by Adam Drake
Any communication with her would be packed with filtered words. I decided to not give her the pleasure of swearing at me ever again.
Instead of accepting the chat, I dismissed it. Then I went into my chat settings and placed Amara Frostwalker on my Blocked Players list. Now she'd no longer have the ability to communicate with me in any way.
There, I thought. Defeated again.
With a laugh, I entered the ruined castle.
There, sitting upon an ancient throne, was a dark figure. My quest giver. Above his head was a name tile. Togish the Sullied.
“You have returned,” said Togish as he watched me approach. “I am... surprised.”
I stood before Togish and bowed my head slightly. “I did not want to disappoint you, oh great one.”
Hey, I might not be the best role-player in the game, but it didn't stop me from trying.
Togish nodded. He was clad in burnt armor which had been melted to his blackened skin. According to lore Togish died in this very castle by dragon fire. Dragons sent by Y'Godda.
“I see you have the banner.”
“Yes, great one.”
He held out a blackened hand, with burnt flesh hanging from its fingers.
I presented the banner to Togish and the undead king snatched it from my hands.
Quest Completed: Y'Godda Be Kidding Me
You have returned the Lost Banner of Y'Godda to Togish the Sullied. Please take your quest reward.
Togish grinned at the banner, his melted lips making the expression ghoulish. “Very good, adventurer. It has been a long time coming. With this, I am now one step closer to conquering the Realm of the Dead.”
Uh-huh, I thought. Good luck with that, buddy. Just gimme my dang reward!
I kept my mouth shut and my head bowed.
Togish placed the banner onto a skeletal altar almost identical to the ones from the Battle Field. A bony hand grabbed the wooden handle.
Immediately, the banner's brightness faded and dulled to nothing. The magical wind that kept its banner flowing stopped as if whatever essence had been inside it died.
“And now for your reward,” Togish said, drawing my attention away from the sad-looking banner.
He held out a burnt hand which gripped a quest scroll.
Bowing my head again in a gesture of thanks, I carefully took the scroll into my possession.
Togish looked down at me. I tried not to stare at the hole in the middle of his face where his nose used to be. “You will find this particular quest... difficult. I know of no one who have survived its trials.”
Neither had I, which made me all the more excited to finally have the chance to take a crack at it.
“I will endeavor to do my best, great one.”
“If you do obtain its reward, see me again. We may have further business to do together.”
I bowed one last time and backed away. Looking up I saw that Togish had turned from me, forgotten. He stared at the limp banner, nodding with satisfaction.
Hastily, I left the destroyed castle and got back on Smoke. Turning him to the path we made our way back to the travel gate.
I was happy beyond words. In my hands I had the quest. Not any old quest, but the quest. Its final reward was the single most sought after item for players of my class.
And I was determined to be the very first to complete it.
As I moved along the path to take my leave of this dead realm, my mind was no longer on banners or Battle Fields or even Amara.
I became consumed with the quest contained in the scroll:
The Quest for the Shadow Blade.
END.
Watch for the next Shadow For Hire title:
Shadow Blade
BONUS BOOK
The Big Bag Of Infinite Cats
An ancient weapon versus a magical bag of cats.
When a strange case of a detective being turned to stone baffles local police, retired investigator Mayra Beeweather is asked to assist. One of her tools of the trade is a magical bag which contains an infinite number of cats. Very special cats – each with a unique ability to aid in her investigation.
Yet, even with their help, Mayra may not solve the case in time, for she may be the next victim turned to stone!
CHAPTER ONE
I sat on my favorite park bench, perusing the newspaper when someone said, “Excuse me, Miss Beeweather, but might you help me, please?”
Bleary-eyed from reading small print, I looked up at the speaker, and squinted against the morning sun. “Beg pardon?” I said.
It was Penny, a frazzled looking red headed woman, who stood before me on the cobblestone path. She looked concerned, hands rubbing together like frightened animals. “I'm afraid it's my son, Newlin, miss,” Penny said. “He's got himself stuck up that tree.”
I looked where she pointed.
Sure enough, at the edge of the glade, high up a thick oak, a small red headed boy straddled a branch. He clung to the trunk with both arms for dear life. He looked as frazzled as his mother.
Now, to a casual observer it might strike them as odd to ask for help in this endeavor from someone of my advanced years. Especially when a fair amount of climbing would be involved. But supposed limits of old age has nothing on ability.
“Well,” I said, “He's good and stuck, now, isn't he?” I assessed the situation. “It appears he has made it up quite high, indeed.”
“Yes, miss,” Penny said, quick to agree.
“An ambitious little fellow,” I said, and stood. Various creaks and pops betrayed my bones with the effort. I put the newspaper down on the bench and shouldered my satchel with care. “Well, let's see if help is in the offering, shall we?”
Happy, Penny nodded and we walked over to the base of the great oak. On closer inspection I saw the child, his eyes red with tears, scrapes on his arms and elbows.
“Are you okay, lad?” I called up to him.
“Y-yes ma'am,” the little boy sputtered.
I squinted at him. “Now why would a smart little boy like yourself do something so silly as get stuck up a tree?”
The little boy scrunched his face with concern. This appeared to be more than a random adventure which resulted in his getting stuck.
I frowned a little, more for emphasis than anything close to anger. “You wouldn't have done this on purpose now? You saw me sitting over there and thought being saved might be fun?”
Penny held up her hands in alarm. “Oh, no Miss Beeweather. My lad wouldn't do such a thing. He likes exploring, is all. Like Kadmik the Adventurer.”
“I like Kadmik,” Newlin said.
I arched a suspicious brow at the two of them. “When Kadmik went exploring,” I said, “he had an army at his side. Accompanied by your own legion of soldiers helps when you're stuck up a tree.” I rummaged through my satchel.
“Kadmik tamed beasts and was the friend to giants!” the boy declared.
“Yes, yes,” I said, feeling annoyed to hear distorted myths from a child. “I'm sure that's the version taught to you. Ah, here we are.” I pulled out a tall knitting bag and set it on the ground.
I sensed the eyes of the woman and child on it, eager to see what happens next.
The knitting bag always got people's attention. Preceded by its reputation it had become an attraction. I wondered if I should charge a fee each time I brought it out. At least that would help pay for morning newspapers.
The top opening of the knitting bag was closed with a knobbed clasp. Much to my relief the clasp was brass. If it were wooden, there would be no rescue. At least not by me. The bag's fabric was of a dull gray wool embroidery, with no obvious design, and gave no hints as to its actual contents.
Suffice to mention this bag was not meant for knitting.
As I reached forward, I glanced at Penny and Newlin. Anticipation created wide eyed masks of their faces.
Fine, a copper piece each, I decided, and touched the clasp.
With only a light tap the clasp snapped un
done. Unaided, the knitting bag opened wide.
I have to admit. No matter how many times I've done this throughout the years, I still get excited at opening it. The hairs on my arms stood up on end.
The bag wiggled as if alive. In moments, the shaking intensified. Something was trying to climb out.
Then, from within, a small furry head emerged. The head turned, surveying the outside surroundings, and settled on me. A gorgeous white cat matched my wide-eyed gaze.
“Hello, there,” I said. I did not move, nor made any effort to approach or touch this new arrival. I knew from experience there might be unwanted results.
“It's a cat, ma!” cried the boy.
“Hold still,” Penny said. She looked at the cat with apprehension. Frightened, even. An almost universal reaction by most.
“Help,” I said to the cat and pointed toward the little boy.
The cat looked from me and up at Newlin. It blinked several times. Its irises appeared composed of brightly colored rainbows with countless hues. Its thick fur was as white as the first winter snow.
As if finally deciding what to do, the cat hopped out of the bag. It paused, sat back on hind legs, and proceeded to clean a forepaw.
It had been several months since I'd seen a white cat emerge from the bag. I could not tell if this was the same one as that time. There was no way to be certain by quick observation.
But what this cat did would set it apart from any another.
I felt a strong sense of pride looking at it. A different cat with almost every summoning. All the same indefinable breed, but of varying colors. Each unique in their own way. An infinite number of them. And all a welcome sight.
“Is it going to save me now?” Newlin asked, his voice tinged with worry.
“Hush, now, child,” I said. “Give her a moment.”
Once the cat finished cleaning itself, it got down to business. With an almost imperious saunter, it strolled over to the tree and stopped right below the boy. It peered up at him. The distance that separated the two was twenty spans or more. If this did not work then a call to the fire department would be needed.
As we all stood by with bated breath the cat tensed up as if ready to pounce. Its focus never wavered from the boy.
Then, the cat vanished with an audible pop.
Penny gasped, hands to her mouth.
My heart beat quickened, and up I looked.
The cat now sat on the tree branch, next to the little boy. It had somehow travelled the distance from the ground in an instant. Faster than a blink.
The boy craned his neck around to look at the cat with wide-eyed apprehension.
I said, “It's okay, child. She's going to help you.”
The cat stood up and brushed against the boy. Even from a distance its purr could be heard.
“Is it going to -,” Newlin said and both he and the cat were suddenly gone.
At that same moment, with another loud pop, both cat and child appeared on the ground, safe.
Penny gasped with relief, but when she rushed over to her child, she froze, uncertain what to do. The cat sat in the boy's lap rubbing against him.
Newlin giggled and stroked the creature's fur.
As if deciding its job finished the cat jumped onto the grass and walked away.
Penny joined her child and scooped him into her arms. “Don't you ever do that again, young man! What would we have done if Miss Beeweather had not been here?”
I doubted any trees would have been climbed without my presence. Yet, with the child safe now, it didn't matter.
I watched the beautiful white cat trot across the ground straight back to the knitting bag. And, without a glance back at any of us, it leapt into the bag's opening and was gone in an instant. The opening closed on its own, and the clasp snapped shut. Now, instead of brass, the clasp was of a polished wood.
I exhaled my breath. Astounding. Simply astounding. Anytime I needed to open the bag was a moment an old woman like me looked forward too.
Penny held the boy tight and kissed him. “Thank you so much, Miss Beeweather. I apologize for bothering you.”
With a curt nod I put the knitting bag back into the satchel and walked back to my seat. I hoped my manner indicated a repeat of this child's escapade would not be tolerated. But noticing how Newlin's eyes followed the satchel, I suspected he would be in need of aid again.
I returned to the bench and grabbed up my newspaper intent on resuming my morning read.
Movement caught my eye.
A uniformed policeman walked up the path toward me and I instantly recognized him. Constable Fairfax. His bushy walrus mustache could make him identifiable even from a thousand paces. From his somber expression I knew this morning's distractions would be amplified.
“Good morning, Miss Beeweather,” said Fairfax and tipped his cap as he approached to stand before me, his voice deep and somber.
“Good morning, Constable,” I said. “Did you, by chance, bring me any biscuits?”
“Beg pardon, ma'am?”
“Biscuits? I have a strong craving for them this morning.”
“I'm afraid not,” Fairfax said, looking uncertain. “My apologies.”
“Then I take it this interruption is not a social call?”
“No ma'am, it is not.” The constable cleared his throat. “The Chief Constable is requesting your assistance on a matter.”
“I see,” I said. “What is it this time?” Assisting the Chief Constable had become a more frequent event than helping adventurous little boys. In many ways, they were almost one and the same.
“There has been a murder,” Fairfax said. He delivered this line as if describing the cloudy weather.
I sighed and fingered my neglected newspaper. “I am retired, Constable.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Murder falls well under the purview of Detective Constable Radley Oswall. And he will not be retiring for many years. Am I correct?”
“Yes, ma'am. But - “ Fairfax said before I interrupted him.
I said, “Is Oswall on vacation, perhaps? Or did he fall deep into his cups again?” I felt my annoyance growing. Oswall was a good detective but his vices had become greater than his sense of duty.
Fairfax's expression rippled with emotion. A rare and unusual event given his perpetual dourness.
This got my attention. “Fairfax,” I said, concerned now. “What is it?”
“That's the thing ma'am,” Fairfax managed. “It's Detective Oswall who was murdered.”
CHAPTER TWO
We walked through the park to the spot on the road where Fairfax had parked his buggy. The vehicle was a sad looking contraption with dents and scrapes along its paneling, and little cracks in the windows. I plunked myself into the passenger seat which squeaked and rattled.
“It's the only vehicle issue available,” Fairfax said by way of apology as he got behind the wheel.
“Has any new ones been issued to the Constabulary since I left?” I asked. The town council, notoriously stingy when it came to budgeting, seemed to make it a point that the Protection and Investigation services always suffered the most when it came to financing.
“No,” Fairfax said, and frowned. The motion caused his thick mustache to bristle like an agitated porcupine. “Nothing.”
I was stunned. “All these years?”
His embarrassed silence was answer enough.
I huffed, but did not prod. The political fighting between the town council and the impoverished police force was now legendary. Even throughout my tenure it never reached a point of resolve.
I shook my head. Why should this matter to me now? I'm retired.
Fairfax tried to start the buggy, but it refused to cooperate. After a few tries, and some grumbling from Fairfax, it sputtered to life. We pulled out into the street and drove toward the edge of town.
Through the passenger window I watched the trees of the park zip past. I did not want to be in this situation. Not again. But Oswall w
as dead...
“Tell me more, please,” I said. “Where was he found?”
Eyes on the road, Fairfax said, “Under a bridge along Muddy Way. A couple found him early this morning.”
