Smells Like Finn Spirit

by Randy Henderson

  “How very circle of strife,” Dawn replied, and rolled her eyes.

  “Hakiller Murdata,” I agreed.

  A sharp scream of pain drew our eyes to the upper tier in front of us. A Fey manifested, and as he appeared he divided into two, peeling off to either side and curling down in a mess of Fey protoplasm. His scream died away.

  The Fey to either side of him sprang to their feet, and one, a fellow who looked a bit like Colonel Sanders but wasn’t, said in a Southern accent, “Dadburn it all to Hades! Look at this mess all over my shoes. I thought we agreed not to sabotage entrances.”

  “No,” said a man in red Inquisitor robes on the next tier up. He lifted his robes, and floated down to the spot where the Fey had just died. “We agreed it had become impossible. But I have just proven that with great faith and moral conviction, the Aal makes anything possible.”

  A seat rose up beneath the Inquisitor as he took his new position in the chamber. After a brief exchange of looks, all of the senators above him shifted to fill in the gap, some advancing a tier behind him, leaving an empty spot in the uppermost tier. Sanders’s eyes narrowed at the Inquisitor for a second, but he withheld whatever comment he had, and instead retook his own seat, causing the remains of his former neighbor to evaporate with the wave of his hand.

  Dawn looked a bit shaken. “That wasn’t poison,” she whispered.

  “No,” I agreed. “But I guess since he was entering the room, not in the room, it was allowed.”

  Three bells rung, and at the top of each tier one of the Triumvirates appeared.

  On the left sat a gnomish man I guessed to be Rumpelstiltskin. His gray beard and hair were braided through with golden thread, and his red doublet and flopping pointed hat had the shifting brightness of thick velvet.

  On the right sat Lucifer, because, well, of course. He was beautiful, the kind of man I might consider putting on my list of men I’d be willing to sleep with, but would be uncomfortable if Dawn did so. He wore white robes trimmed in gold and crimson, and a nimbus of light surrounded his head, a halo of bright starlight that occasionally flickered and went fiery red in time with an eye twitch.

  Above the row directly in front of us sat a gray-haired gentleman I didn’t immediately recognize, wearing a dark Victorian suit and a solemn look upon his thin face.

  Any advice? I asked Alynon.

  *Remember that each is interested first and foremost in the gathering of power and influence, or else proving themselves cleverest of all here. Look for ways to play that to your advantage.*

  Well, they won’t be able to do much with that power if the Fey they rule over are all dead. Hopefully they’re clever enough to see that.

  *La, the protection and prosperity of the Forest of Shadows may run a close second to their own success where it benefits them, but the interests of their fellow Aalbrights outside the Shadows at best limps behind at a distant third. Unless you can prove a direct threat exists to them personally as well as to their Demesne, they will care little, I fear.*

  Right. And maintaining the peace of the PAX Arcana and their relationship with the ARC was so far behind their other concerns it might as well be the last runner in the race. That runner being a turtle. With a handicap of being severely dead.

  In other words, my chances were somewhere between slim and none, and that was only if they didn’t find out who I—

  “Phinaeus Gramaraye,” the Victorian gentleman above us said. “We have been warned of your coming.”

  Doh!

  18

  DOWN IN A HOLE

  “Your honor,” I addressed the grim-seeming Victorian Fey gentleman. “Or, uh, highness, or—”

  “Lord Cadmorius te’Moriarty,” Odysseus snapped beside me.

  Moriarty. Great. Of course an amoral sociopathic genius was in charge of our fate.

  “Lord Moriarty,” I continued. “I don’t know what you’ve been told about me, but—”

  “Lack of knowledge is your weakness, not mine,” Moriarty said. “I have been told enough to know what charges may be laid against you. And to know that your fellow arcana are most eager to bring their own charges.”

  “What—”

  I heard footsteps clicking in the passageway behind us, and turned to look, the chain to my wrists pulling tight and forcing me to step around it for a better angle.

  A figure approached, silhouetted black against the light of the doorway behind him. But from the tri-corner hat and the arrogance of his stride, I guessed his identity before he reached the light of the chamber.

  “Chauvelin,” I muttered.

  *This could be bad,* Alynon offered helpfully.

  I leaned over to look past him, hoping to see the ARC ambassador, but Chauvelin walked alone.

  “Who’s Chauvelin?” Dawn whispered back.

  “The Fey who tried to get Silene killed and me held prisoner last time I visited the Other Realm,” I replied. A Shadows ambassador to the Colloquy—a sort of Fey United Nations in the Other Realm—Chauvelin’s persona was based on the villain from the Scarlet Pimpernel novels, a cruel French citizen ruthless in enforcing his beliefs.

  Chauvelin strode out onto the round floor of the chamber, and smiled like Sylvester finding Tweety trapped inside a microwave.

  *Make that definitely bad,* Alynon amended.

  Chauvelin made a sweeping bow to the three Triums, then said to me in a voice entirely lacking his usual French accent, “Hello, brother.”

  Double frak.

  “Mort?” I asked. “You’re the ARC ambassador?”

  He smiled. “As soon as Grandfather confirmed that the Shadows had you, he arranged for me to exchange bodies with a Shadows ambassador and come here.”

  “Hold,” Lucifer said. “You are family? How can you be trusted to hold justice above kinship?”

  “I assure you, good lords,” Mort said, looking up at the tree Triums. “I am here to offer you both Finn and Alynon in permanent exile.”

  His words were a punch to the gut. Whatever fleeting hope I’d held that he would still act as my brother died.

  “You don’t have the authority to offer anything!” I said, and looked up at the Echelon. “He’s not a real ambassador, just someone who’s angry at me.”

  “I am, in fact, an official representative of the Arcana Ruling Council,” Mort said. “Grandfather arranged a quaestor position for me.”

  Well of course he did.

  Quaestor was an entry-level position in the ARC often given by senior members as favors to important supporters. It held little real power, but the status had probably appealed to Mort’s ego regardless. And the nice extra paycheck probably didn’t hurt.

  “Jesus, Mort,” I said, equally hurt and angry. “This isn’t a fight over who gets the most ice cream. This is serious. They will hold me, feed on me, forever.”

  “Don’t be a dick, Morty,” Dawn said. “Mattie—”

  “Don’t!” Mort said. “Don’t bring Mattie into this, or Father, or anyone else, either of you. This is about Finn, period.” Mort looked up at the Triums. “What are the charges?”

  “We had first intended to address those crimes previously laid against this arcana by te’Chauvelin in the Colloquy,” Moriarty replied.

  “Wait,” Dawn said, looking at me. “What crimes?” I could see the worry in her eyes. Not just for our current situation, but that there was something else she didn’t know about me, some other secret I had withheld from her like my use of dark necromancy to stop Kaminari.

  Moriarty said in a formal tone, “The charges laid against Phinaeus Gramaraye include the death of two wardens during his release from exile, the trapping of an Aalbright within his body, and the murder of the jorõgumo Hiromi, pledged to our Demesne.”

  “And what punishment does the Shadows seek?” Mort asked.

  “Punishment?” I said. “Uh, shouldn’t I get a trial or something before we jump to punishment?”

  “Your guilt is known,” Moriarty replied. “And once we b
egin to consume your memories, I suspect we shall find many more offenses to justify punishments far greater in number and method than your mortal body will bear. There is no need for a trial.”

  My memories?

  Oh, shazballs.

  “Bright’s buttocks!” Alynon agreed.

  Normally, when an arcana traveled into the Other Realm, they had blocks put on their memories to hide any sensitive knowledge of the arcana world or magic from the Fey just in case their memories were read. But I didn’t have any such blocks. And neither did I have protection as an ambassador under the PAX that forbade my memories from being shared with the Fey. Basically, I was an open buffet, and the Shadows Fey could very well learn things from me that would put arcana in danger, that would put the Elwha brightbloods in danger. That would put my family in danger.

  There’s got to be something we can do to block my memories from them? I asked Alynon, though I knew the answer.

  *You miss the full danger here,* Alynon replied. *They might gain access to my memories as well.*

  What? But I thought … ah, crap.

  Any of Alynon’s memories of his time spent in my body as a changeling that had imprinted on my brain were locked away behind a wall of Fey magic. No arcana was able to access them. But with my physical brain here in the Other Realm—

  Double shazballs.

  “Your honors,” I said. “You do remember that the last time I entered your Realm I came to make you aware of how you were being played like pawns in someone’s game? And in return Chauvelin tried to violate the PAX to hold me captive. If anything, you should be rewarding me, not punishing me.”

  “We had no need of an arcana’s help,” Lucifer replied.

  “Yeah? That’s funny, because you’ve been fooled again, and here I am again trying to help you.”

  Mort snorted. “I told you that you were a fool to come here before. You’re twice the fool to come back knowing what happened last time.”

  “Then I guess we’re both twice the fool,” I said. “What is that, like, a Rube’s Cube?”

  “Always ready with a joke,” Mort said. “But that doesn’t change that I was right.”

  What could I say? He had a point. I hadn’t really thought things through. Again. It might just have been better to die at the Stonehenge, even if Grandfather had taken control of my body. And I’d dragged Dawn into this, confident she’d be safe—

  “Wait,” I said. “Dawn is innocent, and a mundane. She should be returned to her world.”

  “And yet,” Moriarty replied, “she brought a weapon into the Greatwood.”

  “Weapon?” Dawn said. “You don’t seriously mean my guitar?”

  “They do,” I said. “Musical instruments are forbidden in the Other Realm.”

  “Jesus.” Dawn shook her head. “Music is illegal? What is this, Feyloose? If this is all heading toward a prom, just kill me now. My first prom was bad enou—”

  Moriarty raised his hand, and said, “Despite this violation of the PAX, we will be releasing the human to her world. Just as soon as we have established both her innocence, and her lack of magic.”

  I felt a flood of relief, even as I understood the real motives. They would feed on her memories under the guise of proving her innocence before releasing her. And they would release her, but only to appease the Arcana Ruling Council as a “compromise” for condemning me. Regardless of all the ways in which Dawn was amazing, her lack of magical knowledge made her of little value to them.

  But she would be safe. Somehow, that made facing whatever came next bearable. And if Mort’s being here had helped ensure Dawn’s release, then I was grateful, whatever his intent toward me.

  I opened my mouth to thank them, but stopped. For all I knew, my gratitude would make them change their mind out of fear of appearing to compromise in any way with an arcana.

  Lucifer stood. “I propose he be sentenced to a lifetime as a memory feeder.”

  Rumpelstiltskin stood. “Of course you do. Your faction controls the memory farms. But we can draw memory from any exile. How long since we have had a mortal body to play with? And one bonded with an Aalbright?” He rubbed his long, knobby fingers together. “I propose he be subjected to study and dissection. And possibly breeding experiments.”

  “Oh hells no!” Dawn said, and jerked against her chain as if trying to rip it out of the ground, but both her remark and efforts were ignored.

  I looked at Mort, to see if any of this was registering with him. I couldn’t believe he’d actually allow me to be physically tortured. But he deliberately turned away from me, and said nothing.

  Lucifer’s eye twitched as he regarded Rumpelstiltskin, and his halo flared red. “You would use him up and waste him in but a cycle. Think of how many offspring we may create from his memories over his lifetime.”

  Rumpelstiltskin barked a laugh. “You speak of offspring to me?” Several of the senators shifted uncomfortably in their seats as he continued. “Consider if we might branch offspring who are able to enter the mortal realm without the need to inhabit a body from that world? Consider if we might strengthen the benefits and control of the bond with our brightblood cousins, the offspring of our ancestor’s folly? You are shortsighted as ever.”

  Lucifer’s halo became a roiling bonfire now, like the Eye of Sauron. “And you would teach the humans every secret of the Greatwood if it gained you a single new vassal today.”

  Rumpelstiltskin giggled, and did a little capering dance. “Oh what a weak and desperate accusation, Lucy my boy,” he said, then continued in a singsong. “Ad hominem, you’re lobbin ’em, but I be rubber and you be glue, they bounce off me while you sniff your own goo.”

  Lucifer glared coldly at Rumpelstiltskin. “Ware, Imp. You overestimate your power here.”

  “Perhaps,” Rumpelstiltskin said, his voice suddenly as cold as a serial killer’s while speaking to his victim. “But Chauvelin rose from my faction, and it was he who laid the charges, so my proposal outweighs yours, unless you have something besides taunts to back yours up?”

  Moriarty stood. “You both forget an important fact. It was indeed Chauvelin who laid the first claims against Gramaraye on behalf of the Greatwood. Gramaraye, however, outwitted him and made him seem the fool—”

  A Grinch-like smile spread across Lucifer’s face at Moriarty’s words, but Rumpelstiltskin cleared his throat loudly and said, “My lord te’Moriarty, what is your point?”

  “Simply that no single faction has priority on this claim. It must be decided, and the rewards shared, by us all.”

  And Moriarty had managed to pit Lucifer and Rumpelstiltskin against each other, which helped his position.

  Mort raised his hand. “Please, your honors. The ARC also has claim on Finn for his crimes in our world, including the attack that brought him here.”

  Lucifer’s eye twitched, and his halo burned red again. “Twice has this arcana escaped Shadows justice for his crimes against us. And twice did the ARC claim the privilege of jurisdiction, holding him safe in your world. Do not think to come here and snatch justice from our grasp again.”

  Mort raised both hands now in a gesture of offering. “I’m not here to take Finn anywhere. Not his spirit, anyway. What I propose is that I take his body back, but that his spirit may remain here, with you, in exile. Permanently. Just as I promised.”

  “Jesus, Mort,” I said. “Didn’t you just hear what they were saying?”

  “Don’t blame me,” Mort snapped back. “I warned you not to keep getting involved with the feybloods and their wars. I warned you to stop putting Mattie and the family business in danger. You brought this on yourself.”

  “Uh huh,” I replied. “How convenient that this is also exactly what you want.”

  “You have no idea what I want. You haven’t bothered to ask me once since you stormed back into our home dragging danger with you. You’ve hurt everyone around you, including the woman you supposedly love.” He waved at Dawn.

  “Bullshit!”
I said.

  “Really? Name one family member you haven’t hurt since you’ve been back.”

  “I—” I stopped. I couldn’t. “That isn’t fair, Mort. This is all Grandfather’s fault.

  “He’s the one who exiled me, who caused most of these problems. He’s the one who treated you like crap. So why are you so desperate for his approval still?”

  “You’re wrong,” Mort said. “Grandfather is the only one willing to do what is necessary to truly protect our family, and to keep Mattie safe. To even protect you from yourself. I see that now. You showed me that.”

  “Are you serious?” I shouted. “Don’t you remember what he did to—”

  “Enough squibble squabble!” Rumpelstiltskin said.

  “Agreed,” Moriarty replied. “This is not a court of family grievances. Ambassador Gramaraye, while this lodge wishes to offer the ARC all possible respect in this matter, we shall not relinquish your brother’s body. Phinaeus Gramaraye is not its only occupant, and as fellow Aalbrights we cannot allow Alynon to be returned to exile in your world.”

  *How thoughtful of them,* Alynon said with a complete lack of sincerity.

  “Right,” Mort said. “About that, I believe there may be a way to separate Alynon Infedriel’s spirit from its bond with my brother.”

  “What?” I asked.

  *What?* Alynon said.

  “Indeed?” Moriarty said. “So you propose to allow us both the spirit of your brother and of the traitor Alynon Infedriel in exchange for your brother’s body?”

  “Yes,” Mort said.

  “What?!” I said again.

  “I am still of a mind to decline,” Moriarty replied. “You must understand, this is not a trade negotiation, nor an ARC trial. This is the Echelon of the Greatwood, and we shall decide what is a fitting punishment. However,” Moriarty said, and raised a hand to cut off the clearly coming protest from Mort. “There is a way we may be able to satisfy both the need for a fair trial, and allow the ARC to claim Finn Gramaraye’s body.”