Tosho is Dead

by Opal Edgar

  My fear was unfounded. As soon as my eyes adjusted, barrels flew across the room as fast as Alpheus could throw them. I almost wanted to hug the big guy. One casket exploded in a spray of splinters and orange potion on the tarantula-man. It did absolutely nothing. The barrel-bombs followed one after another, but they worked as much as an atomiser on an elephant.

  The monster stopped dodging. He advanced on Alpheus one sure step at a time. They grappled with each other, but the tarantula-man was taller. He lifted Alpheus up a full metre off the ground and pulled him close to his face.

  “This is the end of your evil’s reign. Death to the system!” the tarantula-man yelled, slamming the gladiator into the wall.

  The axe was still in there. Alpheus was a hand’s-breadth away. I brandished my pot of potion and aimed to splash the guy. Shoulder back. Hand back. One step. And—

  I tripped in spider silk.

  The liquid sloshed. The thread smoked and disappeared where the droplets fell. The tarantula-man swung his hammer arms round.

  Damn spider senses!

  We collided and his human hands caught me by the ankles. I held on to the pot, but that was the very worst thing I could have done. The tarantula-man lifted his arms and I toppled, my feet pointing up. But he wasn’t happy until my hair swept the floor. The potion spilt in a puddle of dead hope. The web melted where it touched. I felt the momentum build in the arms of my aggressor as I dangled like a pig carcass.

  He swung. The wall flew towards my face. The collision was brutal. I was dazed.

  And then he went for another round.

  He pulled backwards, dragging me into barrels and broken planks. He was going to crush my head into the stone! I protected my face with both my arms and screamed as he spun me round. Nausea rose over me in waves. His grip loosened on my ankles, fingers slipping. I stuck my neck into my shoulders, bracing for impact. But the spinning stopped.

  The tarantula-man brought me close to his face. His breath was sweet and coppery. His mouth clicked away, saliva dripping onto the floor.

  Oh, so he was one of those: a flesh eater, literally about to eat my powers out of my body. I was too limp to fight. I blinked, hoping to stop the world from spinning, and took a clumsy swing. He pushed back, inadvertently dodging the punch. Instead of taking a bite, he shook me. Stars burst in my head as it rattled from left to right. My brain flopped round inside my skull.

  And Alpheus struck. He raked his nails down the side of our enemy. This should have been a joke. But the tarantula-man dropped me with a dying scream. Green viscous blood gushed out of his body. Alpheus jumped backwards. He didn’t have nails anymore, but huge sharp claws. They smouldered as he dipped them again in the puddle of potion, crouching like a tiger. He leaped for a second lightning strike attack.

  What was this? A private anthropomorphic transformation club? Where was my set of killer claws?

  Alpheus rolled down onto the floor taking all the spider silk with him. It melted off him as he slid through the puddle. He’d blinded the tarantula-man! I felt like cheering.

  In a smooth motion, Alpheus whipped off his helmet: freeing a shocking white mane. The guy literally had a lion’s mane! He scooped the potion up with his helmet and spun it in an amazing javelin throw. The liquid flew everywhere, in the tarantula-man’s face, on Bartholomew’s mummy wrappings, on me, on the barrels, on the ceiling …

  The power thief shrieked and collapsed, clawing at himself. Bartholomew clattered to the floor in a pathetic pile. Smoke rose up from smouldering web filaments, but all I could look at was Alpheus’s face. He didn’t just have the mane: he also had the face of a lion. He growled at me, revealing three rows of sharp teeth … a shark-lion? His eyes were pale rubies. He was an albino feline, of sorts, with a shocking overbite.

  He shook the helmet to dry it and shoved it back on. There was no way his head could fit in there. It had to be enchanted somehow. He picked up his slate, which showed: “Stop staring. I am not in the circus ... anymore.”

  “Sorry. You were amazing! What are you?” I asked.

  “A monster,” appeared on his slate. Soon replaced by: “Have been from birth.” He flexed his hand thoughtfully, his pale, pale skin almost glowing in the dark. On his board I read: “Alpheus means white.”

  What he said sank in. He wasn’t born a lion-creature: he was born an albino.

  I guess being an albino did single you out. He probably had it tough even before being a gladiator. He probably had learnt to fight young. People were so strange when it came to difference. Didn’t they realise how boring it would be if everyone looked the same, liked the same things and behaved the same way? What would be the point of talking to people if they all had the same things to say?

  “By crick-O-blimey, you are so much more than a common monster! I had no golly idea! A manticore! All the things you can do!” Bartholomew marvelled.

  In all the excitement I hadn’t even noticed he’d woken up.

  “He’s awesome!” I had to agree. “It’s just sad it makes him mute. I guess Alpheus has a lion’s throat or something,” I reflected aloud.

  “Don’t you know anything about manticores, sport? Crick-O-mighty-Jove, of course he can talk!” Bartholomew interrupted again. “Or did something take your voice, and that’s why you’re rendered so dismally weak.”

  Alpheus shoved the slate in my face: “What is wrong with you! Ask him questions!”

  Right! Of course! We had a job to do, and Elise was waiting!

  “Are you okay, Bartholomew? Did they hurt you? We think the power thieves have attacked all the people round this part of the corridor and are hiding your sword next door! Do you have any idea why? Do you have any way of contacting the spirits next door to know if they’re okay?”

  Bartholomew nodded and smiled. He snapped his fingers. Lights turned on. They sent a painful electric pulse through my eyes. I adjusted my sunglasses as he snapped his fingers again. Glass, wood and various other shards piled by the door. Third snap: tape rolled round the tarantula-man and pulled him to a corner like a bad little spider. Fourth snap: an armchair appeared to receive the old bottom of a sitting Bartholomew.

  It took no time to make the place pristine, and for Alpheus to shove his blackboard in my face again: “NOT THOSE KIND OF QUESTIONS!!!!” He kept the board close to me so Bartholomew couldn’t read it. “We’re not sure he’s the victim here,” appeared next in very, very small print.

  I frowned. What the hell did Alpheus mean?

  Bartholomew had been dangling like a sausage in a butcher’s display window. The old man now shuffled to the side of his comfy chair to catch a glimpse of the board. He grumbled something about barbarian rudeness, but he suddenly got very distracted by a cut in his ugly smock.

  On the blackboard appeared: “Ask him why he was brewing spider repellent acid before the attack.”

  Alpheus had a point. If Bartholomew had the potion on the fire, it meant he was making it when he was interrupted. That surely was an odd coincidence.

  “Boy, isn’t that a good question, sport!” Bartholomew answered. “But it’s not such an unlikely thing. I’m an alchemist, I do potions all the time, it was just lucky I was making a brew at that moment. I like keeping my stock fresh.”

  That wasn’t a very satisfying answer, but I couldn’t rule out dumb luck. Odder things have happened.

  “Elise said when I first arrived that ghosts and power thieves couldn’t come in here. How did they get in your place?” I asked, pointing at the corridor, meaning the pile of corpses there.

  “Grand-daddy-O, I wish I knew!” Bartholomew shook his head. “It almost sounds like you’re accusing me of something. Can’t say I have much patience for that after the ordeal I’ve been through! Well, kites, how about I show you both something that proves my innocence, and then you can scram.”

  “Sure.” I shrugged.

  It all sounded so weird. One moment we were fighting to save him, and to escape from this layer of hell. And the next second,
even though we had won, even though we should be rejoicing, we were looking at Bartholomew: feeling unsettled by everything he said and did.

  His knees wobbled under the effort to stand up. I grabbed his elbow. What was the point of being a spirit if it was to stay decrepit and senile?

  “What’s going to happen to Mr Tarantula?” I asked.

  “What does it matter to you, sport?” Bartholomew shrugged.

  I certainly didn’t like that answer. He was now up on his twig legs, balancing them out in a Mr Magoo comical gait. His hands shooed us so he could get past us, and the room shrank round us until he stood in the doorway.

  “Now, sports, just wait a minute,” he said.

  The light turned off and the door slammed in my face. I pushed backwards a step and walked into Alpheus. Things were really cramped in here now: between the armchair, the few intact barrels, the axe handle poking out of the wall and the tarantula-man, we barely had any space to move. Alpheus pulled on his axe, knocking over the pile of junk that waited by the door.

  “This stinks something rotten,” I said. “What the hell could Bart want to show us?”

  “I am curious to see the object of all innocence,” appeared on Alpheus’s slate as he smiled.

  I shrugged. We hadn’t accused Bart of anything: we genuinely wanted to know how the power thieves got here in the first place. I mean, killing them was the only way to stop them. Yet now he truly behaved like a guilty person.

  But guilty of what?

  Not that I really cared. We were wasting time. What I wanted was to go next door, get the sword and save Elise. And, when that was done, I wanted to build her world back up again so she could keep on helping everyone. I’d do it brick by brick if I had to … And then I’d see the Oracle to pay my debt. Or the fruit-basket person. I seemed to owe lots of people. I twisted my arm round to see the tattoo of Ina Ni Luh Pande.

  I’d made a mistake. I was glad he was safe thanks to us, but Bart was useless. We didn’t need any ranting alchemist stuck in 50s lingo. I really had no idea what I’d hoped for. I opened the door and retraced our steps. I was almost there when I heard running footsteps. Alpheus must have come to the same conclusion. Bartholomew’s only use was to open that blocked front door.

  “Hope his proof of innocence is the front door key,” I joked, turning round.

  Bartholomew soared through the air towards my face … which was scary by itself but rendered oh so much worse by the venomous-looking sword he brandished. Alpheus was on his heels, but he was never going to catch up in time! What was going on?

  I dodged the first slash of the blade, crouching, my body faster than my mind. Bartholomew bounced off the wall, ready to swipe again.

  Seriously?

  This couldn’t be the man I’d helped out of his armchair, no way. I dodged as he stabbed about, always a second too late to graze me.

  “What did you do to Bartholomew?” I yelled.

  Was a power thief wearing his skin? Could they do that? Why the hell hadn’t anyone told me!

  Alpheus hadn’t gotten his axe back but his slate was good enough for a tumble. He whacked at the neck of the maniac, and Bart stumbled. I got a flash of the white letters on the board: “Bartholomew’s sword!” it said. It was enough to scare me half out of my skin.

  “Get out of the way, Alpheus!” I yelled.

  But he didn’t listen. He never did. Nobody ever did in this blasted world!

  "This is my fight,” I said. “I won’t have anyone take it from me!”

  This time he backed away. He even clanged his fist to his chest in a gladiator salute. Bartholomew’s face smirked as he stood straighter than I’d ever seen him. He swung the sword casually at his side. He definitely knew how to hold a blade.

  “Whoever you are, why are you doing this?” I asked.

  “Do you know I was a crusader in life? Fighting for the glory of God, searching for his relics, testing them and proving his miracles. By Jove, people looked up to me!”

  No. This couldn’t be.

  “Gee-whiz, you really put yourself at my mercy, Merlin, and this time there’s no escape.”

  “B-Bartholomew?” I stuttered.

  “Who did you think, cool cat?”

  He’d pretended weakness all along. I really was Kemsit’s dumb-dumb. Of course he couldn’t be a helpless old man: he was a spirit. He was beyond his body, he didn’t need it anymore – it had melted away. I hadn’t realised what it meant. I’d been tricked so easily. Bartholomew played with our expectations. I of all people should know never to judge a book by its cover. Why did we all have prejudices? Why couldn’t I get rid of them?

  He pointed the sword at me. The sword.

  This made no sense – we’d saved him! He had been in trouble, all the power thief bodies lying round proved it. What was going on here?

  “Thank you for the hand earlier, sports, I underestimated the tarantula and he escaped. Too bad I can’t even repay you with a clean reincarnation.”

  “But why? Why are you doing all this?”

  Alpheus was now standing in a far corner of the room, immobile. His arms were crossed over his chest impassively. He was paying attention, but taking a step backwards was his mark of respect. He was letting me have this fight, no matter how doomed it was, because I wanted it, I needed it.

  “I had to know what Big Daddy Merlin wanted with my sword.” Bartholomew smiled. “I won’t let him beat me once again! That pagan. How could he imagine I’d let him hold my creation in his inferior heretic hands! How could you believe I’d let any of my babies roam the world without my knowledge? I know where all of them are, and I know how dangerous they would be in any of your filthy hands!”

  Inferior? Filth? I stepped backwards with disgust. People all had skills, people all had faults and people all had qualities and weaknesses. Some people had frightening obstacles thrown in their way by fate, but no one, no one ever was inferior. I looked into the face of the lying spirit with new clarity and horror.

  Bartholomew wasn’t the type to stab about without meaning business. Impatience dripped from him. I jumped away from a prickly poke. I wasn’t sure how I could pull it off, but now more than ever I had to win, no matter what.

  “Are you the one who’s been sending power thieves after me? To get to Merlin?”

  Bartholomew’s face contorted with anger. “Those leeches appeared as soon as I got back from the Styx. Crick-O-mighty! Disgusting power-suckers daring to desecrate the Holy Spirit’s sanctuary! They met my might and they served a grander purpose.”

  He leaped to skewer me. Once again I was lucky, but for how long? He was insane. But he was acting on his own. The whole power thief vendetta against me remained a mystery.

  Bartholomew slashed forth as I backed away and sidestepped. I couldn’t hit the wall. Another slash. The point of the sword grazed my suit, it clung to the fabric and the eyeball peeked through. A blazing light emanated from it and stabbed through my retinas despite the sunglasses. Someone yelled, but it wasn’t me. I scrunched my eyes shut as I stumbled, but the light wouldn’t diminish. It even gained in intensity.

  “Turn it off! By Jove!”

  Instinctively I ran to the voice. I didn’t think about the sword. I didn’t think about the souls I still had to protect and free from the eyeball. I ripped it out of my pocket and ran with it. The light pulsed through my closed eyelids. I smacked right into Bartholomew and he screamed and screamed and screamed … until he stopped struggling and the light dimmed.

  I opened my eyes. The eyeball shimmered softly, clouds swirling in the white. As each second passed, the light gradually decreased until we were in the dark again. No trace was left of Bartholomew. His sword lay on the ground. I turned to Alpheus, who hadn’t moved from his corner. He backed up, hitting the wall.

  “I thought it was broken,” I said.

  Alpheus switched the lights on with his elbow. If I hadn’t known better I might have said he was scared.

  “Sheath that thing,�
� appeared on his board.

  The eye had stopped glowing. I was pretty sure this meant it was safe. But still, there was something scary about finding out such a dangerous thing had been lying in my pocket. I looked about for anything to cover it, frighteningly aware that it had just gobbled up a spirit: his body, mind and soul. Weren’t spirits safe from everything? Shouldn’t this not have worked on him?

  Alpheus lifted his slate and I realised I must have spoken out my thoughts. The words were flashing past fast, he had so much to say: “Spirits don’t fear soul suckers. They don’t have souls. They are merged beings. You have created something else: an evil spirit trap.”

  I guess he was right – a soul sucker melting with an evil spirit ward and, oddly enough, some of Lil’Mon’s sand had created a spirit trap. This was a little too much for me to handle. Maybe Lil’Mon was more apt to be the guardian of this thing? He was a spirit. I shivered. I’d thought spirits were meant to be good ...

  “What is good?” Alpheus’s slate asked me, and I bit my tongue.

  Maybe I should just stop speaking altogether, like Alpheus.

  “What is evil?” his slate asked.

  I got his point. Everyone had different notions of what it was to be good. But didn’t the line universally stop at hurting others? I hugged myself. If Bartholomew had been a crusader, his whole life/death philosophy had evolved round beating people into submitting to his faith. That had to shape some warped vision of the world … and of what was good and bad and in accordance with the universe. Had he been an influential leader? Were there many others like him? I shuddered. I didn’t like those fluctuating notions of good and bad. Good ought to be clear.

  Alpheus handed me a pink square of upholstery. The frayed edge told me he had just ripped it out of the ogress’s chair. I hadn’t even heard him. I frowned at it, what did he want me to do? He pointed at a cut on my arm.