with him, and a book. He read as he recovered from the hard labor, and hadn¡¯t noticed his father approach him.

    ¡°Mig, is this a bad time?¡± His father asked.

    ¡°No papa, what do you need?¡± Mignone asked, he put his book away and gave his father his full attention.

    ¡°You really are quite the intellectual, huh.¡± His father said with a smile and ruffled his hair.

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say that, I just have a little hobby. This one is called Phenomenology of Spirit. What it¡¯s about, I¡¯m not sure yet.¡±

    ¡°Sometimes I wonder if your potential is squandered on the farm, you should be at a university, or live near one of the big fancy libraries they have in major cities.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve considered that too, but I couldn¡¯t stand to leave you and mamma all alone.¡±

    ¡°Nonsense, Mignone, you have 7 siblings. Besides, well the family has been having some troubles with money lately, and we¡¯ve been talking about sending someone up into the city to earn money for us.¡±

    ¡°So you¡¯re saying you want me to go?¡±

    ¡°Only if you would like to.¡±

    ¡°Well I would like to stay on the farm with the family, but if you need me to go, I will.¡±

    ¡°I knew I could count on you. You have never failed us, and I know you never will.¡± His father hugged him tight.

    Apeldoorn sat on top of his luggage to get a good view out the window of the train. A human farmer, still in his overalls and work boots sat down next to him.

    ¡°I recognize that logo anywhere, you got that Apeldoorn cider!¡± He said.

    ¡°Sure do, how about we share a bottle, just something to pass the time.¡±

    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t mind if I do.¡± The human said.

    Apeldoorn had kept a large stash of his family¡¯s cider, had an entire suitcase full of it. He grabbed two bottles, opened them both, and passed one to the human.

    ¡°The sweetest cider on this side of the Lifesblood River, I say.¡± The human said as he enjoyed a sip.

    ¡°I¡¯ll let my papa know you think so.¡±

    ¡°Oh please do. So, what¡¯s got a halfling on his way to Possum Trot anyway? I thought y¡¯all didn¡¯t like the big city.¡±

    ¡°Oh, just a bit of money troubles. I don¡¯t understand the business side of it, papa just asked me if I would go to the city and look for work.¡±

    ¡°Ah shucks, me too. Papa said something about the railroads increasing prices, so he sent me into the city to work until planting season. I might see if I can take on work for the militia, not in combat because that is a 7 year obligation, but they gotta want someone who can work on a traction engine, right?¡±

    ¡°I would think so. Oh hell I think anyone would need someone who knows how to work on a steam engine. They¡¯re frightening, dragons of iron, and it takes a brave soul to want to tame one.¡±

    ¡°Sure enough.¡± The human said. ¡°Its so hard to keep up with new technology, that¡¯s something else I want to learn in the militia.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d like to avoid it if I can.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s typical halfling thinking.¡±

    ¡°I suppose so.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t mean to sound mean, I like you halflings, you all really know how to work, unlike those Chunes.¡±

    Apeldoorn was taken aback by the comment, he wasn¡¯t sure what could possibly lead someone to that conclusion. ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s true. The Chunes are the ones who run the trains most of the time.¡±

    ¡°Yeah but that¡¯s just because they have to.¡±

    Apeldoorn had to think about his response. He knew the answer, his books had talked extensively about the topics of work and morality. ¡°Do you know anything about the Automorin Protestant work ethic?¡± He asked.

    ¡°No.¡±

    Apeldoorn thought some more. ¡°Well the point is, they aren¡¯t really fundamentally different from us. They have their own culture, and culture is driven by changes in material conditions.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s that mean?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re that way for a reason.¡±

    ¡°I suppose so, I suppose our own cultures are that way for a reason, huh.¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡± Apeldoorn opened another cider. This really wasn¡¯t a conversation he knew how to have.

    ¡°Do you think it¡¯s because of all the prison slavery?¡±

    ¡°Yes, I think it¡¯s because of all the prison slavery.¡±

    The train trip took only a couple of days, it passed by the Northwest Passage river where the pillars of smoke from the steamships rises high above the bare winter forest canopy.

    A farmer in his field was using the opportunity to remove stones from his field. One human man with a team of oxen struggled to pull a boulder from the ground, one of his family members was backing a traction engine up to the boulder, ready to give it a try with his machine. The oxen stepped away from the machine as it inched closer.

    As they passed through a small town, a group of well dressed elf young men sat in the seat of an automobile with a bright blue paint job, a shimmering brass radiator, and with trunks strapped to every available spot. One of them had taken off his cap and waved to the train as it passed.

    Chapter 4

    December 1897

    Apeldoorn and I walked into the police station, a woman was sitting in a chair holding a bloody rag to her face, she was crying, and two of the Martinsburg police were trying to make her stop crying long enough to tell them what happened. They seemed to have made no progress so far. I stood by the desk to wait for this nonsense to be over. Apeldoorn approached the woman, I thought he was wasting his time, but I didn¡¯t feel the desire to stop him.

    ¡°You look like something terrible happened to you.¡± He said to the woman.

    She nodded.

    ¡°Let me see if I can help you, those bandages look like they need changed.¡± He said. He grabbed the militia issue first aid kit from his belt and changed the woman¡¯s bloody bandages.

    ¡°You look like you were struck in the face.¡± He said. He cleaned his hands with a bit of alcohol from the kit, and then squeezed the woman¡¯s hands. ¡°Did someone do that to you?¡±

    She nodded again.

    ¡°You¡¯re going to be okay. How about you tell us and the officers who, and then someone can take you to a doctor.¡±

    She looked down at the floor and wiped tears from her eyes. ¡°A tall elf.¡± She said, holding back her sobbing. ¡°Dark skin, black hair, he seemed a bit out of it, he was walking strange, like he was possessed.¡±

    ¡°That might be from the opium, that¡¯s our guy, Apeldoorn! Where is he? I¡¯ll kill him!¡±

    The woman looked away from me and wiped tears again.

    ¡°Gently, Kansa, you don¡¯t need to scare her, she is under a lot of pressure as it is.¡±

    ¡°My Father¡¯s farm.¡± The woman said ¡°Go west on pine street, walk an hour and a half until you see the big willow tree that hangs over the road, that¡¯s where I saw him.

    ¡°We will go and investigate. Apeldoorn, come with me, we need to buy some supplies before we go.¡±

    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we walk her to the hospital.¡±

    ¡°Let the local police handle it, we have work to do. Come.¡± I walked out the door, Apeldoorn had to run to keep up with me.

    ¡°Using your own first aid supplies on someone else is a naive thing to do.¡± I said.

    ¡°No it isn¡¯t. Isn¡¯t the whole point of the militia to protect and serve the people?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s to enforce the law, Apeldoorn. The whole ¡°protect and serve¡± thing is just a slogan. Now we have to hope someone in this hick town sells medical supplies because if you get hurt, I don¡¯t have a lot of bandages and disinfectant to spare.¡±

    ¡°You know sometimes I have a hard time believing you were raised a halfling.¡± He said.

    ¡°I¡¯ve never been a halfling. I was raised by halflings but I¡¯m not one. I¡¯m sorry if that breaks your heart. I¡¯m Chunish and always have been.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t act like a Chune either. You have the kind of coldness I¡¯ve only ever seen from a high elf.¡±

    ¡°Damnit, Courier, why don¡¯t you just shut up and stay in your place?¡±

    ¡°Oh, so its ¡°Thank you for saving my life¡± when someone almost beats your face in with a baseball bat, but its ¡°stay in your place, courier¡± when I tell you something you don¡¯t want to hear.¡±

    I stopped and turned around. He had fallen behind me a little bit, and had shouted loud enough the entire street heard. Strangers had turned to look at the drama.

    ¡°You insulted an actress for no reason, scolded me for helping a stranger, busted into someone¡¯s house without a warrant, and did you ever bother to report the opium you found there? Didn¡¯t you just tell me you cared about law and order. Kansa you bring shame to the Hawken household, your father and your patriarch would be ashamed of you if they knew.¡± He again shouted loud enough the whole street heard.

    ¡°Apeldoorn can we not talk about this right now?¡±

    ¡°If not now, then when? When we¡¯re hunting down Ceito? When we¡¯re in the shops replacing the weapons you broke? When we go back home and you¡¯ve forgotten all about it.¡±

    ¡°Later, I don¡¯t care when, just please don¡¯t shout in the middle of the street.¡±

    ¡°Now you say please, now that you have to confront someone who doesn¡¯t have to care about that militia badge of yours.¡±

    ¡°How about we go to the hotel, maybe take a little bath together, we can talk about it there?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re beautiful, but I¡¯m not going to let that change the topic.¡±

    ¡°Damnit Apeldoorn, haven¡¯t I been through enough this week? Give me a break.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re hard working and brave, but that doesn¡¯t mean you don¡¯t have to take responsibility for your actions.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t realize you hated me like this.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t. I have found so many things to admire about you, but that one big flaw of yours needs to be ironed out. I believe you can, you just need to remember your roots.¡±

    ¡°Apeldoorn, you don¡¯t understand, I don¡¯t have any roots. The town I was born in was burned down in a cavalry raid, my mother was a whore who died in the fire, and I never knew who my father is. I was raised by a bunch of people who aren¡¯t like me, I¡¯ve always been in the village but never of it.¡±

    ¡°I know that¡¯s not true. You can¡¯t lie to me, I¡¯ve been to Franklin Village, I¡¯ve met your patriarch, he is such a kind man, you aren¡¯t even the only chune adopted into the family. You are a Hawken, even if your family honor doesn¡¯t mean anything to you.¡±

    ¡°Okay, maybe I am cruel, but I think you¡¯re naive. We live in Possum Trot now, everyone is mean, and you don¡¯t want to be the sucker.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not true, the people of Possum Trot aren¡¯t different from anyone else. I know the city¡¯s culture can be a bit harsh, but things will never get better if you don¡¯t show people kindness first. I¡¯m not naive, I¡¯ve made the choice to greet the world with open arms.¡±

    ¡°You sound like an idiot.¡±

    ¡°I know you don¡¯t think that.¡± He said.

    ¡°Okay, no, I don¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°You just don¡¯t want to admit that you¡¯ve lost your way.¡±

    I didn¡¯t respond to this.

    ¡°You¡¯re going to feel a lot better if you just admit it.¡±

    I shook my head.

    ¡°Now you¡¯re just acting like a stubborn kit. ¡­ Don¡¯t say anything, Kansa, I can see it in your face, you know I¡¯m right. Let¡¯s just get back to shopping and we can talk about this again later.¡± He walked up to me and grabbed my hands.

    A local, who was watching the whole thing, smiled with a big toothless grin. He grabbed his friend¡¯s shoulder and talked in a voice quiet enough he thought I couldn¡¯t hear. ¡°Look at her, she¡¯s blushing.¡±

    We had spend the night in the hotel together. I washed up and laid down in the bed next to him while wearing only a towel.

    ¡°You¡¯re right, Apeldoorn, everything you said earlier. I respect you for being willing to say it.¡± I felt it was time to face my own embarrassment, I felt remorse, but wasn¡¯t sure if I was properly showing it.

    ¡°It¡¯s never too late to change.¡± He said.

    I got closer to him and put an arm on his shoulders. ¡°I¡¯m counting on you to keep me in check.¡±

    ¡°So I¡¯m your father now.¡±

    ¡°I was thinking maybe like a very helpful boyfriend.¡±

    ¡°I thought you said dating was off the table.¡±

    ¡°I did say that, but I changed my mind. I think I might want to keep you around.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure that is really a good idea.¡± He said.

    He looked over at me. I had slipped the towel down enough to show some nipple. He looked and blushed, looked away, and then back at the nipple. ¡°It¡¯s yours if you want it.¡± I said.

    ¡°Are we having sex now? Is that it?¡±

    ¡°No, sex is off the table, I¡¯ve never been interested in such things, and I don¡¯t want to risk getting pregnant. You can touch me though, if you want me.¡±

    He took the towel off me and I lie there completely naked in front of him. He sat over me and looked, like he wasn¡¯t sure what to do with me.

    ¡°We have only known each other for a couple of months.¡± He said.

    ¡°Fighting together is a good way to build companionship. Besides, I¡¯ve known people who have gotten married weeks after meeting someone. It¡¯s okay, if you want me, you can have me.¡±

    ¡°Okay.¡± he said.

    I put my arms around him and pulled his head between my breasts, he lied on top of me until we fell asleep.

    It had started to snow. It rarely snowed hard in Ssotsrode, and this was no different. It covered the land in a light dusting of white. The temperature was only just below freezing, our cotton uniform coats, and each other¡¯s company, were more than enough to keep ourselves warm.

    We found the willow tree. The farm looked peaceful, it was hard to imagine any violence had happened here. The farm looked like an oil painting, especially with the snow dusting everything.

    I heard commotion as I approached the door, an argument, something about their daughter they had sent out to the police. When I knocked on the door, the room went silent.

    ¡°Those bastards are going to make me stand out here and wait, aren¡¯t they.¡± I grumbled. I was about to knock again when Apeldoorn tugged on my hand.

    ¡°Kansa, dear, we talked about you controlling your temper.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re right, we did. I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    An old human man opened the door just a crack to look out. He was wearing a ragged old military jacket and kepi, his beard came nearly down to his belt, and he had a revolver in his hand.

    ¡°Oh! Militia!¡± He put his revolver back into the holster and opened the door wide open. ¡°Lucy and Adam had sent for the police, we didn¡¯t expect the Metropolitan Militia to take interest.¡±

    ¡°Can we come in, sir?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Of course.¡±

    We followed him to the living room. 7 boys were all sitting on the couch, holding firearms of all types, shotguns, lever action rifles, and even an old military muzzle loader.

    ¡°I see you plan to take justice into your own hands. I commend your courage.¡± I said. I sat down in a wicker chair, Apeldoorn didn¡¯t have a chair, so he stood beside me.

    ¡°We are going to find that elf and make sure he is dead.¡± The father said.

    ¡°Tall, dark skin, black hair, and hints of opium use? I believe we¡¯re after the same man.¡±

    ¡°That would be convenient, we could use some help from officers of the law.¡±

    ¡°His name is Fiore Ceito, he runs a gang that deals in the opium trade, human trafficking, and prostitution. I have been authorized to take him to justice alive or dead.¡±

    ¡°We would prefer dead.¡±

    ¡°Could I ask what happened?¡±

    ¡°My wife went to the barn to find another oil lamp. He was hiding out in there, when he saw her, he killed her. We want him to face the judgment of God as soon as possible.¡±

    ¡°He killed a friend of mine too, a wizard named Gregory, we should stop him before he kills again. Do you have any leads? Where might we find him?¡±

    ¡°I suspect he may have followed the creek where the trees will give cover. My daughter had injured him with a fireplace poker, she said he was bleeding terribly, we might go that direction and see if we can find a trail of blood.¡±

    ¡°Sounds like a good start. When should we leave?¡±

    ¡°Right now, if you can.¡±

    The snow came down even harder, one of the boys had let me borrow a scarf to keep the cold from reaching my ears, even with the chunish fur covering them, the wind still got through. We came across the first signs of blood, very heavy bleeding. It lead to a fence, and a little ways beyond it. We had followed the trail, but we didn¡¯t find Ceito. We found a civilian laying on the ground. I had assumed he was dead until I got a closer look. I saw him breathing.

    ¡°We need to help him!¡± Apeldoorn said.

    ¡°We might lose Ceito if we do.¡± The father said.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry but I have a duty to protect and serve the people of Possum Trot,¡± I said. ¡°You can move on without us, if you want, but we will try to help this man.¡±

    The father nodded. ¡°Understandable. We will bring you his head if we find him.¡± The farming men continued down the creek, Apeldoorn and I carried the frozen man to the barn.

    ¡°Light some lamps, dear.¡± I said to Apeldoorn. He did as I said. I searched him for his wound, his leg was terribly scraped, as if something heavy had fallen on it. I used my personal first aid kit to clean and bandage the wound. The snow had finally melted off of his face, and his breathing sped up to normal.

    ¡°I never thought-¡± the man strained to speak, he coughed, and then spoke again. ¡°I never thought I would be saved by a Chune and a Halfling all the way out here.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re lucky we found you so quick. What happened?¡±

    ¡°Some varmint shot my horse while I was riding. He was trespassing on my property, I went to chase him off.¡±

    ¡°What did the man look like?¡±

    ¡°Tall, dark skin-¡±

    ¡°Ceito!¡± I said.

    ¡°You know him?¡±

    There was a gunshot probably no more than a mile away.

    ¡°Yes, that might have been him, we have to go.¡±

    ¡°Do me a favor, my wife should be inside, she doesn¡¯t know what happened to me, please bring her here.¡±

    ¡°I will find his wife, Kansa, you go after Ceito.¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡± I gave Apeldoorn a quick kiss before running toward the gunfire. Even more farmers had come out to see the commotion. I saw Ceito running through a field, he was already dripping blood into the snow. A farmer near me had raised his gun and fired, he had hit Ceito and sprayed blood into the air, but he did not stop. He looked this way and ran toward the trees around the creek.

    I raised my gun and fired. My first shot was a miss. I quickly worked the lever and fired a second shot, he fell into the freezing waters.

    Me and the farmers all gathered around. Human men as young as 13 were standing beside me. My shot had cracked open his skull, pieces of it had splattered a red mottling into the snow, and his blood mixed in with the flowing water, turning it into an ugly shade of brown. His brain matter and pieces of his skull sunk into the snow, he was finally lifeless in the dirt where he belongs.

    ¡°We got your man, Thomas.¡± I was once again in Thomas¡¯ book lined lounge, having a sip of his fine imported scotch.

    ¡°Perfect. I knew I could count on you.¡±

    ¡°Can I ask for a small favor?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Of course.¡±

    ¡°Ceito was found with several gunshots already in his body. He didn¡¯t die until I shot him in the head. His heart should have stopped a long time ago. I doubt that is a simple opium side effect. I know you are a bit well connected to the underground, perhaps you know something.¡±

    ¡°Ohoho Ms. Hawken, we don¡¯t sell opium. Ceito is something of a rival in the industry, and as it happens, we sell an opium based potion of sorts. Some call it ambrosia, others call it the foundryman¡¯s Elixir. I gives you energy, makes you immune to pain, and very resilient to physical harm. It isn¡¯t perfect, though, you can survive a bullet to the heart, but only for a couple of hours until the potion wears off, then you die. You can survive a shot to the head too, but then you are nothing but immobile brain matter on the ground until the potion wears off.¡± He said with a chuckle.

    ¡°Right, I have heard people talk about it, I never knew what it was.¡±

    There was a pause in the conversation, I felt suddenly relaxed as the scotch got to my brain. I melted into the sofa and let out a very rare sigh of contentment.

    ¡°You¡¯re finally enjoying yourself, too bad your little halfling friend isn¡¯t here to join you.¡±

    ¡°Boyfriend now. He was a bit exhausted by the whole ordeal, he is resting in the militia headquarters.¡±

    ¡°Boyfriend, huh? I saw the way he was looking at you, he adores you.¡±

    ¡°He does. I find him useful, and he seems to respond well to affection.¡±

    ¡°You find him useful? So are you in love with him, or are you using him?¡±

    ¡°I like him, but I¡¯ve never been interested in romance. I know I have to keep him around, though, so if the only thing he asks for is kisses and a bit of nudity, I¡¯ll give it to him.¡±

    Prince Rupert had jumped up onto the table, he had been avoiding Gregory¡¯s tower for weeks, too many people were coming in, doing whatever silly human activities the humans do when a property owner passes away. Gregory¡¯s ghost was standing in the window, smoking a pipe stuffed full of a particularly flavorful Halfling tobacco.

    ¡°So this is it, then? You¡¯re just going to leave?¡± The cat meowed at Gregory.

    ¡°I am awaiting my reaper, then we will take a train to the afterlife. Did you know the gods built a train network there? No troublesome river crossings on boats.¡±

    ¡°Father, you have lived for 500 years, you could live for 500 more.¡±

    ¡°I know that, but that doesn¡¯t mean that I should. I am an antique, a relic of times long past. The changing of the guard for Possum Trot is long overdue.¡±

    ¡°I know I will be okay, the city is full of generous fishmongers and helpless rats, but the city needs you. That Kansa Hawken girl needs you.¡±

    ¡°Speaking of Kansa, you are aware of who her father is, right?¡±

    ¡°That deadbeat? What good is he?¡±

    ¡°You will see, trust me on this one. Please, help her find him. As for the city, it will grow faster without me. Sure, it will have its troubles. The old world is dying, the new world struggles to be born, now is the time of monsters.¡±