King Henry and the Three Little Trips (The King Henry Tapes)

by Richard Raley

  “I was thinking about finding Conan Sapa and saving your life, which I had done . . . it’s just Isabel smelled out my hiding place,” Eva growled.

  Being what had happened to her, he supposed some more depth to her voice was expected. “I talked to the Curator about what Catherine did,” he told her. “Figured out the rest and filled in Strange and the Lady, nice to know they do listen to my ideas on occasion. Also, next time you see Falschein, make sure you thank him for giving you some of his blood and putting an IV in you, or I would have been too late.”

  “Falschein?”

  “Iscariot, whatever. The False One. Fucking vampires.”

  “You met Iscariot?” Eva whined in disbelief.

  “See, didn’t tell you everything.”

  “But I never got to meet him and I tracked him for days!”

  “He saved your life. Didn’t seem like too much of an asshole by vampire standards, downright nice by Divine standards.”

  Eva changed the channel, wincing at the flash of light. She watched about five minutes of Jimmy Fallon without laughing once . . . which is the normal state when watching Jimmy Fallon, so . . . can’t blame that one on her mood.

  “Smells like Slush in here,” King Henry commented to change the subject.

  She crossed her arms, itching at her IV tube with a finger. “The Lady recreated the ceremony that . . . did the stuff to me. Only with Slush instead of anima and her giving me strength instead of ripping it out of Grant Little.”

  “You don’t have like . . . any of his personality, do you?”

  “No . . . just his anima . . . and some of the Wolf Nation’s anima . . .” she whispered.

  “Good, cuz as far as assholes went, that guy was one of them . . . an asshole. And I’d hate for you to be an asshole. Or think I’m a mancer asshole like he thought I was.” He forced himself to shut up.

  “You’re cute when you’re trying not to be emotional, you know that?” she teased him.

  “Probably why I’m such an asshole all the time,” he joked back.

  She looked at her hand in the glowing light of the television. “No Grant Little,” she whispered, “no urge to Shift. Just a concentrated ball of animal anima twisting in my chest, held in by the darkness of my aura. It should weaken me, but . . . I think it’s leaking somehow, giving me strength.”

  “Should have Vicky take a look at you.”

  Eva didn’t seem to like that idea. “No.”

  “She’s nearby. Doing a portrait for Vega. T-Bone’s with her. They’re kind of sweetly, oh so kindly falling into a non-self-aware relationship.”

  “No help from spectromancers,” Eva said firmly.

  “Didn’t know you were anima personalized like that.”

  “I wasn’t . . .” she whispered.

  “Well, I’m here for a few days if you want the occasional company. Probably guilt trip some of the others in our class to come down here and see you too if you’re okay with that.”

  She smiled at him. “If you have to. What are you here for anyway?”

  “Tricking Plutarch to help me make a golem casing for the fairy I got. Gnome . . . whatever he is, he needs legs cuz I’m sick of carrying him around. Don’t tell anyone though, or I could get arrested by the Guild. That would be a bad thing, they tell me.”

  More than smiling, she actually laughed. Not at Jimmy Fallon still. “How’s it going so far?”

  “Decent shot at it . . . then this chick I knew needed a booty call,” he teased her.

  “Strange will come in here screaming at you, if you tried,” she pointed out.

  “Probably kill you too, ya know, your delicate state and all,” he teased some more.

  She changed the channel to some newscast. Red vs Blue, Year Two-Hundred and Something.

  Boring as shit, but King Henry gave her some more silence, content to just be in the room with her. Could’ve ended a lot worse, Price. Could’ve ended with her dead, with her madder than Isabel, something even more horrible you can’t even think up cuz it’s so bad. Got lucky with this one.

  “I think I met a fairy,” Eva blurted out.

  “Oh?”

  “You dealt with one, right? Talked to it and got a trip to Seattle? That’s what you reported to the Learning Council.”

  “Yeah . . . something like that.”

  “Like that or King Henry full of shit like that?” she asked.

  “Full of shit . . . mostly . . . always.”

  “This is serious!” she shrieked, a bunch of fear and emotions suddenly overwhelming her expression, “I’m freaking out! It’s why I asked for you . . . I don’t know who else to tell, who would believe me.”

  “The Learning Council knows more than it says.”

  “Of course they do, but even most of them don’t believe that the Divines are as dangerous as they claim, much less legends from thousands of years ago. If I tell them what happened to me, or what I think happened to me.” Eva gave a little hiccup of fear. “What if they think this made me go Anima Mad? What if they lock me up in the Pit?”

  “They might,” King Henry said seriously, “which is why I’m all about the mostly full of shit. If Val wasn’t around for what happened with me then I wouldn’t believe it . . . but as is . . . I don’t talk about it, I lie, I drop hints to Plutarch or the Lady or other people, try to see if I can get a reaction from them.”

  Eva clicked off the television. The lights of the room brightened to compensate. She scratched at her IV some. “I can’t tell you what they’ve taught me, I won’t break their confidence.”

  “Okay.”

  “But can I please tell you what I felt and you can tell me if I’m crazy or not?”

  “You’re not crazy. I know Anima Madness and you ain’t showing the signs.”

  “I was in a cavern,” she whispered.

  Fuck me.

  “It was like a dream, but more real . . . there was shadow all about and . . . something powerful talked to me. It told me that the Lady had sent me there because in that place in-between I would be strong enough to fight off the werewolf anima. I did . . . I fought a giant Prism Wolf with more anima than . . . it wasn’t enough. But then a blade appeared . . . so dark, so sharp it cut reality. There was another voice offering help, very far away. So I took the blade and stabbed the wolf and then . . . I’m crazy, I know I’m crazy, this all sounds nuts! It called me a name and then started babbling about prisons and awakenings and then I woke up and . . . I was like this.”

  Against Strange’s orders, King Henry picked Eva up out of her chair and took her hands in his. Bigger than they might have been, they were still tiny compared to his knuckled, scarred monstrosities. She was taller alright, barely four inches shorter than him give or take. “You ain’t crazy. But you can’t talk about it unless you completely trust someone,” he told her at a whisper. “This is murder-them-and-their-family type of hidden knowledge shit. Way beyond my beef I’ve been having with Ceinwyn and the Learning Council.”

  “There’s something else out there . . . something powerful,” Eva whispered as well, “something old.”

  “Somethings,” he corrected, “that ain’t too happy with us and really fucking hate the Vamps. You ain’t crazy, Eva Reti, but we ain’t having this conversation here, even if Strange says there’s no bugs in the room. When you get out and they’re okay with everything, come see me and I’ll tell you what I know.”

  She seemed relieved. Wish I’d had someone around to tell me that after everything that happened. “So . . . that’s what your interaction with your fairy was like? Powerful voice, dream world, all that?”

  “At times,” he hedged. “His name is Meteyos . . . he calls me the Dirt King.”

  Eva rolled her eyes, pointing at herself. “Lighteater and the Queen of Darkness.”

  Wait . . . that’s wrong . . . that’s very wrong . . .

  Strange came into the room just then, snorting in irritation at seeing Eva standing. “In your seat, please.”


  “I’m feeling—”

  “Seat or I start measuring your temperature the old-fashioned way.”

  Eva sat down.

  The change did nothing to improve Strange’s mood. It was even more grumpy than usual. Far grumpier than her age. She might kill with a glance when she got up there like the Lady. She glanced over to check some machine readouts. “Is the light level okay?” she asked, “We can take them back out.”

  “It’s fine. I’ll have to get used to worse if I ever want to see the outdoors again,” Eva joked. “It will go away, right?”

  Strange shrugged, glancing at King Henry. “We’ll see. Price . . . can I talk to you outside about something?”

  “Tell her,” he said.

  Strange frowned. “I don’t know—”

  “Tell her or I will,” he warned.

  “You can’t possibly—”

  “Fines Samson was found dead,” he stated.

  Eva gasped like she’d been stabbed.

  Strange glared at King Henry, but nodded. “Stroke. He was very worried about Eva and we think . . . it was too much.”

  “No, no, no,” Eva blubbered to herself, hands over her face.

  “Are you happy, Price?” Strange growled at him, eyes on the machine readouts spiking up and down.

  “Better in the long run to know, better to know someone cared about you so much,” was all he said.

  Eva’s head jerked up. Her eyes filled with tears, almost invisible in the low light. “Oh Mancy,” she whispered. “He . . . no, Mr. Samson, no . . .”

  “Out, Price!” Strange ordered.

  “She might—”

  “Get out before I throw you out! If she wants to ever see you again after that callousness she can see you tomorrow or later! Get out!”

  Wasn’t callousness . . . was the truth.

  *

  King Henry clicked off his phone with a grin, despite death and all its sadness lingering over Fines Samson’s sacrifice. That’s what it was. No one would know it. An old man died of a stroke, happened all the time, even badass old WWII vets. But King Henry knew, the Lady likely knew, a few others. I’ll talk to Eva about it when she escapes that hospital finally, he told himself, but she already understands. Guess she’s got a spot on the team with Pocket, Jesus, and T-Bone.

  Was always a mood improver to shit-talk with T-Bone, even when King Henry was delivering news so heavy. Got himself a pretty, blond, rich girlfriend. What a lucky motherfucker. Used to be that guy, didn’t I? Till the Lady broke us up . . . fucking bullshit that is. Just another reason to take a fourth run at Val eventually. You know . . . after I steal some truth, kill Paine, do all the shit I’m planning.

  Miranda was the one who found Samson dead. She tried CPR. King Henry guessed that showed she was a really good person deep down. I will not be giving the Lady mouth-to-mouth . . . ever. Miranda was also the one who rushed back into the Learning Council to tell the Lady. Surprising how easy it was to get through security when you had news like that to deliver. Surprising I could keep Tyrannosaurus Bone away from Vicky’s stretchy, magic va-jay-jay for more than five minutes by doing the same.

  Fines Samson dead.

  Maximus dead.

  Old Guard dead.

  Hero . . . fucking dead.

  Chose his apprentice in Eva and then sacrificed himself for her when she needed him most. All the facts were clouded in the usual bullshit, but King Henry thought he could piece it all together.

  Eva had to fight off the were-anima inside of her, so the Lady recreates the same ceremony. Darkens the room, draws the attention of scio-anima flowing in the world. Blasts everything with huge amounts of healing and strengthening hydro-anima. Pushes Eva’s unconscious mind and her supernatural connection from here to there. Not all the way, not the World-Breaker way, but closer, close enough to the opposite side of the in-between place.

  Earth. Dreams. In-between. Their Dreams. The Realms. Got to be it, right?

  Eva fights the anima in the place where she’s stronger, where the scio-anima equivalent of Meteyos watches on. Another dragon I’m guessing . . . good thing Eva was too focused on her fight to notice that little fact. Only even that ain’t enough. Samson questions the Lady before all this of course, gets all the info on what’s happening with his apprentice and then when the time comes he’s watching too. Does something that kills himself. Gives her the strength to win and to live.

  See Paine, just had all your fucking hypotheses confirmed and I didn’t even have to kill anyone.

  Queen of Darkness.

  Lighteater.

  “Fuck me,” King Henry grunted as he broke open the door of Jethro Smith’s office with a blast of geo-anima.

  Inside, he stole a bottle of vodka.

  “Need it more than you do, Smith.”

  So a Maximus’ power can be passed on. Bullshit avatar shit. He needed more proof though. Needed all the info surrounding it. More than Maximus . . . Geo Realm, Scio Realm, what else? Who else lives there? More reason to steal some truth.

  “It’s coming,” King Henry said aloud. “It’s coming soon world. I’m taking it all from you. No more bullshit.”

  He found his way back to Plutarch’s house. The lights were still on. The door was unlocked. With a sigh, King Henry went inside. Fines Samson was dead, his lover was being consoled by the Learning Council members still awake at this hour, by Miranda, by anyone else who heard the news and went to her.

  Fines Samson was dead . . . his only friend in the world was alone.

  But not if I have a say about it.

  No sign of Plutarch in the house, or the backpack, or Mini. King Henry even went up into the second floor. Nothing. Coming back down, he noticed fairies under the foundations, swirling about. “Which way, lassie?”

  He didn’t think they got the joke, but they did flee outside.

  Through the backdoor.

  Right, makes sense.

  On King Henry went with his bottle of vodka, stopping to pick up two glasses. Out on the porch, down to the sand of the backyard. The door of Plutarch’s rock hut was ajar, first time King Henry had ever seen it so. There was light coming from it as well. He worked his way through statues, fairies buzzing about unhappy at him disturbing the marks they’d made in the sand.

  “You in there, Pappy?” he asked at the door.

  “I’m in here, Junior,” Plutarch rumbled. “Leave me alone.”

  King Henry kicked open the stone door, impressed with the way it slid about like it was weightless. Some type of counterweight system? Geo-anima assisted? “Ain’t the way it is gonna be, Pappy.”

  Plutarch sat over a stack of paper, going through them. Looked similar to the ones King Henry had given to him earlier in the night, but these weren’t for artifacts, they were for golem casings. “Don’t feel like talking about it.”

  “Guess you heard then.”

  “Some idiot ran through the homes shouting about it, how couldn’t I hear about it?” Plutarch grumbled. “I take it the Reti girl is alive thanks to Maudette then.”

  “Yeah, she’s alive.”

  “Maudette told the Council.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then had to talk to them again.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Driven women . . . it’s a horrible thing to love one.”

  The only answer to that was to uncork the vodka and pour two glasses of it. Do not recommend drinking straight vodka if you can avoid, but well . . . potatoes . . . it’s a geomancer thing.

  “Told you to go away, I don’t want to talk,” Plutarch repeated. “I’m trying to find a design that will work for your fairy.”

  “Gnome,” King Henry corrected

  Plutarch glared at him.

  King Henry pushed the glass of vodka a few inches closer.

  “Don’t feel like talking about it,” Plutarch said again.

  “One glass at least.”

  Plutarch only grunted.

  King Henry pushed the glass even c
loser.

  With a one-eyed glare, Plutarch picked up the glass and clanked it to King Henry’s. “To Fines Samson . . . most dedicated man to the Mancy and mancers world-wide I ever knew. Happy?”

  King Henry took a sip as Plutarch guzzled a mouthful. “To Samson . . . my second favorite teacher.”

  “Don’t try to get me sappy, Junior! It won’t work!”

  “I know, Pappy.”

  King Henry waited through a few minutes of furtive document searching before indicating with his glass that he wanted another toast.

  Another one-eyed glare, but Plutarch clanked the glass and drank some more.

  After another sip, King Henry said, “To the Queen of Darkness. May Samson’s sacrifice not be in vain.”

  Plutarch sputtered vodka all over his documents. He stared at King Henry with a furrowed brow. “You’re too damn smart for your own good, you know that, Junior?”

  King Henry nodded. “Gonna get me killed one day, heard it before.”

  After some more silence, Plutarch asked, “Did he really?”

  “I think so.”

  An unhappy grunt. “This is all we’ll speak of it.”

  “Fine . . . like I said earlier, not interested in asking any longer.”

  “Good.”

  “But . . .”

  Plutarch growled in warning.

  “Would like to know your best Fines Samson story,” King Henry prodded, just like always. “Don’t worry; I’ll be a fair judge . . . but bonus points for curse words and nudity.”

  “Golem won’t finish itself,” Plutarch pointed out.

  “It can wait until tomorrow. I’ll stay the week to finish it if I have to.”

  “I’d . . . like that, Junior.”

  “No problem, Pappy. You’re the teacher after all.”

  “A teacher shouldn’t tell you the best Fines Samson story . . .”

  “Cursing and nudity?”

  “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

  “I can believe a lot . . .”

  “1952 in a Japanese whorehouse—“

  “I already like where this is going.”

  “Shut up and don’t interrupt me! 1952 in a Japanese whorehouse . . .”