“Hey buddy, how’s the face?” Storgen asked.
Markus reeled back and punched Storgen as hard as he could. “It’s getting better.”
Storgen spit out a little blood. “Glad to hear it.”
Chief Constable Porcas waddled into the cage. His armor was sculpted to give the appearance of rippling muscles, made hilarious by the rolls of fat squeezing out from the edges of the plates. He lazily took out his crystal tablet and began reading the glowing sigils that appeared in the air above it.
“Well, it appears our prisoner had quite the busy morning. Harassed the High-Priestess at the temple of Ambera, attacked a hoplite in windfall park, then broke into the silver district and assaulted an aristocrat.”
“If you think that’s bad, you should have seen my plans for after lunch.”
“Be silent, dirtbag.”
“Aren’t you going to read me my rights?”
“Sure thing, listen closely.” Markus pulled the intricate key from his belt and inserted it into the bands. The clockwork mechanisms clicked and whirred, tightening further around Storgen’s arms, and causing a new one to wrap tightly around his neck. “Did you get all that?”
“Not all of it, can you repeat the middle part again?” Storgen coughed.
Porcas took a circlet off the shelf and tapped a sigil, bathing it in an amber mist. “In accordance with the homosapien rights act, section IV directive IX you are allowed five minutes tariff free consultation with a legal expert from the main office if one is available and willing to speak with you at the time of your incarceration.”
As soon as he set the circlet down around Storgen’s brow, the glow faded and the device spat out a small spark.
“Huh, that’s strange. I didn’t know these things could break,” Porcas commented.
“You look like a pretty princess,” Markus snorted.
“Well, that’s very flattering, but I’m afraid I am already spoken for.”
“Tch,” Markus sneered.
The hall grew unnaturally quiet, the kind of quiet that makes your ears perk up and listen. Faintly, Storgen could make out the sounds of metallic footsteps, but these were not the heavy clanking of hoplites, these were light and elegant, like silver bells ringing against feathers.
Her presence was felt long before she arrived. Scribes and slaves scuttled aside, hoplites and constables abandoned their desks and pressed themselves against the walls to make room. It was as if she had an invisible wake that parted all before her.
She had to duck through the doorway to enter the room, standing a full head and shoulders above most of the men. Her skin was like flawless silken chocolate, her long hair a metallic silver that glistened when the light caught it. She kept it pulled back in a segmented pony tail that reached all the way down to her calves, a weighted morning star attached to the end. On her back she wore an enormous war scythe, crackling with crimson energy. It hurt his eyes just to look at it.
She carried herself with a martial pride that demanded respect, yet her movements were as effortlessly feminine as a dancer’s. She wore her golden armor as if it were a beautiful gown, her physical strength somehow adding to the sense of allure that just oozed from her. Storgen had seen many beautiful women before, but this person was in a league of her own. It was as if someone had taken concentrated femininity and poured it into a suit of armor.
She was like nothing Storgen had ever seen before.
“Who is that?” he found himself asking aloud, unable to take his eyes off of her.
“That is an amazon,” Markus whispered.
“Whoa.”
“Be careful, they can curse a man just by looking at ‘em.”
“Buncha butchers,” Porcas grumbled. “Like a plague of locusts.”
“But she’s not just any amazon,” Markus added. “She’s a personal champion to a Goddess. They call her the Silver Reaper.”
“What’s her name?”
“Who cares what her name is? She wields the Scythe of Ambera.”
When she reached Chief Porcas, the portly man looked like he might melt from fear.
“Chief Constable,” she began in her naturally breathy tones, “I have been sent to inform you that my Goddess will be moving through the city later this afternoon. The route must be cleared and sterilized. Ambera does not wish her mood to be soured by any contact with vermin.”
Something about the way she said it scratched at Storgen’s brain. “You mean people,” he corrected.
She tilted her head and regarded him for the first time. “No, I mean humans.”
Storgen cracked his knuckle with his thumb. “Ah, you mean the people who grow your food and clean your armor? The people your goddess has sworn to care for? The people you are sworn to protect? Those people?”
Mortified, Markus punched Storgen in the face. “Dung-eating fool, you can’t talk to a champion like that!”
“What are you going to do, arrest me twice?”
The amazon placed her armored hand on her shapely hip. “Well, this one has spunk for a man. More than the rest of you, anyway. Who is he?”
Porcas wiped the sweat from his brow. “We’re, ah, still trying to figure that out, Silver Reaper. So far no identification or familia register, no record of his fingerprints on the resident’s library, no slave brands, at least that we can tell. He came to us with a lot of burns. All we know about him is that he works as a mascot at the Pita Hut and that he nearly killed Lord Demos.”
She raised an eyebrow. “With what?”
Porcas rushed over the sigils again, sweat trickling down his jowls. “According to the report, with his bare hands.”
“Lord Demos wields a theta level gift, the strongest available to civilians. And you’re telling me this man took him down with only his fists?”
“No, I also hit him with my easel.”
She snapped her head towards him. “Do not mock me, human.”
Storgen shrugged. “It was a heavy easel.”
Her harsh expression grew softer. “Well, now you are becoming interesting.”
She stepped in close, leaning in so she could look over his muscular body with hungry eyes. “Too bad you’re just a mascot. Mating with you would have been fun. Look me up if you ever get a better job.”
As enticing as she was from afar, she was triply so up close. Her soft plump lips, her deliciously high cheekbones, the delicate curve at the nape of her neck, her alluring eyes a deep red like rubies. She had a single prominent scar that began just above her right eyebrow and ended at her cheek, but rather than marring her looks, it somehow managed to come off as a beauty mark. Her aura was so strong, Storgen could barely hold a thought in his head or string two words together.
“My, ah, my name is Storgen. What’s yours?”
His question took her a little aback. “You want to know my name?”
“Well, yeah.”
“You don’t know that I am the Scythe of Ambera?”
“No, I mean your real name.”
Her kissable lips pursed with interest. “You are different, aren’t you?”
She stood up straight and turned to Porcas, who sweatily jumped to attention. “I’ll return in one hour, see that the route is cleared.”
“It will be done.”
She turned and left the cage, a fresh wake of people parting in the office before her. As she reached the bars, she paused, taking a moment to glance back over her shoulder. “My name is Erolina.” The word came out a little stressed, as if she hadn’t spoken it aloud in years.
All eyes were on her until she left the hall, and then everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
Markus leaned against the bars of the holding cell. “Storgen, eh? You got a last name?”
“Yeah, Storgen TheGuyWhoKnockedYouOutCold-Son.”
“Bah! I say we just execute him now and get it over with.”
Porcas tapped away at his tablet. “You can’t just eliminate someone without first submitting a petition to the god that owns t
hem. You want to bring down a curse on us?”
Storgen cleared his throat. “Or, and I’m just spit balling here, how about we look for alternatives that don’t involve me being executed?”
“Oh, you’re being executed, it’s just a question of how much paperwork we have to fill out first.”
“Yeah, see that just doesn’t work for me.”
“You’ll be burned alive, as per regulations.”
“I’m already burnt, can’t you be more creative?”
Porcas thought for a moment. “Well, crucifixion is becoming quite popular. I suppose we could try that.”
“See? Now that’s the spirit.”
Markus stood up angrily. “This trash is full of lies, we’re not going to get anything out of him. Yesterday he said his name was “XVII.”
“XVII?”
“Yeah, ridiculous right? He’s just trying to irritate us.”
“No, I am irritating you.”
The Chief Constable tapped his plump finger against his pale lips. “I know I’ve heard that somewhere before. Let me check on something.”
As he waddled out, Storgen crinkled his nose and flexed his lips, straining against his neck collar.
“What in the cosmos are you doing?” Markus sneered, his patience at an end.
“Hey, buddy, can you hit me one more time? My nose is itching something fierce.”
Markus stood before him. “And have you unconscious for your execution? No way, I want you to feel every moment of it. I nearly got demoted because of you. Five years of service without a single demerit and then you come along.”
Storgen sighed. “I really didn’t want to have to do this.”
With a swift kick he snapped his leg up, catching Markus dead between the legs. Markus groaned painfully and slumped forward, Storgen biting into his shoulder as hard as he could.
Screaming in rage, Markus pulled himself off and began pummeling Storgen, punching him in the face over and over until it was black and blue. Several of the nearby constables peeked in to see what the commotion was about, then began cheering him on.
His rage spent, Markus took a step back, his knees locked together, his fists trembling.
Storgen crinkled his nose again. “Thanks, that’s much better.”
“You’re insane!”
A clockwork insect scuttled into the cell, its glowing abdomen opening up to reveal a call tube.
“Markus, get in here and help me,” Chief Porcas hollered.
Comporting himself as best he could, Markus hobbled out of the cell, ignoring the snickers of his coworkers as he crossed the hall and entered the sanctuary.
The shrine inside was a ring of cogs and pistons, Porcas struggling with a long-armed copper lever.
“Don’t just stand there!”
Markus grabbed the handle and their combined strength was enough to get the rusty mechanism moving. The ring spun to life, arcane energies playing over its surface. The air began thickening, the floors and walls vibrating as the ring picked up speed. A mist formed in the center, and as the ring spun faster and faster, it became a glowing orb of energy.
The mist within the shimmering sphere resolved itself into the image of a glowing god.
“Archives,” he yawned, scratching the stubble on his chin.
Porcas dropped to one knee. “Oh, great Aeneas, steward of hidden wisdom, grandson of…”
“Do you have an offering?”
Porcas looked up, confused. “Well, I figured since this is official police business…” He began pawing at his pockets in the vain hope that he might find something.
Aeneas rolled his eyes. “You’ve already used our offices twice this year, you’re going to use up all your benefits.”
“I humbly implore you, this may be important. We have a prisoner identified as Storgen XVII. Your unworthy servants humbly implore you for your blessing. What can you tell us about him?”
Aeneas unscrewed a golden flask and took a quick sip of ambrosia. “Very well.”
His flesh changed color to a brilliant metallic, beginning at his eyes, then spreading across his face and chest until his entire being flowed like quicksilver.
The floor before them pulled itself up, the material reforming itself into a rolled parchment.
The miracle performed, Aeneas’ body returned to normal, and he screwed the lid back on his flask.
“Next time bring an offering or I’ll turn you into a toad.”
“Ah--of course, your greatness. Your generosity knows no bounds.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
The image disappeared and the ring spun to a halt. Wiping the sweat from his portly face, Porcas unfurled the scroll and began to read. After a few lines, his eyes went wide.
“Move the prisoner to a holding cell immediately” he snapped. “Triple the restraints.”
“Wait, what?” Markus stammered.
“That man is a wanted fugitive.”
“Right.”
Markus reached for his key, but found only an empty ring.
“What’s wrong?”
“My-my key, it’s…”
The two ran out of the sanctuary. Running to the cage, they found it empty.
“That man, where did he go?!”
The constables and scribes looked up from their desks in surprise.
“No one was watching?”
Porcas walked up to the chair. The bands were loosed, the key still sitting in the lock.
“He’s gone.”
“How?”
“You idiot, he riled you up on purpose, so you’d get close enough for him to palm the key.”
Porcas turned around. “Prepare the reserves, I want every legionary and auxilia out on the streets. There is a five million drachma reward for this man’s capture! I’ll split the reward with the man who brings him in.”
As the room became a whirlwind of activity, Markus stood quietly staring at the empty chair.
“Who in the world is this guy?”
* * *
Pops could barely contain his excitement as he stood in line at the customer service desk before the temple of Warestus. He clutched a heavy bag of coins in his old hands.
The column before him changed color, and he made his way up the vaulted steps.
“Hey, take your sandals off,” one of the slaves whispered.
“Oh, right, holy ground,” Pops said, kicking off his footwear.
“No, I just mopped.”
The demigod behind the barred window rested on one elbow, twirling a lock of her hair as she stared at the clocktower at the far end of the plaza. Above her hung a large sign in bright, friendly letters that read, “No refunds.”
“Oh, wow,” Pops exclaimed as he drew near. “You’re Naamah, daughter of Warestus and a mortal.”
She glanced down at the name plate on her desk that read, “Naamah, daughter of Warestus and a mortal.”
“Figured that one out yourself, did you?” she asked through half-closed lids.
“I’d know you anywhere. The epic poem about you and the demon of Edinbur won the Ápinso Fanfiction competition last year.”
“I don’t even want to know what that means.”
“Most people ship you with the Wolf Chieftain, but personally I ship you with the Tentacle Monster of the South Seas. So, I gotta ask, what does it feel like to be immortal?”
“Did you bring an offering or do I get to watch the guards castrate you?”
“Oh, yes, right.”
Pops reached into his bag and pulled out a golden coin. The hole in the center suspended a glowing speck of vermillion light.
Pops slid the coin to her, and she examined it closely. “There’s an impurity. You cheated during your fast, didn’t you?”
“No, no I swear. I just had a poppy seed stuck in my teeth. It came loose during my fast, but I didn’t actually eat anything.”
She eyed him suspiciously, then slid the coin into the bronze pneumatic tube, whisking it away.
“I a
m here to settle my account,” he said proudly, shaking the bag of coins. “I sold everything that was dear to me.”
“Hmm,” she said, unimpressed as she tapped on her crystal slate. The talisman around his neck resonated and his information rose up in the air before her.
“I see here that you have been cursed.”
“Yes, it has been miserable, I can’t even begin to tell you.”
“I also see that you are dangerously close to falling behind on your tithes. You know how seriously we take that?”
“Yes, my crops turned to dust; the creek is nothing but a dried up riverbed now. But it’s not my fault.”
She glanced at him harshly, her pupils flashing silver.
“Oh, I mean, uh, I happily accept the punishment justly given me by Warestus when Regent Ilias paid him to curse my lands so he could steal my property.”
“As you should be.”
“You see, he wanted to expand his copper mine onto my village, but I argued that since my lands really aren’t my lands, I mean, my family has lived there for hundreds of years, but that doesn’t matter, right? My lands ultimately really belong to the great and powerful Warestus, and so I argued that the Regent should compensate me first so I could pass on the wealth to the guardian of the hills.”
“I’m sure that’s what you said.”
“I’m paraphrasing.”
“I see that you got the seal here from accounts receivable...”
“Yes, that was a fiasco.”
“…the stimpled stamp from records processing…”
“That took four days.”
“…and both the confirmation of your signature plus the signature confirmation from the redundancy department.”
“That took two appeals to pass through.”
He slid across the bag of coins, and watched excitedly as she counted them.
“It’s all there,” he assured.
She kept counting without looking up. “If my scales end up short, they take it out of my salary.”
“Do they really?”
“Yup. A direct commandment from the Goddess Raelyn.”
“Oh, your mom.”
She looked up at him coldly. “Stepmom.”
“Right. Sorry.”
“Well, it appears to be all here.”
Ambrosia Page 5
