One shelf left. Had another box like the one holding the Elven Blade. I opened it. Dirt eyes got big. “Holy fuckballs,” I mouthed, because pushing air through my throat to form actual words seemed too complicated. I patted at my pockets until I found my Anima Detection Lenses, barely managing to slide them on without dropping them. My hands were shaking. Adrenaline spiked.
“Holy fuckballs!” I finally said aloud.
Right there . . . was another World-Breaker.
Sapphire.
Only, it was in about twenty pieces.
Which is still so fucking awesome!
First time in my life, but I think I just went one-hundred and eleven percent fanboy. Know my arms pumped in excitement, my heart sped up, and . . . hey, Prince Henry, you a little hard down there?
Sure am, boss! World-Breaker, woohoo!
Might even be better than a working one. Then it would be just like studying the Jinshin Ken, so much anima folded so tightly it was indecipherable. This . . . had its legs spread wide to let me see the promised land. Was on a plastic slab, sapphire pieces glued into place how some ancient Guild Master decided they should go together, only spaced enough so you could still see the inner workings. It was . . .
Wow.
“Yup, I’m geeking out worse than T-Bone did that time I gave him advanced tickets to the stupid young Han Solo movie,” I realized. “And I’m talking to myself, I don’t talk to myself like this. I’m higher than Val is on sleeping pills.”
Wow.
Holy fuckballs.
Wow.
“Fucking work brain!” I tried to order it.
Maybe I could make a fake that would fool Paine now.
Make a damn better imitation than I could’ve five seconds ago.
A World-Breaker like this and it’s sapphire, so that means, what? “Hydro-anima?” I guessed.
I pulled it all the way out, the slab dropping into my lap as I sat cross-legged on the floor. No, no, no, the fucker who glued this together got some of the pieces wrong. Still . . . the fact that I could tell that was amazing. It’s not one artifact, it’s got a core and a framework and . . . wait a fucking minute, are there controls sticking out from the center of it?
Yes.
Yes there were.
There were fucking controls.
There.
Were.
Fucking.
Controls.
Jutting inward from the edge at certain sections of the artifact so as to not take up space you would need for the extra utilities like storage or whatever security functions it had, but . . . controls. World-Breakers had control points.
I pulled mine out.
My World-Breaker, not Prince Henry.
Come on, boss! We’ll find a spot where Massey can’t miss the mess!
No! Work. Artifact. Amazing.
Can’t. Think. In. More. Than. One. Word. So. Excited.
Let’s hope this ain’t some self destruct switch or Suze is gonna have to rescue herself.
I pushed a bit of geo-anima from my thumb into the spot I thought the control would most likely be. Missed on my first try. Second try, still nothing. Flipped the Jinshin Ken around, rotated it. Eventually I found it on Attempt Number Six. When I hit that sweet spot for a brief second, I felt it. A mechanism made of nothing but pure anima. Thirteen types. Gears. Screws. So beyond its time that I knew it came from a higher point in civilization now lost to us.
Atlas.
Humans. Vampires. Dragons. Fairies. All the elemental races. One world that revolved around one city.
Thought the World-Breaker was astounding and out of my league before, now I couldn’t imagine a human making the thing.
Ever.
Every piece of it was pure anima. While the jade stayed solid through the artifact, it was just a core to hold a power without form. I felt the cogs and gears especially, but also imagined pools and reserves and maybe even circuit boards somewhere inside of there. All of it led towards an anima switch right near my thumb.
Hold on to your coot coot, ladies.
Gentlemen . . . why I need to tell you to grab your dicks? Knowing you perverts you’ve been scratching your balls for the last half hour.
Down I pulled on the switch.
The gears and levers and all those simple, sub-atomic, magical machines moved.
And . . .
“Holy fuckballs,” I whispered again. “I think I just turned it off.”
It was stuck on all this time. Hundreds of years. Slowly sucking up nature anima the whole time. Some dumbass clicked it on, died without turning it off, and no one on the planet knew how to go about controlling it any more.
Until now.
No sucky sucky.
I quirked an eyebrow at if waiting for it to explode or shatter into dust or something else to match the way the last half of this week had turned out for me.
Nothing.
Silence.
No earthquake.
Ever again.
Unless I wanted one.
“Wish I had more time to play with you, baby,” I told it. “Really hoping I survive the next couple days just so I can figure out the rest of what you do. But, your ugly twin sister won’t make herself, will she? Then, you and me gonna rumble with the Curator and save Susan. Don’t worry, you’re all daddy’s. He won’t let the bad man make ya do bad things. No he won’t. You’re mine.”
Entirely possible I still haven’t gotten enough sleep.
Reluctantly, I returned the hydro-anima World-Breaker to the safe, even if there was no safe door to lock it in with. Good. This way even if I died Massey would know. Know he’d been had the whole time. Just like he used me to keep his position, just like he robbed me of the Elven Blade behind my back. Don’t get my chance to beat him in court, might as well piss on the floor and mark my territory.
Good, but maybe not enough . . .
In-Between trip from London to Fresno, coming up.
But, first . . . every tourist trip deserves a souvenir.
Me?
Well, got my dagger back.
So . . . how about I take a matching sword?
Session 71
Waking up the second time was easier.
Second time is always easier than the first.
Lot less messy too. Know which hole to put it in as it were. Wait, what were we talking about? Right, right, serious moment. Let me put the cock jokes back in their jar . . . yes, yes, I have a jar of cock jokes. Not nearly as useful as a jar of actual cocks, but what you gonna do?
.
.
.
Yeah, I’m gonna start over.
[CLICK]
Waking up the second time was easier.
Second time is always easier than the first.
Still didn’t wake up like a normal person. Nothing normal about this week, especially me. Especially after Athir got through with my ass. Now it’s Catherine Hayes and not Welf I’m seeing, what kind of bad mind mojo did Athir give to me? Pretty sure I talked to him too. Or . . . whatever was left of him in my mind. What’s that? No, no, not talking to you, talking to the voices in my head. Why you looking at me funny, motherfucker? Ain’t like the voices telling me to kill you, is it?
Looked pretty funny waking up that second time, even if it was more normal than the first. Headache still. Fair enough to compare it to a really bad hangover. Worse than the one I had when all this began that night of the wedding. Menti-anima . . . it’s like alcohol, except without all the fun parts of alcohol.
Still in the hospital gown, nothing but tightie whities underneath it all. Had a drip tube stuck in my arm, wouldn’t want me to get dehydrated while my mind had itself a civil war or two. Ironman fighting Captain America a whole lot less fun when your skull is the battleground, let me tell ya. Said battle felt over at least. No more explosions, just craters in my psyche.
Battle of King Henry’s Cranium.
Make sure you dodge the repression and the obsession.
Pyrr
hic victory for the winning side, since starting the battle was his last act on this world. Pyrrhic victory because the survivor wasn’t quite sure what all the fighting had been about. First Welf. Then Catherine. No wonder this menti-anima shit ain’t allowed as evidence. Ain’t hard to confuse my ass, but consider me way beyond reasonable doubt in just about every direction.
Splat.
Yank.
Crush.
Why kill Athir? Who would kill Athir? Welf having a conversation like that with Athir was unbelievable but possible. In the same class like I am and they both grew up rich, even if Athir is the wrong kind of Not-Old-Mancy-Rich. The Catherine thing . . . beyond unbelievable. Fucking preposterous. Not happening.
So . . . something else happened.
Not like I had long to sit there and think about it all. Even with my half-assed, Swiss-cheese of a brain. Easy to blame myself looking back for not figuring it out earlier. Maybe even easy for you to figure it out, kiddies. Story of a million little failures after all. Story of both the people in power and the powerless looking all the wrong ways.
Only a few were starting to look the right way.
Murder all three.
Splat.
Yank.
Crush.
One of the nurses got me a cup of water once they noticed I was conscious. Feeling better by the minute. Headache had also forced the pain to focus on my head and less on the rest of my body. Miss Strange came by to check me, looking more haggard than she usually did.
“School still standing?” I croaked. “Or they build barricades and go Lord of the Flies already? Gonna be pissed if I missed it.”
She examined me, perhaps a bit more delicately than she usually did. Even got a splash of hydro-anima directly by conjuration, which was something hydromancer doctors usually used sparingly. Felt like being dunked in water. Least it wasn’t hot water. Did my own exam as well, feeling my body to test for any lasting damage. Nope, no lasting damage, just what’s already there. Might have had something down near the jiggly bits at one point in the night, but for now I was catheter free. There’s a small miracle every man deserves to wake up free from. Call it my personal motto. House Price: At Least There’s Nothing Up Our Dicks.
Nah, think I’ll stick with Kick ‘Em in the Balls.
Strange did let one of the nurses lead me to the bathroom. Door open. Cuz medical workers just don’t give a shit about privacy. Long as you ain’t dying, then they’re winning. This TMI? Yeah, just a little. The part most of these stories skip over. Why I like to put a little bit of it in there. All those people you ever heard about? They shit and piss same as you do.
My bladder relieved, Strange made me return to my hospital bed before performing another look-see. Was very early in the morning. Only had a clock to go by. 6AM. No windows in Infirmary since it’s smack in the middle of Admin. Big building. Lots of rooms.
“I’m feeling okay, really,” I told her.
Strange grunted while studying my eyes for a concussion, just like she had the other day. Suppose concussion ain’t actually what she’s looking for, but it’s the same organ she’s worried about. Once she finished, no comment was made on my progress, but she did tell me that the school was as fine as could be expected. “Class is cancelled. Movement is restricted outside of meal time. Root restarted his investigation by having a wonderful little, middle-of-the-night inquisition with every student this school has labeled as At Risk, of course unconcerned about what such stringent questioning might do to a mentally troubled student with early signs of PAM.”
“PAM?”
“Progressive Anima Madness.”
“There’s . . . different kinds?”
“Very much so.”
“Which one is the bad kind?”
“They’re all bad,” she said seriously. “It’s why I’ve always advocated for a health class or at least a club at this school. But the Learning Council is too worried it might make the students paranoid, too informed and looking for the signs on their own.”
“Abstinence is obviously the only way,” I deadpanned some relative sarcasm. “Me, I never have sex.”
Strange glared at me a little bit, some of her uncharacteristic sympathy fading away. “Then how did you spread pubic lice to half the school?”
“Technically it was only a quarter, Naomi had the other twenty-five percent, and I have apologized for not getting that treated plenty of times,” I tried to dodge the bullet I just stepped in the path of.
Failure, as Strange’s glare deepened. “It’s in all of us,” she eventually said, not talking about the lice I’m pretty sure . . . hope not, cuz . . . gross. “You should all be prepared. Know the signs as it were. It might have prevented this . . .”
“Maybe,” I agreed even if I had no clue one way or the other over whether classes on Anima Madness would’ve done any good.
Might have. Couldn’t have hurt. Another mistake among the millions.
But if we’re more vigilant about knowing the difference between Dormant or Progressive or Dominant-Subverting or Converted Anima Madness . . . what could we do about it? Too big a problem for mere students to worry about. Like asking kindergarteners to fix Climate Change. Throw yourself on the gears of the oil refinery, Timmy! Atta boy! Go murder a few thousand cows and stop their farts, Emily!
Kids can’t fix it.
Too impossible.
Might be too impossible for me. Guess we’ll see, but no tapes to cover my future is there? Just my time at school. Always said Mom was my main motivation, but there’s more of course. People . . . only species on the planet that can be simple and complex at the same damn time. Mom, yeah, she was a big part in my decision, but what happened with Athir and Leo and Scott and . . . what’s about to happen . . . yeah, I seen the demon in us all.
Demon I want to stamp out.
One day . . .
Not that morning in the Infirmary though.
There I just wanted my headache to stop.
Wanted to figure out Athir’s meaning with all those nightmares.
Wanted to stop whoever was responsible for the Splat, the Yank, and the Crush.
Only, I wasn’t in any condition to do it myself.
Would need help.
Need to get out of here first.
“Don’t suppose I get to go back to my room, do I?” I tried to add some sugar into my voice.
Failure again as Strange’s eyes told me all about the shit they smelled wafting off me. “No.”
“Come on, you don’t want to put up with me any more than I want to have to put up with you, Doc. I mean, I’m behaving right now, but if—”
She interrupted fiercely before I could even get started with a list of my possible transgressions. “You have two options Price: shut up, be good, and get breakfast that includes bacon. Or keep talking and I stuff a feeding tube down your throat.”
Damn.
Didn’t realize how hungry I felt until she mentioned bacon.
[CLICK]
After I was finished with breakfast, I finally got my own slice of the Root Inquisition.
Turned out to be a pretty small slice.
Might have been a busy night for him, but he was still in his suit, still impeccably dressed and groomed. Couldn’t help but imagine the man working at his desk while his Constructs did all the clothes changing and shaving for him, Root still focused on whatever task he set out to accomplish. Even as frustrated as I got him with that staff theft in Single, he was rarely anything but impeccable. Root’s frustration was the silently seething kind. Unlike Welf, he never passed the threshold into striking back.
Was all mental with Root.
Long as it was the right kind of mental.
Whatever’s opposite of insanity, I guess. Don’t look much prettier to me, but at least he ain’t frothing at the mouth, I thought. Instead it was just an expression that spoke of your wrongs, your insignificance, your failure in accepting the social order, most of all: your failure by putting yourself befo
re the social order. HMS Asylum sinking all around the man, women and children boarding the lifeboats and he’s still tipping the band to keep playing.
Ceinwyn came with. She showed no sign of exhaustion, but she did show signs of extra alertness, that on-edge, fight-or-flight response where she needed to grasp at her something-extra to keep going. “King Henry,” she greeted, clearly happy to see me alive. “This is what happens to people who don’t listen to me about not getting involved. Next time you’ll stay in the kitchen, won’t you?”
“Sure thing, Miss Dale,” I managed to croak. Still felt tired. Still had a sore throat. Still had a headache. Still hungry despite the breakfast. Hydro-anima is magic, but magic ain’t ever gonna be a substitute for real food. “I’ll just leave it up to you grown-ups.”
Would I actually?
Probably not.
Shit . . . knowing where this here tale is heading on an out of control freight train . . . NOPE.
Dumbass gonna dumbass, what can I say?
Root took in the sight of me with no visible relief. Don’t think he had any feelings on students dying for the students themselves, but each extra death signaled his failure at solving the mystery quickly enough. Wish I could blame it all on his failure, but wasn’t like the King Henry Inquisition was batting much better. At least Root could still stand on his own and didn’t have a nurse watch him take a piss half an hour ago.
No Constructs of course. Miss Strange would never allow them in the Infirmary. Faunamancers knew better than to bring in pets too. Think she even chewed out a kid for bringing some floromancer’s favorite houseplant. Even pooling in the Infirmary could get you into trouble if she caught you. Strange might not be Vicky Welf, but she’s damn sensitive when it came to anima. Ninety-ninth percentile for sure. Mean you need to pool before you head inside, especially if you’re planning on using your anima to steal something . . .
“Mr. Price,” Root greeted coldly, “let us preface our conversation by making it clear I do not believe you will provide any assistance to me. Before you spring to your own self defense, also understand that when it comes to these matters I take the word of Paul Nixon as truth and do not believe you played a part in Mr. Al-Qasimi’s demise. What I do take offense from is being ordered away from my investigation at such a critical time to hear what will no doubt be ramblings caused by mentimancer foolishness. I take offense to the fact that your meddling continues to distract me and I will take the greatest offense if you attempt to waste my time further. So . . . what information is inside that muddled brain of yours? How useless will you be?”
The Pit of No Return (The King Henry Tapes Book 6) Page 58
