The Foul Mouth and the Headless Hunny (The King Henry Tapes)

by Raley, Richard

  Killing shouldn’t be so easy it can be accidental . . . but it is. “Fuck,” I said aloud, not sure any other word was up to the task. “Fuck!”

  Annie B disappeared backstage, hunting more guards and Eresha’s other shells. I didn’t really give a shit about our mission or the million dollars attached to it all of a sudden.

  I knelt down over Hector, felt for a pulse just to be sure. Aced that lesson during Survival and Defense, but I felt nothing. Nothing. Naked. Dead. Gone. “Fuck me . . .”

  “Your first?” Eva asked, kneeling beside me. It made her look weird in her dress, but then Eva wasn’t a girl made for dresses. She was a girl made for jeans and boots and bareback horseback riding and naked sex in a mountain meadow.

  Here? In the dirt?

  What, you think a bee’s going to sting your ass, Lover Boy?

  It’ll be the brightest thing here and it’ll be shaking invitingly up in the air, that’s for sure!

  I suppose I’ll have to be on top if you’re just too scared.

  “Yeah,” I said to drag myself from the flashback. “I see that you . . . have some practice at it. Not judging, just . . . that was quick with the scio-blade.”

  Eva didn’t meet my eyes. “Anne was right about me. I’m Fines Samson’s replacement.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “I’m being trained as the Learning Council’s number one problem solver. Any means necessary . . . the stuff they don’t vote on in public.”

  “Like it?”

  “The challenge of it.”

  Screaming and more gunfire from backstage.

  Guessing Annie B found Tatter and some more guards.

  “Had to happen eventually, I guess,” I admitted to myself. Movie heroes and television stars and book characters are always killing people by the dozens. Kind of psychotic if you think about it. Took me a year to get to my first kill. An accident. Fuck. Unlike Eva, I wasn’t some unknown shadow. Unlike the movies, death ain’t the easy out to solving problems. Death complicates things, always.

  There would be a price to pay for this.

  Horatio Vega wouldn’t let his nephew die without a pound of flesh being exacted from my backside. More floro-seeders if I’m lucky . . . maybe pop the SDR cherry and give him what he’s been after from me. He might even try to kill me in retribution, brother-in-law or no brother-in-law; accident or no accident.

  Death ain’t the easy out; it’s just another kick in the balls.

  “Well, done’s done,” I said, finally standing up. Callous to talk about a man like he was a bottle of spilled milk, but dwelling on it did me no good.

  Wasn’t like he was the only corpse. We were surrounded by them. By pieces of them. I stepped among them to collect my own fallen: the Scio Anima Dispenser and my SEM-DEW. SEM-DEW was busted, the webbing ripped and littered with a good bit of lead slugs.

  “You want to talk about it?” Eva asked me, concerned.

  “You should go before Annie comes back,” I warned her. “Not sure how much control she’ll have after all the damage she’s taken.”

  Eva looked reluctant to leave me.

  “Go, it was good to see you,” I told her.

  She smiled, but didn’t move. “Good to see you too.”

  “I’ll be fine. I’ll call you when this is over.”

  “I’d like that . . . but are you sure you don’t want backup?”

  “Yeah . . . dead body proves I ain’t a hero, but whatever I am . . . I’m still really good at handling monsters.”

  Session 46

  Did it happen in the river?

  Was it another world?

  Was it all in my head?

  Why not all three?

  It felt like all three.

  That’s fairies for you.

  Sorry, I mean a C.A.C.

  The Corporeal Anima Concentrations they talk about at the Asylum ain’t the ones I’ve had experiences with. They talk about tiny balls of anima trying to trick you, squeaking out stolen words barely understood. Or of stately, reclusive beings that feed on anima, only interested in fighting off those that would steal the favored spot.

  Nothing worth talking to.

  Nothing a match for a mancer.

  Best to just leave them alone.

  Keith Gullick showed us one once. Tri, I think. A floro-fairy he kept in a ceramic . . . thing . . . I’m not up on my planting terminology, okay? Anyway, it was a ficus he loaded with floro-anima just for the purpose of keeping the fairy alive. The plant moved on its own accord. Danced even, to make the floromancers in the class dance with it. Naomi thought it was ‘darling,’ Pocket said it was ‘cool.’

  Not two words I would ever use to describe the Corporeal Anima Concentrations I’ve run into in my short life.

  Of course . . . there’s only been the two.

  Meteyos and now this one.

  Both of them didn’t feel like little things.

  They felt like angels, or demons, or . . . something a caveman would call a god.

  Like a mountain and a river given form and will and . . . they wanted something from me. Or to help me. Or . . .

  Recognition maybe?

  I don’t know.

  Maybe one day I’ll find out.

  Or I’ll catch a lucky break and I never will.

  The water fairy pulled me down into the depths of the river. Farther and farther and even farther. Too deep for even the mighty Mississippi, until I was sure this wasn’t the river itself I was inside.

  Just . . . elsewhere.

  The water became luminescent blue, deep and pure and bright all around me. Like someone had turned up the bloom too much on a clear sky. You could see everywhere, despite the glare. A mile upriver. A mile downriver. Clear as can be. Just fish and water plants and all manner of shelled creature crawling along the bottom of the river.

  I found myself floating there, the current soft and friendly. The stink of civilization—oil and fertilizer and cleaning products—had been washed away. I didn’t breathe. There was no reason to breathe. I wasn’t drowning, I was past drowning. In this place, lungs had no purpose.

  I should’ve been afraid. I should’ve been terrified. But I wasn’t.

  I opened my mouth, water filling it. It was sweet and fruity. I felt immediately refreshed. Like after a nap. At peace.

  The earth inside of me warned against enjoying this water too much. That if I gave in completely, it would wash me away along with all the rest of humankind. I nodded, agreeing with it and holding myself firmly floating in one place, not following even the gentle current.

  I was King Henry Price.

  Defiance came easy and quickly to me.

  The blue of the water concentrated before me, just like the name implied, and a human-like face formed. It looked like a woman, had me thinking of all them tales of sirens in the deep and mermaids dragging away sailors. I decided the earth inside me had told it true and came down on the side of defiance. “You couldn’t have waited until after I had the girl’s fucking phone number?”

  . . . it . . . is . . . of . . . my . . . opinion . . . that . . . this . . . act . . . would . . . never . . . come . . . about . . .

  Much different from Meteyos. Meteyos had been all booming brass in your ears, so loud it makes your head hurt. This was slippery, just behind your ear, so soft it made you wonder if you even heard it. A hiss, a whisper, a faucet dripping in another room.

  “What would you know about it?” I growled in frustration. Pussy! So close! Sexist! Sexist! Rabble! Rabble! I don’t care, it was so close!

  I blinked. I was talking in water and it sounded normal. You should be proud of me that it only took me doing it twice to realize it was happening. I’m a perceptive one, ain’t I? Plus there was the whole not having to breathe thing.

  I studied the face.

  It was beautiful and soft and kind.

  She studied me.

  I was rough and jagged and hard.

  “Hydro-anima,” I mused, “planning
to kill me then?”

  . . . not . . . in . . . my . . . plans . . . save . . . you . . . many . . . years . . . from . . . now . . . in . . . fact . . .

  “What’s your name, fairy? Or are you not old enough to have one?”

  . . . i . . . am . . . sipponnii . . . the . . . eternal . . . river . . .

  “Thought the Mississippi was supposed to be Old Man River?”

  . . . bad . . . publicity . . . or . . . patriarchal . . . cultures . . . adding . . . their . . . manhood . . . wherever . . . they . . . can . . .

  “You’re a lot more into the times than the last one of your kind I talked to.”

  . . . my . . . banks . . . are . . . long . . . my . . . ears . . . are . . . always . . . listening . . .

  “Right. So, not killing me then?”

  . . . you . . . are . . . braver . . . than . . . most . . .

  “Just used to the fairy dream bullshit by now. Can’t even go camping at the Asylum without Meteyos trying to invade my dreams. Don’t really like talking about it . . .”

  . . . meteyos . . .

  “Geo-fairy. I think he might be Yosemite, but I got no proof on that one outside of the name being similar.”

  . . . he . . . is . . . more . . . than . . . i . . . a . . . great . . . one . . .

  “Well, greatness ain’t everything. You’re a lot more pleasant. Besides the whole kidnapping me thing. I’m not drowning right now in the real world, am I?”

  . . . you . . . are . . . completely . . . here . . . geomancer . . .

  “But why?”

  . . . you . . . are . . . powerful . . . you . . . could . . . survive . . . the . . . journey . . . even . . . against . . . water’s . . . might . . .

  “Okay.”

  Don’t ever argue with the crazy, kiddies. Just listen to their delusions and then go on your way.

  Then maybe call the psychiatrists with their magic pills.

  . . . you . . . touched . . . my . . . banks . . . with . . . your . . . skin . . . giving . . . me . . . the . . . ability . . . to . . . bring . . . you . . . here . . .

  “But why?”

  . . . there . . . is . . . one . . . of . . . your . . . kind . . . and . . . one . . . of . . . my . . . kind . . . in . . . the . . . city . . . you . . . habit . . .

  “A hydromancer?” I asked. “Okay. I’ll add them to the recruiting list, I guess. Ceinwyn ain’t gonna believe this shit.”

  . . . not . . . good . . . enough . . .

  “I don’t know what you heard during my talk with the girl, but I ain’t actually so much a Recruiter as pretending to be one for the summer.”

  . . . my . . . waters . . . are . . . eternal . . . i . . . see . . . the . . . flow . . . of . . . time . . . king . . . henry . . . price . . .

  “And I’m properly impressed by that,” I bullshitted.

  . . . if . . . you . . . do . . . not . . . find . . . this . . . mancer . . . no . . . one . . . ever . . . will . . .

  I sighed. I just wanted da pussy! Now I had a job and responsibility and shit . . . damn it.

  . . . the . . . mancer . . . is . . . important . . .

  . . . the . . . mancer . . . will . . . mean . . . much . . . to . . . you . . .

  . . . the . . . mancer . . . will . . . help . . . you . . . achieve . . . victory . . .

  I sighed.

  The current had grown with every word.

  She might claim to be different than Meteyos, but the same casual attitude of tell-them-and-then-throw-them-away held.

  “You’re gonna spit me back out now, ain’t you?” I accused her.

  [CLICK]

  I flew ten feet up into the air, every part of me soaked, every part of me cartwheeling.

  Arms. Legs. Prince Henry.

  THUD.

  Sand’s really hard when you hit it face first like that.

  Sally Two and her friends started screaming. Other people gathered frantically around the bank of the Mississippi started screaming. After that peaceful rest in that clear, perfect water, the noise gave me a headache.

  Or it might have been from the impact.

  After you have a few concussions from Winter War matches they all run together and blur out.

  Would you like fries with that?

  I spat out a mouthful of glowing water, happy to see it stopped the weird shit the moment it hit the sand next to me. Or gravel. Or mud. Hard to think up a name for that shitty substance along the Mississippi. Maybe crud?

  A return lungful of air steadied me enough to fake a smile. “I’m fine, it’s okay,” I woozily managed. “It’s okay Sally Two, no biggie, just slipped is all.”

  “You were down there for five minutes!” Sally Two yelled at me.

  “Of course he was,” Ceinwyn interrupted the chaos of strangers collectively trying to confront an emergency. One guy was trying to knock me out again by hitting the ‘water’ out of my lungs. Most were happy just to shove cell-phone cameras in my face for their YouTube channels.

  “What?” Sally Two asked, shocked at how calm Ceinwyn seemed over her ‘nephew’ almost drowning.

  Ceinwyn nonchalantly waved in my direction. “Ta da!”

  Oh. A magic trick. Right. “Gets ‘em every time!” I got out, standing up with her help.

  Would you like a Taco Bell whatever-the-fuck? Only ninety-nine cents!

  Realization swept the gathered crowd. A magic trick! Five minutes in the water and then the way he flew right out of it! Amazing! Did you see that glowing stuff? How did they do that?

  Sally Two was the only one very unhappy with me. “I thought you died!” she accused.

  “Sorry you—”

  And I got slapped.

  “Jerk!” one of her friends told me before they all walked off toward their van.

  Van full of college sophomore art students . . . leaving without me.

  World ain’t fair.

  Wonderful lady bits . . . so close . . . cockblocked by talking hydro-anima . . . such bullshit!

  I faked a smile and a thumbs-up for the crowd.

  Got a cheer at least.

  More women your age in the crowd, ya know.

  Ceinwyn was the one who cockblocked me this time around, throwing an arm over my shoulders. “The Amazing Price, ladies and gentlemen, tell your friends about him, he’ll be performing all around the city for the next week. Keep your eyes out!”

  At least she held off on grabbing me by the ear until we were out of sight and almost to our car.

  [CLICK]

  Ceinwyn pulled a container of Slush from somewhere and slathered it over my forehead.

  “Just what I need, more hydro-anima,” I mumbled.

  Back at her office inside the Recruiter Heartland Office, it was a closer refuge than our hotel rooms. Also probably a better place to recover from an Anima Concentration Attack as Ceinwyn told Alfred Pemberton before she bundled me through the throng of watchful Recruiters. Some of the faces had changed on that top floor, but for the most part it was still deserted.

  Still empty.

  Still too busy.

  Wonder how many kids get missed because they’re too busy to compare notes?

  Given the warning I’d just been entrusted with I couldn’t help but be sour on the whole thing. New school, old school. Didn’t matter. The whole system was fucked. All to keep the world as it is, really. Secret powers in the dark where humans can’t see them. If we told people about us, came out to the public with THE TRUTH, then ain’t a single kid would go without training.

  Of course, there would be witch burnings . . . I mean, fundies have handled gay people fucking so well, I’m sure they’d be totally cool with another group of people throwing fireballs, strutting around with dead bodies as guards, walking on water.

  Okay, so maybe it’s not a good idea.

  But this situation still sucks, old or new.

  Ceinwyn slathered on even more Slush, mothering me for once in her life. “The fairy didn’t cause the bump. You smashing face first into the gro
und caused the bump . . . maybe next time you could aim better?”

  I snarled at her. “This body wasn’t made for flying, Winddancer.”

  “Maybe you should take up gymnastics with Eva?”

  “Stop trying to hook us up.”

  “You’ll enjoy it when it finally happens,” Ceinwyn predicted.

  I kept snarling. “Why couldn’t she just splash me in the water?”

  “She?” Ceinwyn asked, interested. A smile immediately formed. “The fairy, not Eva?”

  “I’m not that out of it,” I complained, “if you start asking me to count fingers things are gonna get rough in here. Yes . . . the fairy. She.”

  “Your friend must be very old to claim a sex.”

  “Friend . . . why do fairies like me so much?” I downright pouted. “They never bother anyone else.”

  Ceinwyn wiggled her head like this wasn’t quite as true as I believed it to be. “Most mancers keep it to themselves, but fairy meetings aren’t impossibly rare, just very rare. Always traumatizing, however. Especially for regular humans.”

  “Alien abductions?” I figured.

  “It’s a very easy fiction to keep, isn’t it?” she teased me.

  “Or a magic trick,” I mumbled some more.

  “Lost you a date, did it?”

  “So close!”

  “Assuming you could’ve snuck it by me,” Ceinwyn pointed out before putting the Slush away in a tiny refrigerator at the back of her office. She pulled out an energy drink and sipped at it, watching me like a momma bear with a sick cub.

  “I’m fine,” I growled. “And you’re full of shit on this happening all the time, no one else in my class has this happen to them.”

  Again with the head wiggled.

  “Really? Who?”

  A mysterious smile, but no answer. “That’s their secret.”

  “Weak sauce,” I complained.

  “As I said, it’s very rare, but not impossible. Although, I must admit that it’s usually a concentration of the same anima-type as the mancer, this is why no one was too shocked by the help you received during your Camping Test. Crossing over to a concentration as hostile to geo-anima as hydro-anima . . . that’s a special kind of stupid.”

  “Should I be worried about this happening all the time?”