by O. J. Lowe
“Let me see it,” Longden said. “Can you give me a zoom in.”
He did that, let the screen focus in on the Blank Slate’s visible ink patterns. The picture wasn’t good, but Longden stared at it, screwing her eyes up until they were little more than slits. Still managed to look good doing it
“Nah, doesn’t compute. You send me this image; I’ll have someone run through a comp search, but it doesn’t match any of the big gangs. Maybe it’s a unique design. Maybe it’s a prison thing. Could be something or nothing. We get nothing, I’ll send it round every tattooist in the city he was seen last.”
“Of course, if he was in prison,” Leon said. “He’d be in the system. Ergo, there’d be a record of him and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” He even managed to say it sniffily.
“You know what,” Arnholt said. “He’s not that impossible.”
“Sir?” Barker said.
“If he was that good, he’d still be hidden. And we know he’s out there now. Sooner or later, this will be something he regrets. We have a rep. We need to keep that up. I want this guy found. This incident? What else do you have?”
“McKenna refuses to talk,” Okocha said. “He’s scared out his mind. What we do know is that he came from Becksea, Premesoir before meeting with the Blank Slate. And there was a noticeable theft before he left.”
“Go on?” Aluka asked.
“From a museum there,” Okocha said. He pushed another button, a picture of the artefact appeared. Nobody there failed to recognise it, even in the dull brown gold rendering. The stripes, the pouncing pose, the trio of gold bands around each foreleg. Normally the tigress should have been pink but not here. “It’s a bronze statue of Melarius, the Mother of Gods. Not big but valuable.”
“Why steal that?” Barker asked. “It’s hideous. And pretty noticeable.”
“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Okocha said. “I mean, maybe some private collector would want it. It’s quite old, least five hundred years. At least. It’s entitled A View of Melarius. Dug some stuff up on it, apparently the artist claimed he saw Melarius in person and was inspired. Got it from an anonymous donor about fifteen years ago, someone who claimed to find it in a swamp if you can believe it. I’ve put an alert out on it, it shows up anywhere, I want us to know.”
“Good,” Arnholt said. “Now, last order of business.”
Section Chief Aluka, representing Unisco in the kingdom of Vazara stood up and cleared his throat.
“Carcaradis Island,” he said. “This is nothing. Nobody in this room had heard of it until the Quin-C became held there, I bet. The island is nothing. Nothing there. Or there wasn’t until the building took place. What you haven’t heard outside of Vazara is the trouble linked to it.”
“Trouble?” Noorland asked. “Wait, how come this is the first we’re hearing of this? Is this why we’re sending a big team there?”
“Perhaps. See until holding this tournament, Carcaradis Island was left untouched because it is considered a holy place by the native Vazarans. Sacred even. Not to be touched by anyone.”
Barker coughed.
“I’ve been there,” King said. “It is remarkable. So much possible history hidden in plain sight there. Didn’t stick around though.”
“It’s riddled with tunnels and tombs, caves and crevices full of secrets,” Aluka said. “There were natives there. ICCC officials made a deal with them to leave. They wouldn’t. All until one day they weren’t there any longer. And these are not pushover people. They wouldn’t bow before the ICCC. They’d fight to the death. Of course, all of this is speculation. Official story from the ICCC is that they left. How and where are not mentioned.”
“Agent Longden,” Arnholt said. “Tell me what you found out about the company pushing for the development of Carcaradis Island.”
Longden slid a data stick into the machine on the table and a picture of the Reims logo appeared in front of them.
“Reims,” she said. “Old company, on the surface, very respectable. They give heavily to charity; the current owner is a philanthropist and enthusiast about religious artefacts…”
Okocha’s thoughts fell back to Eli McKenna and the item he’d delivered to the Blank Slate. The museum piece and its lack of value.
“Hmmm,” he said. It was hard not to put as much thought into that sigh as he wanted to. His head hurt already, more mystery here than he wanted to contemplate. He liked things simple. This felt like it would be anything but.
Chapter Eight. Boats and Bouts.
“I say, we have a responsibility in this matter for not only our competitors but those who have made the trip to get out to this tournament and be there in person. We chose to stage it in the middle of nowhere, it was probably the best option for a place to hold it. But at the same time, we need to ensure that people can get there easily. The aeroport will not be able to sustain thousands of people coming through every day. I recommend we contact the cruise companies and come to some sort of arrangement now, before they take matters into their own hands.”
ICCC executive Adam Evans in a meeting six months ago regarding the transport infrastructure ahead of the Competitive Centenary Calling Challenge Cup.
The fourteenth day of Summerdawn.
Sea travel had always appealed to Theo. Dark waters held mysteries he’d have loved to probe given the time, things out here not to be found anywhere else. The smaller the boat the better the chance of seeing something unusual. After all, a boat like this likely wouldn’t draw something unusual. They were classified rare because they were hardly ever seen. They certainly wouldn’t be about to expose themselves to a large unknown presence like this boat and all those on it. He’d once paid a guy to take him cross kingdom in a powerboat just solely on the off chance that he’d see a kraken. In other words, he’d played himself as bait. They were out here.
Apparently.
Well, they had to be somewhere. His trip had been a futile one, but he’d enjoyed catching the sea air for a day. Some trips were never wasted, depending on what you wanted to take from them. Rumour had it somewhere a lucky few callers had krakens. If he wanted to see one, it’d likely be out at the Quin-C. Maybe there was someone right here on this very boat. All these supposedly powerful callers meant the odds had to be surely better than average. But would they show it right now or wait for the tournament? He wouldn’t. He liked to keep his powder dry. If he revealed his hand now, it’d clue a few people in on what he could do, losing him an edge in the future. He didn’t want to let them know. Sure, he’d been here before. But to compare him now and him then, they were two different beasts. He’d be fine. He’d fight for everything. They weren’t going to stop him.
He’d taken in the sight of some of the callers walking onto the boat upon boarding, he’d recognised some of them, Wade Wallerington for one, a redheaded man in his thirties wearing a billowing waterproof cape that made him look heavier than he was. He’d never met the man but some of his exploits were close to legend. For the first time, he’d found himself realising just how daunting his task might be.
Doubt didn’t suit him, it just made him cross with himself. He swallowed and tried to put it out of his mind. Wallerington wasn’t unbeatable. Nobody here would be. He just had to make sure he was on his game and he’d triumph.
The boat itself was a pretty impressive specimen, if you liked boats. He found himself considering instead of thinking about the tournament ahead and the competitors. It was a real old-fashioned cruise liner, huge and cumbersome but cutting a neat swathe above the waves at a steady rate of knots, large enough to fear little beyond an iceberg. Theo knew eight powerful hover jets held it above the surface of the ocean, propelling it along regardless of weather or wave.
He found himself leaning at the railings surrounding the edge of the boat, staring back at the departing Canterage coastline. He hadn’t hated his time there. He’d had some experiences, gathered some memories. As places went, it had been quite charming; the people h
e’d encountered had been friendly enough. He’d gotten the points he needed to qualify, he had a few medals and minor trophies for his collection. Some new spirits to work with as well, including that wolf he’d acquired the other night. None of those new ones would likely be ready for the early rounds of the Quin-C. Get to the latter rounds, it was possible. Although would he risk introducing new cards into the deck at that point? Hard to say. He didn’t like changing a winning strategy. Maybe it’d depend on how things were going. How his originals were working out, who he was facing and so on. There was loyalty and then there was adaptability.
Funny. No matter how hard he tried, he wasn’t keeping what lay ahead from his mind. Maybe he should just embrace it, see what would come and go with the flow. Not an ideal solution. Ideally the flow would go with him, rather than the reverse. He stood up, took his eyes from the water. No giant squid today. No sea monsters. Not even any curious fish too dumb to be of any use to him. Arse. Time to go. He leaned over further, let loose the spittle from his mouth and watched it fall, cutting into the wake of the boat with a tiny splash too far away to be heard.
Inside the boat was nice, he had to admit as he entered the big sprawling hall that looked like it made up most of the upper deck interior levels, not opulent but fancy enough to appease all but the highest of snobs. There had to be over two hundred people in here, some of them callers, some of them their guests although it was hard to tell them apart. Quite a few were already being exorbitantly loud, and the tournament hadn’t even started yet, the loudest being those often not worth listening to her in his experience.
A mock sparring field had been set up in the middle of the room, two callers already using it, one with a kos fairy, one with what looked like a crimson chimp. As the fairy unleashed fire towards it, the chimp sprang into the air to evade it, dark red fur glowing as it went for the ceiling, just about making it.
An impressive leap, Theo noticed, the ceiling had to be a good twenty, twenty-five feet above the floor. Although not as impressive as what came next, the ape letting go, pushing itself from the ceiling and crashing down with both fists into the much smaller fairy, the heavy blow flattening it immediately. He smiled briefly as the crowd let out an enthusiastic cheer and moved on towards the drinks table. He wanted some refreshment; his mouth hadn’t felt the same since he’d eaten those spiced nuts out of that aeroport vending machine back in Canterage. That suddenly felt a very long time ago.
“Well look who showed up.”
Theo stiffened, he’d heard that smug languid drawl before and it largely annoyed him, although not quite as much as the speaker did. More than once he’d given him a bloody nose, at least figuratively, and Connor Caldwell had replied in kind dealing out as good as he could get on the battlefield
He turned, glared at the stocky man, his hands in the pockets of his shorts. The man was a buffoon, he often gave the impression he was arranging his crotch through his pockets, constantly furtively fondling himself. For a man in his forties to do that, he found pathetic.
“I didn’t know we were going to the circus,” he said conversationally. Caldwell’s ginger brow furrowed for a moment, Theo felt thoroughly annoyed at his stupid face. His pointed little mouth sounded the word ‘circus’ silently before Theo felt the need to put him out of his misery. “Explains why they’re letting clowns like you on this ship.”
“Clown? Me?” Caldwell sounded mock-insulted. It was the one part of his personality that grated more than anything else, the man couldn’t take a hint. “Ah you’ve got to be messing with me. Always a funny guy, you Jamie.”
“Don’t call me Jamie,” Theo growled. Long ago he’d made the decision he wasn’t putting up with shit he didn’t like, a tribute to his bastard father, he’d smiled and been cheerful too, at least until they were alone. “Don’t you have someone else you could be bothering. Three hundred people on board and you’re here annoying me.”
That grin grew. Theo exhaled out sharply. Fury knotted in his stomach.
One…
“Cheer up, man. You know how many people would want to be here? Loads and loads. You’re being a right grump and…”
Two…
“… Well just lighten up. C’mon, have a drink with me and we’ll reminisce about the old days.”
Three… He clenched his hands into fists at his side. To physically bloody that fat nose would have been a pleasure, since he was always sticking it into people’s business. Besides, he’d hated the old days.
“You know, I fought you, you fought me, we won, we lost, we had a good time. Sure, I won a few more than you did but hey, you did respectable for someone who’s basically still a newbie at the whole thing.”
Four… Five… He was vaguely aware of his heart hammering, driving the blood against his ears.
“Maybe I don’t want to drink with you,” he said slowly. “You ever consider I want to be alone. Leave, or I’ll…”
He wanted to say I’ll make you. Yet at the same time, he knew it would be an idle threat. Nothing more. Despite that big friendly goofus look about him, Caldwell was a pretty solid individual and was more than likely to take a swing at him if he felt threatened. Not all of his bulk was fat, rumour had it he’d been a cattle wrangler in Premesoir earlier in his life.
“Ha, jokester,” Caldwell laughed, the bray of mirth scratching the sensitive areas of Theo’s brain. He clenched his fists together, tried to bite his tongue. He felt his nails digging deep into his palm, the sting taking his attention away from the urge to do something potentially stupid.
“Tell you what, how about a bout for old times’ sake. You’re looking a little worked up over something.”
Yeah, you. Theo rolled his eyes. No matter how many times he met him, and there’d been more than he’d like to remember, it felt like he came up with new and excruciating ways to piss him off. He knew he was better than Caldwell. Caldwell just didn’t know that was the case yet.
But he would.
He let a grin play over his face, imagining it to be the sort a shark possesses before it bites down. It felt uncomfortable, awkward even. Still if Caldwell noticed something off about it, he didn’t show it.
“You know, you might just be right,” he said. “It’s been a long few days. So how about we fight. If I win…” He wanted to say piss off and leave me alone. He amended it very quickly. “… you leave me alone to enjoy the cruise in peace. I’m a tired man and I want to relax.”
Caldwell nodded. “Hey, I can agree with that. You’re looking a bit peaked. Sure, why not. Always do a favour for a friend. If you win, have a drink with me, yeah? On you.”
That sent a fresh new wave of ire through him. Yeah, if he wanted friends, it’d be really someone like this guy.
Over on the makeshift field, the two contestants were just leaving, the crimson chimp victorious. To the side of it, a placard had been hung up outlining the rules of use. Theo glanced at it only briefly. Seemed standard. Don’t go all out to the point of damaging the ship, don’t disturb other passengers, all that shit. Lot of it common sense. Nobody wanted the boat to sink underneath them because of an overenthusiastic spirit caller trying too hard to win a pointless bout.
Caldwell made a big point of reading them, nodding as he went down individual lines, Theo amazed the bigger man didn’t have to follow it with his finger to keep his place, as he stood tapping his foot impatiently before finally the other caller straightened up.
“Okay, let’s get this on.”
They’d stepped out onto the field, Theo giving his opponent the stare, Caldwell either too stupid or too oblivious to realise the anger directed at him, and the barrier had been raised. It wasn’t a physical barrier, rather an energy bubble designed to stop the crowd being harmed by any elemental attacks being flung around. On a field like this, it was unlikely it was on the strength level at top stadiums, but it’d probably still stop anything short of a fully powered uniblast.
“So, after you, friend,” Caldwell smiled, giving h
is opponent a little bow. Theo didn’t respond, instead locking a crystal into his summoner and giving birth to his choice.
“Atlas!” he roared, the spirit erupting out of the device to materialise amidst the makeshift battlefield. People swiftly moved back as the giant creature became solid, letting out a roar as he, like Theo, glared at Caldwell. Giant stubby toed feet crushed down into the wood, splintering it into pieces as Atlas took up a battle stance. Those giant feet snaked up into four squat legs, each growing out of an armoured body not unlike a turtle’s. Of course, normally turtles didn’t grow eight feet tall and have small shrubs growing from the tops of their shells. Large spikes weren’t normally seen about breeds like this, they’d been an aesthetic choice he was proud of. And they were sharp. Theo could testify to that. He still had the scar on his finger where he’d tested for himself.
Atlas’ tail was long and heavy, tipped with a lump of bone that greatly resembled a hefty club. The face at the other end was quite small in comparison, pointed like a triangle, the mouth beaked and the eyes dull and colourless. The creature was an anklo, a forest dweller found mainly in Serran and Burykia where plenty of forests remained. He’d had it a long time, right since the start although many years of modification had left it unrecognisable from what it once had been.
“Dang, that got big,” Caldwell quipped. “Ah, right, come on Thraxis, let’s show him what we got.”
Caldwell’s spirit appeared, a giant black equine stood proud on four large hooves the size of plates, the beast letting out a huge proud snort as it kicked at the floor. About the only thing setting it aside from any other horses in the world was the flickering fires that lit up its mane and tail. Theo could feel the heat from it over where he stood.
“Fire won’t save you here,” Theo said softly. His voice glittered with malice as he considered their surroundings. “All this wood, sure would burn nicely, I imagine.” He folded his arms, glanced at Atlas and nodded. He could see the way it’d play out already. Fire and speed against something slow and armoured. The plants on Atlas’ back might be in danger from the flames but he wasn’t too worried. Worrying was for amateurs. “Ready when you are.”
