Lebret readied his sword. “Professor. Stand seven paces behind me and shout your challenge when I give the word.”
I took my place but protested. “The phrase is too long—”
“I will buy you time,” Lebret said. He pushed the rowboat back into the water against Carmouche’s protests.
Goddesses, he intended to sacrifice himself. I now understood his confession. He wanted atonement.
Carmouche realized Lebret’s intent at the same time I did. “No, Inspector, let me!” Carmouche said.
“No, Carmouche, you have a bright future ahead of you,” Lebret shouted. “Now, Professor!”
The sphinx was upon us.
I cried out the words of the challenge in ancient Aigyptian as the beast clawed at Lebret, knocking his blade aside like it was straw. “Great Sphinx! By the Sacred Sun—”
Weaponless, Lebret pounded the creature with his bare fists, to no avail. The man-faced sphinx grinned, revealing lion-like teeth of stone.
“—of Two Horizons, calm and hear—”
The sphinx sunk its fossil teeth into Lebret’s right arm. Lebret cried out in pain.
“—my Answer to your Riddle of Blood!” I shouted.
Hearing the challenge, the Sphinx froze, Lebret still in its jaws. It did not give its riddle as I expected. Why?
Precious seconds passed before I realized it couldn’t speak. It was clay and bone, and golems had no voice.
Counting wasted time, I had four breaths left to live. I started giving my solution to its riddle of blood in halting Ancient Aigyptian, revealing how Alain Bertho killed Deniel Fabius.
At the end of my answer, the jaws of the sphinx went slack, releasing Lebret. With its riddle of blood solved, the spirit had been banished from its bones. Small waves lapped at the silent, now unmoving clay figure.
“Inspector!” Carmouche cried and jumped out of the boat, wading through the water towards us.
I reached Lebret first, kneeling to examine his wounds. The sphinx had greatly devastated his arm, and he was bleeding badly. I tore off my shirt and tied it high on his arm to stanch the flow of blood as best I could.
“Thank you, Professor,” Lebret said, his voice weak. “You saved Ys.”
“Carmouche will carry you back, Inspector,” I comforted him. “You’ll pull through this.”
“Perhaps,” Lebret said. “I was right. Confession is good for the soul.”
He smiled and closed his eyes.
Carmouche lifted the Inspector into his arms and hurried towards shore, leaving me alone with the clay sphinx. The beast would have to be disassembled, of course, either by innocent hands or by the rain and the waves. I made a note to telegraph the Lyonesse Museum and recommend that they reconsider their plans for an exhibition of androsphinx fossils.
I glanced at Alain Bertho, head buried in hands in the rowboat, and wondered what he regretted most: losing his wife, his masterpiece, or his freedom?
As for Lebret? Once again he did what he must to save the city, proving he truly deserved the epithet Hero of Ys. I only hoped he lived and learned to accept it.
A Bird in the Hand
Queenie Tirone
I knew I had their undivided attention the moment I dropped the swanky red feather on the table. It shimmered with its own glow in the dark room, lighting the joint up. The man known as Mr. Xang glanced down at it now, inspecting it with his gaze. He didn’t dare touch it. He didn’t even dare make any suggestions of what he was thinking.
He looked up at me now, his emerald slanted eyes shrinking into deeper slits,
“You have one chance to live, Mage,” he said coldly, as the guards who stood on either side of him folded their arms, “Tell me about the Fenghuang.”
I had felt the breath in my lungs heave as soon as the feather was away from my hand. I tried to reach for it again, but Mr. Xang pulled it closer to him and watched me. He knew I was in pain. He could probably sense the spell that was slowly killing me too.
He was an elf after all. Their kind is magic personified.
“Please,” I pleaded, knowing full well I wouldn’t finish the conversation without that feather. And Mr. Xang knew it, too. He slid the feather towards me.
“If it makes you useful, you may have it.”
I took the feather and held it to my chest. It began to work almost instantly, “We have a mutual enemy, Mr. Xang. He has something I want, and I know for a fact he has something you want. And there isn’t much time. Let me explain . . .”
So, the day it happened, this dame walks through my door. Her hair was like firecrackers it was so red, and her eyes, perfectly cut sapphires that grabbed you by the collar and demanded your attention. It made me wonder why a high-class fairy like her would hire a bum like me.
I hadn’t had a job in months. In fact, when she came sauntering through the door, I was napping. She must have used magic to get in, because the door was ten times her size. Fairies only stand about five inches tall at most. I had the art of napping down to a science. My feet were propped up on my desk, keeping me perfectly balanced as I leaned back in my chair. I’m sure she was pleased to watch me like that. I could picture her taking five minutes to watch my napping. Maybe she even heard my gentle snores and giggled. Dames like to laugh at schmoes like me.
She fluttered above me and touched me gently on the shoulder with a few taps from her feet. Though I appreciated the effort to not startle me, it happened anyway. I fell backwards and even lost one of my shoes in the process. At least my loafer didn’t knock her in the face or anything. That would have been a great first impression.
So I clean myself up, brushing my hair back and dusting off my pant legs. She’s watching me the whole time with an amused expression. I’m glad one of us was happy. She sat down in the seat across from my desk (in a chair that’s way too big for her) as I picked my chair off the floor. My mouth tasted like gunpowder. As I smacked my tongue to the roof of my mouth, I saw the empty bottle of Jack Daniels and sighed.
“So, can I help you miss?” I say to the gal, but my voice sounds raspy. Like I’ve been sucking on a rusty pipe all night.
She loses the humor to her face, and places a picture in front of me. I take out my magnifying glass to get a better look. It’s an old fairy woman, her eyes alight and the same color of blue as the dame’s. Her hair is a silvery white color, and her wings look like they’ve seen better days. Other than that, she doesn’t look a day over twenty.
I look up from the picture as the doll starts telling me her sob story. It’s hard to listen to it when I’m losing myself in her voice. Fairies always have such gorgeous voices. They sound like sirens pulling you out to sea. But I still got the basic jist. Her grandmother had gone missing. She wanted me to find her.
You see, I do all sorts of jobs. I’ve solved murder cases, thefts and arsons, even caught some crooks who worked for the Orcish Mob. Never mess with an orc mobster. They may not count too well, but they always remember a face. But back to the dame. She’s explaining how sick her grandmother is, and how she doesn’t usually go out much anymore, so her being gone for three days is unusual. I’m trying not to fall asleep listening to her soothing voice, so I start to take notes to remind myself of what she said. When she’s finished talking, I fold the piece of paper and slip it into my pocket.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
You’d think it would be easy to find an older fairy lady in the 1920s, but it’s not. They’re rare, sure, rarer than elves, orcs, and dwarves, but when a fairy disappears it doesn’t send off smoke signals or anything. So I had my work cut out for me.
I started at the fairy grandmother’s home. The thing that’s most annoying about fairies’ houses is how small they are. Not only did this one live in a tiny doll house, the house was located inside her landlord’s home. So I had to charm an old bat-of-a-woman until she finally let me in. People can be picky about strange guys invading a gal’s house.
And I’m a strange-looking guy. The blue in m
y hair doesn’t make me the most subtle-looking human on the planet. Hence why I love my fedoras. When we got inside, it took me a few hours before I found anything useful. And I had to look through this stuff with a magnifying glass and tweezers. Amongst a pile of miniature notes, I found a business card the size of my thumb that struck my eye. It had a picture of a vibrant firebird in the right corner, and the name Zax the Magic Man in bright red letters.
Zax . . . I’d heard that name before. And when it finally dawned on me, I read the back of the card. It said, “Specializing in rare magics that can cure any illness.”
Bingo.
I’m sure Zax had some lead to where the fairy went.
I never liked snake oil salesmen. They’re slimy at best, and usually work under shady means. While magic is welcomed and encouraged, it is also kept under strict wraps. But some people make their own rules about who uses what magic and when. Some things don’t change, even if we think we are more civilized now than back in medieval times.
Anyhow, I called the address on the card. Not many go deep into the downtown core unless they are up to mischief. When I got to the door I was greeted by the sounds of a loud hacking cough, the guy sounded like he had choked on his lung.
Suddenly, a slot in the door no bigger than half a face slid open. Through the cutout, I saw two large red-rimmed eyes. The man’s forehead was dripping with sweat, and I watched as he smoothed back the stray strands of hair that barely covered the bald spot on his head.
He looked like a winner already.
“Hello,” the gruff voice said, peering at me through the cutout. His eyes scanned me up and down, then began scanning the road around me. “You’re alone, right?”
“Yeah,” I nodded, “You Zax?”
“Yeah, what’s it to ya? You looking for goods?”
For goods. I hate when they make magic sound like dope.
“Sure. The kind you advertised on your card.” I passed it to him through the grate, and he eyeballed it before handing it back to me. “What kind of goods you got?”
“Well, I got some nice naga scales from India. Still fresh. Um, some pixie dust from Ireland, And some tuatha juice from Scotland. Oh, and of course, I got phoenix tears from China. You looking to buy, pal?”
As he listed off the different magical beast bits, I felt my skin crawl under my shirt. I was hoping he didn’t kill any of those creatures to get those parts, but I wouldn’t be sure until I got to check him out.
“You know, I think I could use some of those tears you got,” I replied. I could hear him make a satisfied grunt behind the door.
“Excellent choice, my dear sir! I assume you will want to check out the goods?”
“Of course,” I said, sounding as eager as I could.
He took a few more looks around then slid shut the slot in the door.
“Well, come on then,” Zax said. He waved me in, then slammed the door shut behind me. I watched as he turned each deadbolt. I felt like we were being sealed into a vault.
This guy sure did his homework.
He had a vast collection of magical creatures, as well as rare mystical gems, plants, and other materials. This Joe had the sword of King Arthur! How he got his hands on it I can’t even begin to imagine! Jeez Louise!
But what really caught my interest was the way he took care of these goods. Excalibur was left point down into the dirty floor, leaning against a table with scattered magical gems sitting in broken bottles of dust and oils. The busted oil jar was dripping onto the sword itself! No telling what that oil was, or how it could change the properties of Excalibur.
But when I saw his treatment of the magical creatures, my heart sank into my stomach. He kept pixies in vials just big enough for them to lie down in. A chimera was curled in the corner of its steel and glass cell. It looked hungry, and one of its heads lifted to look at me as I passed it. It pleaded with me with its lion eyes and nearly broke my heart. I also found a naga chained and sealed in a cage no bigger than she was. Her shining snake tail barely fit in the cage at all and was pushed up against the side of the glass. When she saw me, she pressed both her hands to the window of her prison, and we exchanged glances. Despite the fact we were different species, we shared a common bond. We both looked tired, old, and like we were down on our luck.
I tapped the glass and heard the vibrations in it. Magic. A binding spell. I could let all these beasties free if all that was holding them were binding spells. Binding spells were my specialty. But this guy was good. I could hear there was something more. He had magics overlaying the binding spells, and didn’t seem to care about the rule that mixing different colors of magic is dangerous. He had red magic binding spells over black control spells, and those overlapped white drowsiness spells.
“Jeez . . .” I murmured out loud, but Zax was busying himself elsewhere.
“Hey, mister, you may want to see this.”
I followed the sound of Zax’s voice into a smaller room. It was curtained off with magical beads, and as I pulled the beads back I felt the spells woven into it.
The spells were to keep the phoenix calm.
It was a gorgeous bird. Eyes like molten lava, feathers the color of the sun itself. Sadly, I could tell its flame was being suppressed. Normally, it would have more than small sparks of fire coming off its body. The poor thing looked pained.
I also noticed a fairy grandmother petting the phoenix’s head. The same fairy grandmother I was looking for.
“Isn’t she a beauty? I milk the tears from the bird myself. It’s real easy to do once you know the trick. Wanna see?”
I wanted to say no. I wanted to stab him with Excalibur back there. I wanted this guy dead for hurting all these beautiful beasties. But I had to see. I also had to know who he was supplying this stuff to. Then I’d bust his balls.
He took the fairy off the phoenix’s head. This startled both the bird and the fairy, who knew something horrible was about to happen.
With a malicious grin, I watched him pull a wing off the fairy.
I felt horrible for just seeing this, but I had to keep my cover. It wasn’t time to nab him just yet. But the noise . . .
The phoenix gave a harrowing cry that brought tears to my eyes. I’m not one to be moved by a bird’s tears, but her sorrow was so deep and intense . . .
Zax didn’t feel it, though. He was used to the noise she made. He placed the wounded fairy back on the firebird’s head, and took a jar off the table beside him. He filled it to the brim with the phoenix’s tears. She wailed the whole time.
I bit back the lump in my throat and tried to keep my cool, “Nice job. Is that fairy a friend of hers?”
Zax smirked proudly as he handed me the jar, “Yeah, they like each other. The fairy was a customer of mine, but when she saw all these creatures, well, she didn’t want to leave them. Fairies have magical properties that can fetch a nice price on the market, so I let her stay. Or more appropriately, she has to stay now. She likes the bird so I keep them together. And if I beat on the fairy, it makes the bird cry, and that’s what I need to get the tears.”
What a monster this guy was.
“She’s a bit of an old fairy, don’t you think? Maybe you should let her go. You can’t sell something that old.”
Zax frowned, “Nobody needs to know that. I just sell her dust. It’s like pixie dust but does different things. By the way, the tears are worth 500 clams.”
A man could live quite comfortably on 500 clams. He could buy himself a nice car to go with a big house. One of those new cars with the shiny chrome rims and smooth black paint job. Normal Joes like me don’t even dream of owning one of those cars. On a good day, I have a few nickels in my pocket to buy me dinner.
So why was he living amongst this junk?
“I’ll have to get some from my boss then,” I replied, and watched the fairy take one of the tears from the phoenix and rub it on her wound. Zax turned his back on us, and reached for one of the vials that held a pixie. He dumped the poor
thing in his hand and shook her violently until dust sprinkled onto his dirty table. He then forced her back into the vial and began snorting the dust.
Bloody dope fiend. Not only was he a dealer, he was a user too.
“Who do you work for, then?” Zax said, rubbing his nose on his shirtsleeve, “Let me guess, Fat Tony? He sure likes his exotic magics. Though he usually isn’t interested in healing magics . . .”
“Yeah, Fat Tony!” I said, relieved he gave me a name to drop, “One of his cronies got himself a nasty wound. Cut his hand clear off.”
“Jeez . . .” Zax said, and rubbed his stubbly chin, “You know, he uses trolls to do his dirty work?”
Trolls! Panic started to stir in my guts. If Zax knew enough about Fat Tony, then he also knew by now I didn’t. Because trolls can heal themselves, and there’s only one way to take down a troll . . . And phoenix tears won’t heal those wounds.
He was ready for me too, the rat. Before I could cast a protection spell he threw some purple dust in my face. It exploded right in front of me, and the next thing I knew I was out like a light.
I came to several hours later to discover that my hands had been cuffed behind my back—with damn anti-magic bracelets, no less. I tried to squirm and slip my hands out but it was useless. When I looked up, there was the phoenix and her fairy friend. The fairy looked down at me with a sad smile, and waved hi.
I nodded and grunted.
She floated down to sit on my shoulder, but I was busy watching Zax. He was cooking something up for me, I could tell. Blue smoke clouds exploded in front of him, and he was chuckling under his breath.
The fairy moved. I felt her wings tickling my earlobe as she whispered, “You came to rescue us, didn’t you?”
I nodded and whispered back, “But I didn’t plan to find her.” I looked up at the firebird above us, who was also watching me.
Ages of Wonder Page 25
