Three Graces

by Pax Asteriae

  Cas picked both pictures up from the bar, shaking them gently to dislodge a few drops of something—he had no wish to examine more closely than that—and replaced them in his satchel. He was halfway toward the door, the stench lessening with every step, when the barman shouted across, “you’re not even gonna buy a drink?”

  He glanced over his shoulder and the man recoiled; whatever he saw in his expression wasn’t fully intended to be there but Cas wasn’t going to complain. “I’d sooner drink my own piss. Less likely to kill me.”

  Again the mouth opened but if he’d planned a retort, he sensibly thought better of it. Cas left him glowering at the customers failing to stifle their sniggers.

  Really, he’d have quite happily killed for a drink—but only one he had good odds on surviving. Cas paused only for a moment at the dusty crossroads before heading deeper into Mellesur to find a cleaner, more pleasant bar. David Deor would either reach his destination or die on the way, whichever made little difference to Cas. Deor was a dead man either way; Cas had no intention of joining him.

  Bump In The Night

  It was the nights that made him question it all. It was always cold no matter where he found shelter, and the relentless wind hurled sand against the walls; it sounded like the sea he always wanted to see. He lay there, huddled into a ball, listening. Always listening.

  Things moved in the night. He never wanted to see what they are, wouldn’t ever dare, but he could hear them. That was enough. More than enough.

  He lay with his eyes wide open, fixed, staring at nothing. He waited for his heart to slow its noisy pounding, and prayed for the sunrise.

  Skeleton

  He laid the tools out in a careful line, each one in its designated place. Enough for today; he didn’t want tiredness to make his hands unsteady.

  “Looks impressive,” said the voice from the doorway. “Like something died.”

  “Eh?” David paused, halfway through slipping on his jacket. “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t look at me like that.” The voice was clearly amused. “Think of bones bleached by the sun. Beautiful.”

  “That’s a terrible cliché.” He laughed. “It’ll look better once it’s complete.”

  “I do hope so; your fee’s pinned on this.”

  * * *

  David jolted awake, fists clenched. Sleep wasn’t worth the memories.

  Face Paint

  The beer tasted little better than water, but at least the drinking vessels were mostly their original colour. Cas stared at the insipid liquid, tilting it this way and that in the mug, and pondered why they couldn’t use glasses like everyone else. Perhaps they thought it had an old-world charm.

  If that was their intention then they’d missed by miles.

  The barwoman hadn’t seen Deor in person, but had cooed over his face until he’d wanted to slap her. Or him. He’d resisted the former—the latter was looking increasingly likely once he got his hands on the wanderer—and ignored her pout as he pocketed the picture without a word of thanks for either her ‘help’ or the drink. At least this bar didn’t rattle fit to break when he slammed the scattering of coins on the surface.

  It grated on him, this town. They had running water and a significant part of the population had roofs over their heads, but they wore their filth like a badge of honour. It was like the simple pleasures of a basin and a flannel were beyond them. It made his skin crawl, him, who’d hunted down his marks in some of the worst corners of the universe. At least there the people in filth had been trying to better themselves. They might’ve been thieving, murdering scum but they’d been upwardly mobile scum, scum with aspirations. Here they just didn’t care. They scrabbled around in the sand, turning their noses up at technological advancements already old news in the most backward areas of the galaxy, displaying smears of yellow grime across their cheeks like it was something to be proud of.

  He pulled the picture out again and laid it flat on the table, stroking the ever-present golden dust from the glossy surface. Deor looked a clean, sensible man: clean-shaven, strong white teeth; bright, happy eyes that did nothing to improve Cas’s mood (and, judging from the barwoman’s lovestruck noises, weren’t as out of the ordinary as he’d been led to believe). What he was doing in this shithole Cas was at a loss to understand.

  He drained the last dregs of the mug in one shuddering mouthful, suppressing the instinctive gag reflex, and clapped the dented vessel down on the equally pocked table. He was just about to pick up the picture and stand when a giddy squeal of excitement rang across the room, making him cringe.

  “Meena,” came a long-suffering voice from the doorway, “calm down.”

  “But daddy!” The girl’s voice was only slightly subdued. She came to a skittering stop in the middle of the room between two unoccupied tables and looked over at her father with entreating eyes. “It’s so, it’s so… nice!”

  Cas watched the child carefully. It was the first one he’d seen not treat the building with suspicion—not that he’d seen that many in his short time here. They were even convincing their kids to shun normality; it made him sick. This one, on the other hand… Even now she was staring with wide-eyed wonder at the people around her, the stable walls and ceiling, scuffing her bare feet over the filthy, knotted wooden floor like she couldn’t believe it was there.

  He didn’t have a great tolerance when it came to children but this one, he found, amused him.

  It appeared the feeling was mutual. Her eyes settled on him and lit up, to his alarm; she danced toward him like gravity had little sway over her. “Hi there!”

  Cas stared down at her and she stared back without fear, smiling simply up at him. “Hi,” he said finally, without moving.

  Anyone else and he’d expect them to be intimidated. Her father, he could see from the corner of his eye, certainly did—why he wasn’t calling his daughter back immediately was beyond the mercenary. Meena, however, grinned and shifted her weight from side to side, her eyes flicking over Cas without judgement before she turned her attention to the table and, to Cas’s barely concealed surprise, the picture still laying on it. “What’s this? Is it…” Her voice trailed off and her eyes, if it was possible, widened even further.

  Okay, this was weird. On a hunch—nothing more than an impulse that burst from the back of his mind—he picked up the photo and held it out to the child. “You know this man?”

  She nodded vigorously, her tangled, jet hair falling into her face. “He’s a nice man!”

  Nice man? He wanted to laugh; he choked the sound back with a force that burned his throat. “How do you mean?”

  “That man,” her father said, hurrying to rest protective hands on his daughter’s slight shoulders, “is an abomination.”

  “Daddy!” Her voice was sharp, a moment of foreshadowing to her adult self. “He was a good man!”

  Emotions warred publicly across her father’s face; this was easily more interesting than that greasy little barman. “What happened?” Cas asked, turning his attention from the girl and her hands making their way toward the picture, to her suddenly worried-looking father. “You’ve met him?”

  “Yes.” His hands tightened on the girl’s shoulders and she squirmed for a moment. “He— He did us a great service. He retrieved Meena from a storm. But—”

  “But?” Cas prompted sharply.

  “But he’s a magician.” The older man spat out with venom that both frustrated and amused the mercenary. Nice to see Deor wasn’t getting it all easy around here. Cas was starting to feel better already. “And once he knew that I knew, he fled.”

  Not that Cas blamed him. Whatever this man thought had happened, it was probably wildly inaccurate. “Where did he go?”

  A regretful shrug and shake of the head was the silent answer. A silence he was suddenly very aware of: he looked down to find the child staring up at him with a watchful expression, her previously so alive eyes now closed and guarded. “Why?” She asked, her gaze fixed on his w
ith a remarkable intensity.

  Well shit, this was unexpected. “I need to talk to him. He has,” he paused, trying to come up with something that wouldn’t be an easily-detectable outright lie; it was harder than he expected, “a reward due to him. He did something very helpful. I have to find him to tell him this.”

  She didn’t believe him. It was clear from the way her expression darkened. Fucking hell, this kid was weird, and the situation even more so. He groped around in his satchel and pulled out the newer picture, the fuzzy one that was basically useless and he’d already almost given up on prior to the bar incident, and dropped it onto the table in front of her “Yours. If you want it.”

  Her hands were a blur. One minute the picture was there, the next it was clutched in her tiny paws like a security blanket; the suspicion never left her eyes.

  “What do you say, Meena?” Her father prompted.

  “Thank you.” It was like the grudging words had been dragged out by wild dogs. Her grip on the picture tightened.

  “No problem,” Cas grated, fascinated by the child in front of him. One thing was for sure, once she was adult he pitied anyone who crossed her. Collecting his things was the signal for the man and his unruly daughter to leave—instant dismissal worked so well Cas had long ceased asking—when a thought crossed his mind: “where were you when you met him?”

  The man started, glancing over his shoulder with eyebrows raised. “Just leaving the Caravan to Danavus. Why?”

  “No reason.” Cas permitted himself a rare, small smile. “Curiosity.”

  Finally displaying an acumen approaching his daughter’s, the man looked unconvinced; displaying tact far outweighing hers, he didn’t question any further.

  Danavus, Cas reminded himself as he slung his bag over his shoulder, lay to the north. The fact he didn’t even need to consult a map told him everything he needed to know about how fast he had to get off this rock. Looping his now-full canteens with more care over his other shoulder, he found himself anticipating the moment he could lay his hands on Deor.

  That moment was starting to be the only thing keeping him going on this increasingly frustrating job.

  Special Effect

  He sat cross-legged on an outcrop on a rare calm day, watching the sandy plains sway in the heat. Sweat tickled the length of his ribs and he fidgeted in the oversized clothes, too hot but not stupid enough to risk the burning sun.

  His hands frequently found their way beneath the folds of his tunic and scarf, playing with the ring hanging from a chain around his neck. Even now it remained cool, soothing; his mother’s ring.

  He skimmed his thumb over the surface. She’d always told him he was talented. Special.

  She’d been right; he wished she wasn’t.

  A Body

  The wind was back again, stronger than ever and whipping the sands into a frenzy around him as he trudged, head down, onwards. Grains stung the exposed areas of his face; adjusting the scarf didn’t help. But it wouldn’t be long now. He had a knack for that, the same desert sense he’d used not so long ago to avoid standing on someone else’s child (and how conflicted he felt about that, the guilt and relief and absolute bloody frustration), like all the hairs on the back of his neck were tingling.

  Or maybe that was just the sand.

  The canteens hanging from his belt were far lighter than he’d have liked. One way or the other, dehydration or that uncanny sense of trouble, something that felt like the end was coming and it was dragging a sense of respite in its wake.

  He crouched at the top of one of the vast sandy peaks, scuffing fingers idly in the sand as he caught his breath and stared across the unforgiving desert. Whatever impending event would happen whether he liked it or not, he didn’t care any more. Fate could have free rein for all he cared, he was done with this. It didn’t matter what he did, it’d all go to hell in the end.

  And that bloody oasis wasn’t going to find itself. With a deep sigh he pushed himself up and began the slippery scramble down the slope.

  * * *

  Completed, each unit was bigger than himself and elegantly curved. Three white monoliths rising towards the high ceiling. Under the bright lights they almost seemed to glow.

  “Very impressive, Mr. Deor. We didn’t expect that you’d complete the system so quickly.”

  David grinned and shrugged, shoving both hands into his pockets and rocking back on his heels. “It wasn’t difficult stuff. Once I’d got one done, the others were simple.” He cocked his head to one side, ignoring the hair falling into his eyes, and his grin widened. “What do you take me for?”

  “Oh, I’d certainly never consider you an idiot.” He ran a hand over the hard plastic shell of one of the towers and nodded once, firmly. “You’re one of the most accomplished young men I have ever met.”

  David’s grin would have widened further, if it could; he turned to one of the towers instead in the hope that he could disguise the pride as interest in his work. And he had to admit, he was good at it. It was just an aptitude, not something he’d consciously studied; things just came together for him. Machines danced into life in his hands. But this was... something else. This had been his chance to make a mark, make a difference.

  “And it works?” The words couldn’t have been more on cue if he’d tried.

  David nodded, suppressing his smile and assuming a more businesslike stance. “I tried it on a limited range of animals: cats, dogs, sheep. Nothing bigger.” He quirked one corner of his mouth into a half-smile. “It was hard to even get the sheep up here. Turns out they don’t like elevators much.”

  “I can imagine. And it worked without a hitch? No unforeseen consequences?”

  “None.” David knew the pride had resurfaced in his voice; he didn’t care. “They all got up again within an hour. The timeframe can be adjusted without a problem—it has to be done separately on all three for safety’s sake, but,” he shrugged, “I can change that too if you’d prefer.”

  “You’ve certainly thought of everything,” the other man said calmly, eyes travelling first the length of the nearest tower, and then the length of David. “Except potentially one: how are you planning on transporting them? They don’t look like they’ll fit in your lift.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t think I was an idiot?” Much like his pride, he couldn’t disguise the slight frown as he turned again to the tower beside him, sliding open an almost invisible panel in the casing. A horizontal line split the contraption, a second cutting vertically from the base, ceasing at the upper line, and the three parts split. With a deep hum the lower panels opened out and, as both men looked on, the top half sank into the base like a snake swallowing an egg. “Another switch’ll extrude some wheels for easy transport, but you could just pick it up; it’s light enough.”

  “That is... unexpectedly impressive. And it’s just a couple of button-presses?”

  “You did say you needed the system to be portable.” David pouted. “I paid attention to all areas of the brief.” He gestured and the other man came to stand beside him, watching intently as the younger man pressed a short sequence of buttons; as if by magic, the upper half of the tower rose from the depths again. “Same order to open and close. I didn’t want to needlessly complicate it.”

  “You really have thought of everything.”

  “Of course.” David smirked.

  “Do you have anything to demonstrate the system with?”

  David’s grin widened again. “I wouldn’t send you away without a working demonstration. For all you know, I could’ve built hollow shells.”

  He watched as David turned on his heel and jogged towards a door on the other side of the room. He didn’t bother trying to display an emotion as the young man returned at a much slower pace, a rabbit held carefully in both arms. The creature didn’t bat an eyelid as he carefully lowered it to the floor, sitting obliviously in the centre of the triad of monoliths as David moved back to the control panel beside his visitor. “If you look..
.” His fingers flicked from one button to the other and his visitor’s gaze followed avidly. “It’s really simple.”

  The hum started as a vibration that ran through the soles of the visitor’s shoes, building into a deep thrumming that his heart tried to emulate the beat of. The light, however, took him by surprise, arcing from tower to tower in a wide band until wild shadows danced on the walls and the rabbit, now paralysed with fear, was completely surrounded.

  As quickly as it had burst into being, the light vanished. The visitor was blinking rapidly, probably to try to dislodge the floating black spots David had learned to ignore during his tests; he wasn’t the important thing right now anyway. The rabbit was.

  The little creature lay on its side, its chest rising and falling rhythmically. A few strides brought him to its side and he knelt, running his hand over its soft fur and marvelling at the heat of its body. That it was still breathing was a source of both relief and pleasure to him.