by J A Stone
“I’m worried. We gotta figure out a way to warn Missus British, this thing is too slow.”
“Give it to the halfway point, then fire yeh gun, Daphneh?”
“You hear that Daphne?” Bigfoot un-holstered his custom sawed-off shotgun. “Pretty Lady knows your name!”
It was a nerve-wracking lifetime for Rob and Iris, eyes glued to the mountainside above, hearts pounding away with anxious adrenaline. Suddenly, both heard the distinct sound of a man shouting from far above.
“Follow best yeh can,” the Arenthian could wait no longer. She scrambled to the roof of the carriage, snatched the up-going cable, and began climbing like a spider.
“Dammit!” Rob said to the wind as his agile friend left him there, ascending at three times his speed. He took several deep breaths, pulled on a pair of tight leather gloves, and awkwardly climbed to the roof of the screeching, moaning cable-lift. Once on top, he tried his best to gather his calm and think. No way could he scale a smooth metal cable like that — no way.
Rob’s eyes followed the thick cord down to the pulley mechanism. It was a simple gizmo. Two cables—one goes down—one goes up. He noted the basket was clamped tight to the up cable. He knew motors above and below made the things move.
Robert John Stone had an idea—a fantastically stupid, incredibly dangerous idea and somehow he knew in his big heart that British would be very proud.
“I cut one—hold on to the other—which one?” said the Giant, moving the barrel of Daphne from left to right, back and forth.
Iris was less than a hundred feet to the lift-shack when the cold metal rope whizzed through her hands.
She twirled both legs about the cable and shot upward.
“Gods don’t fall Bigfoot,” she whispered to the mountain as she looked down, mistiming her ascent horribly.
Iris crashed through the roof of the wooden shack—landing with a grunt on the ice and marble—clenching her left hand. She did not let go in time and the cruel pulley system snatched that wrist, crushing all of the fragile metacarpals and phalanges.
No hesitation, Iris bolted for cover, opening her eyes ears and nose to the crisp snow-flurry air. She heard Robert coming a half-mile away—literally.
“YAAAAA!” the eight-footer screamed as his body splintered what was left of the wooden cable-lift shack into a million pieces. He shot twenty feet over the flat marble deck and struck the mountainside itself, sliding immediately to the snow, upside down.
Iris rushed to his side and cupped his face with her right hand.
“Yeh beh crazy, ya big wanker,” she kissed his forehead. “Are yeh broken?”
Robert shook his head with a goober-head grin across his face.
“That was awesome!”
They heard the man’s scream again—much louder now—followed by a woman’s—Eventine Delacroix!
“BILLY NO!” Eventine desperately tried to find a clean strike, unable to get past her lover, to no avail.
“COME ERE YA SUMBICH!” the muscleman grappled with it, taking sharp cuts from the clawed fingers and issuing knuckles to the head that should’ve killed the raging creature several times over. Suddenly, the thing clenched its arms and legs about Billy’s upper and lower body. It opened its mouth, displaying a set of fangs worthy of any Demon and then tore through the muscular throat in seconds.
Eventine screamed, slashing her twin Wakizashis into and through the creature’s shoulder and side. On the fifth contact, an impossible hand struck the pommel of the Denga Master’s left blade, sending the instrument flying. A second hand clasped the other arm and twisted, pinning her only weapon down. In just seconds, he was off Billy and on Eve. He quickly had her pinned with incredible strength, displaying the sharp incisors, lowering that bloody maw inches away from Eventine’s face.
Robert John Stone remembered the day they brutally captured Iris. He knew this thing had to be impaled or worse to hold it down. All he had was Daphne and his mitts, so he made the critical decision mid-air: Twist the creature’s head off.
Beneath the male Arenthian, Eventine was helpless. With each breath out, the thing squeezed her torso tighter. She had seconds left until—
A hand as large as her head came out of nowhere as Bigfoot Bob clamped down on its neck and squeezed, his momentum ripping the wild creature away from Eventine, allowing her to gasp and choke for the cold air. She watched from the ground, still unable to move as Rob grappled with the slippery skull and Iris pounced on the abdomen, gouging and tearing with talons and teeth.
This thing was strong—powering free easily—smashing Iris in the face and mule kicking Robert in the gut like a castle battering ram.
The beast bolted away.
Bobby doubled over, tossing his dinner. Next to him, Iris scrambled back to her feet with her good fingers to her throat and the crushed hand firm against her chest.
“That—RAAAAW!—did not—BLEEEH!—go well boss,” Robert was ashamed of himself, he let his new partner down.
“Weh are not done yet,” she rasped, helping Eve, “Luck has yeh alive—you’ve just mated!” the Arenthian could smell it.
“What’s it to ya?” Eventine was devastated, heartbroken. She moved her eyes to Billy’s body and the tears came fast, bursting down her cheeks. Iris clasped her friend tight for a brief moment.
“Forgive meh,” she said.
They left Eve to follow the tracks around an escarpment of granite, and there the male Arenthian was at thirty paces—standing on the precipice of eight-thousand feet—fearlessly facing away. They crept closer, though Iris knew it could smell and hear them, surprise was futile.
At twenty paces, it shot a bloody fist aloft, extending the middle finger.
Then it jumped; plummeting through the snow blasted air. Rob and Iris raced to the edge, sliding to a stop. They looked down to see the body spinning in the freefall, striking the granite and falling over and again.
“Heh can survive that—Weh give chase?” Iris wasn’t kidding.
“Partner, I think this one got away.”
From behind them came a familiar voice—they both jerked.
“What are you guys doing? You’re supposed to be down on deck chasing a murderer!” British Fey spoke sternly with hands to hips, expectant of an answer.
“Long story,” said Iris—head low, still clutching the rapidly healing hand.
British realized her Knights were wounded and rushed to their side, apologizing the whole way and then examining her friends for more injuries as a mother bird might.
From inside the mountain Danica, Tom, and the others filed out one by one, taking in the cold night air with wide eyes and smiles.
“Where’s Eventine?” Warfell asked. Bigfoot and Iris pointed to the path leading to the now destroyed cable-lift shack.
“She’s with a muscle guy—he’s dead,” Rob added.
“Go,” Danica snapped fingers and Dobra took off with Tom Snow.
“What about Zachariah?” asked British of Warfell when the three white Danes exited the tunnel last behind Tawnee. The tall platinum-haired warrior panned her steely blues across the snow, granite, and marble.
Local Constables found what was left of poor Zach below on the streets of Oceanport, thrown from the mount like a sack of rice.
Eventine buried Billy herself on the eastern face of the Salt…she stayed with the grave for days until British and Danica asked Robert to carry her inside, half-dead, near frozen and starving.
*
Case #47 A King to Rule Cuts Deep and Cruel
Salt Mountain
TAWNEE AND BRITISH were sound asleep, tangled up together and dreaming.
Eight weeks of back breaking labor, cleaning away the layers of dust, cataloging the artifacts, repairing the cable lift and moving the treasures safely below to the Archives Museum. Everyone was exhausted. Now it was time for the real work. Labor they could not contract for. Once the Knights of Salvos refurbished and settled their new home, they must permanently seal and hide the lone entran
ce and then create several new exits in secret. All of the Knights agreed there should be many escape paths from the small city within the belly of the volcano caldera.
The Lost Dynasty Dwarves named it Mons Salis Cor, the Heart of Salt Mountain. Bigfoot Bob was already calling it Whiterock, because the walls and ceilings were mostly polished marble. That name quickly took hold.
Whiterock was a massive complex: twelve levels of architectural masterpiece sporting libraries, smelting and chemical labs, common areas, an infirmary worthy of a modern hospital, bathhouses, lavish living quarters, meditation chambers, one entire floor of weapons walls and sparring decks, and a dead foundry at the very bottom.
Warfell, Fey and Shadoweye were in heaven, in fact all of the Knights and staff adored the incredible catacombs. Despite losing their beloved Fort Salvos, British could see that everyone was quite happy with the new home, so vast it was even the restless Danes could run the passageways with freedom.
Happiness is a fleeting bird—loved and admired—if but for a moment.
“Partner?”
The distant voice was as a fading dream cloud…
“Boss, hey, wakey-wakey, your Father is here British,” it was Danica, tapping a ring on the stone of the wall, there were no doors at Whiterock.
Tawnee and British opened eyes, smiling at their friend and stretching.
“We’re coming,” the little elf unwrapped herself from her lover and gave Warfell a thumb’s up. “Is there coffee?”
“It’s still brewing sweetie, c’mon you two, there’s a lot to do.”
Tibor, King’s Throne Room
“I assure you my Lord King, the Knights of Salvos have all perished,” the elderly Advisor was positive nothing could have survived the destruction as reported. Fort Salvos was now a four hundred foot gorge.
“Old man, I need to see for myself,” Aaron insisted, refusing to acknowledge that the strongest of his fighters were now dead. He really had sent his best with the confidence of success—no one saw the self-destruct move coming.
Now he was left with fifty-thousand foot soldiers, most of whom were new recruits. His kingdom was vulnerable; Tibor was perched upon thin spider webs that Aaron failed to openly recognize, lacking the experience and wisdom only coming with age.
“I’m going—I’ll take Angus—leave at an undisclosed time,” Aaron was a fool.
“Very well my Lord.”
“In my stead, you need to initiate training on a wide scale. Tibor is still at arms—promote the necessary Officers and Knights—make this happen.” A smart fool, he knew the semantics, ignoring the hard facts intentionally. Everybody knew this.
“Yes my Lord, it shall be done.”
“And one more thing.”
“Yes my Lord?”
“Another rider came in this last fade. Danica Warfell was spotted in Oceanport. I want a bounty posted in every bar and pub from here to Moor, Danica Warfell, Tawnee Shadoweye and that Denga bitch—Delacroix? Anyone bringing me a head is to be paid lavishly—spare no expense—declare them war criminals.”
“I will see to it my Lord King,” the Advisor scurried away.
Whiterock
The Aequitas Caelum floated before the newly christened Salt Knights.
Master Po and I shall be conducting an experiment, we ask for one pair of hands
“My hands are yours,” said British without hesitation.
We need the hands of an Assassin—we ask for Tawnee Shadoweye
Tawnee stood there, staring at the hazy edges of the Ghost’s manifestation. Why me Sir? her mind said the words, knowing he was listening to her thoughts. The Ghost answered her aloud.
We have discovered a way to locate a mark remotely, to effect an entry into that target’s conscious mind. Once inside I can then shut the beast down, saving countless lives. We need the Assassin’s insight, within her resides an accomplished Master of the Meditative Arts.
Total silence. Everyone was there, even the staff. Nobody dare say a word, nor think something negative for fear of enraging the Spirit. In the calm moments that followed, the Aequitas Caelum Vindictis made a profound realization.
I am becoming too powerful, you no longer trust in me.
“Father,” British tried.
When I perfect this method, I shall no longer call upon you to deliver justice.
“We can retire?” Tom Snow blurted, catching a sharp glance from British.
“Wait a minute,” Warfell stepped forward. “Sir, this is disturbing on many levels.” Danica didn’t know where to begin. “It’s a big world out there, lots of folks misbehaving, are you saying you can handle all of them?”
I believe so. My dispersion is indirect, it is a quantum pathway to the consciousness of the killer
More silence. Finally, Robert raised a hand.
“This where I raise a hand, I heard pathway and killer.”
“He means he will be able to neutralize many at once,” British clarified. “Get inside the heads and squeeze til they pop.”
Correct
“Father, we will need to discuss this in private. Tawnee would have the final say,” British said nothing more, waiting patiently. Even Warfell had never seen her friend so serious. The Awkward silence was nerve wracking for all.
I understand, I will return on the next equifade.
Ruins of Fort Salvos
“Is that lava?” asked Aaron of his Expedition Chief, a hard man named Angus. They were standing on the edge of the newly formed ravine three-hundred feet deep and a half-mile long. At the bottom, liquid metal was forming bright orange and red pools.
“No Sir, it’s molten iron and steel, a by-product of thermite,” The seasoned Chief kneeled to the sand, drawing a rough sketch of a tall building, motioning the boy king to look. “They wanted the explosion to cause a massive collapse, so they sent compressed hydrogen flame through the catacombs beneath the castle, which in turn ignited the thermite charges placed strategically throughout the superstructures of both towers, this was a well planned collapse.”
“All that to destroy a small army?”
“Aye Sir, it makes one wonder,” Angus rose tall, panning his experienced eyes across the surrounding grasslands.
“What?” Aaron spoke with insistence, personally hating it when people were reluctant to speak what they really meant.
“Permission to—”
“Yes, yes, yes, spit it out man!”
Angus looked Aaron up and down, fearless of the impetuous boy. It was a trait Aaron admired and respected, most of his subjects were groveling snits, begging for favor, willing to do anything. At length, the Chief spoke.
“Do you really think British Fey would kill herself and her people as well? No way boss—I think they were ready for the Master Knight—which means they had time to plan for an exit strategy.”
Aaron stared hard into Angus’ eyes—green to green. He nodded acquiescence to his Chief.
“You’re a smart man Angus, what do you suggest?”
“We search this savanna, see if there’s a tunnel big enough for a horse. Beyond that Sir, you need to centralize your faithful, conduct the Throne from an undisclosed position. These people will be looking for revenge Sir.”
“I need alternatives—I shall not hide as a coward.”
“Well Sir, aside from licking your wounds, the other option is to wage on Moor, cast upon the city with force and cripple them, assume their wealth, weapons and muscle. Once Moor is yours, no one can stop you.”
“And there it is my good Chief, there it is,” Angus saw the bloodlust teeming beneath his King’s green eyes.
“Works for me Sir—you’ve pissed off all the right people—if you don’t become aggressive they will attempt to take you down,” he replied. “Rules of the cage boss, the animal in charge has the sharpest fangs and the mercy of a stone.”
“A King to rule cuts deep and cruel,” Aaron whispered back an old nursery rhyme, laughing to himself. Funny indeed, how all the good children
’s tales were of treachery death and murder.
Whiterock, full daylight
Tawnee used pen and paper so she could get her thoughts in quickly and accurately. She snatched a page out and shoved it at British, immediately scribbling more.
Are you out of your fucking mind?
The words read cold. Warfell lean in to see, nodding her head in agreement.
“He’ll figure out what you’re up to partner, don’t forget who taught you everything you know,” Danica was flushed with sudden worry, the tiny imaginary Sprite of her fleeting calm appearing after many months of quiet, hovering, ready to flee on the wing with the next words spoken.
“I will assemble the components separately, then put them in place on the Winter Solstice. That will give me enough time, it’s the longest night of the year,” the little pixie with the mind of a genius seemed lost in thought. “I can do it.”
“Missus British, this is your Father here, he’s never hurt any of us,” Robert was not afraid of the Aequitas Caelum. Tawnee threw a rumpled piece of paper at him. He fumbled to catch it and succeeded, reading the words slowly.
“Speak for yourself, I’m sorry Shadow,” Rob bowed his head.
“Heh saved meh a few times solid,” Iris added meekly.
“Everyone please, I’ve decided, my Father died four years ago—” Tears trickled down Fey’s cheek. Danica and Tawnee both placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Something I need to know,” Tom Snow stepped boldly forward. “Tawnee, if you hate him so, why are you going to help him do the experiment?”
Shadoweye made signals—diversion, time—her hands spoke.
“What about Master Po?” Tom again, “who’s side is he on?”
“Nobody’s side,” said British. “He is a kind and neutral entity. I believe he will support my end decision to—to dissolve the Spirit.”
