Jabberwock Jack

by Dennis Liggio

  "When you are in each other's orbits, even the smallest change can alter the winds and the tides," she said mysteriously. "Disrespect and hatred are deep rivers, but the flow of any stream can be changed."

  Szandor turned to me with a look and movement of his hands that said What's up with this bullshit?

  But at least one person took her words seriously. Jericho's face changed. "In his orbit? Then he is close! You're sure?" His voice was frantic and needy, his eyes wide and bloodshot.

  The woman smiled wanly and shook her head, her eyes nearly closing in the gesture. It would almost be cute if it wasn't in the context of so much weird. "Unclear. He may be close, he may be far. He may be running silent and deep, just to arise suddenly. A vast moon coming over the horizon, far too close, far too large, but the tides will change."

  "The fuck?" said Szandor. "That didn't make any sense." I agreed with my brother but said nothing.

  "Fala is... uh, an advisor," said Meat. He seemed to not be comfortable with that statement.

  "She is our best expert on Jack's behavior and history," said Jericho confidently. He had been calmed from his outburst by her crazy words. She was like the Obsessive Whisperer. "I trust her completely when it comes to this beast."

  "I trust more the historical documents Paulie has dug up and your own experience," said Meat, but under Jericho's withering stare he softened his opinion. "But we're also using Fala's expertise."

  "Still seems like bullshit," said Szandor.

  "So what's this all about, really?" I said, heading off an oncoming argument that served no purpose. "You'd already heard about the monster from Meat, you didn't need us to show up to tell you the whole damn thing again. Why did you need us to come here? Why did everyone care so much about making sure we could take down a troll?" Meat and Paulie had hinted that there would be a hunt for Jabberwock Jack, but all I had heard was vague mentions, nothing solid.

  "This is a Call to Arms, isn't it?" said Szandor.

  Most hunters fight monsters alone. Occasionally there are pairs like my brother and I, or sometimes small families like Tor's lineage. It's just the safest way to do our work. There's personality conflicts that inevitably happen when hunting, especially in groups. People who slay monsters in secrecy for a variety of vengeful reasons surprisingly don't get along well when on the hunt. But sometimes you find that what you have is far greater than what one or two hunters can handle alone. A big nest of creatures, a large amount of area to cover without the creature escaping, or just a situation requiring an expertise you lack. If it's big enough, you put out a Call to Arms. By doing so, you're trying to get all hunters in the local area to help. Those who can show up, will. You brief them, and for one day or night, you have a deadly but loosely put together force. You get the job done quick before everyone gets on each other's nerves, you share some beers, then everyone goes their separate ways. A monster hunter flash mob, if you like. A deadly flash mob.

  "This is bigger than a Call to Arms," said Meat.

  "Bigger?" I said with confusion. I hadn't ever heard of anything bigger.

  "I'm putting together a team," said Jericho. "Specific skills and strengths. A team of hunters under my leadership. For a week, two weeks, however long until it's done."

  "To kill Jabberwock Jack," said Szandor.

  Jericho nodded. "As you boys probably know already, he's not something a single hunter can take down. Others have tried and failed. But a team with the right skills and gear... I believe it can be done."

  "That's some very big game," I said. "Can it even be done? No offense, I just wonder if it's beyond what any of us can do." I remembered stabbing my sword into it and being pulled along with it. My katana wasn't even an afterthought for that monster; it had no reaction to my stab.

  "The right tools and the right people will accomplish the job," said Jericho. "Fala assures me it can be done."

  "But should it be done, that's the question," said Fala coyly.

  "I have no time for philosophy," said Jericho dismissively. "The beast will die by my hand. The how and the when are the only questions. And thanks to you boys, I have the chance again."

  I cocked my head. "Why is our experience with it so important?"

  "Jack hasn't been seen anywhere in years," said Meat. "Or not anywhere that it's been reported."

  "I had thought the trail had run cold," said Jericho, starting to pace. "I have travelled the waterways all over this part of the country, searching for a sign of the beast or any trace of his movements. I don't know if my foe had been laying low this whole time, but I will not lose him again. Jack will die."

  "What's our incentive?" said Szandor. He saw my questioning look and continued. "What? He's the one with a huge revenge back story. We could go on hunting stuff that's not Godzilla-sized while they go off and do this. Stuff we could get paid for. Why should we chase the dragon?"

  "Money," said Jericho. "I'm told that's what you two honor."

  "Yes, exactly," said Szandor and I shot him a look. Yes, we like to get paid, but we also hunt to help people. There's a principle to it beyond being just mercenaries.

  "I mean, don't get us wrong," I said, trying to soften my brother's words, "we're not just about the money -"

  Jericho cut me off. "There's no dishonor in wanting to get paid for a job well done. There's no dishonor in providing for yourself and your family. I don't begrudge you for wanting to be paid. In fact, I would question your commitment if you did not want compensation."

  "See?" said Szandor, elbowing me in the ribs, which unfortunately was right where I had been bruised. "There's nothing wrong with asking for money. It's even noble or some shit!"

  "I don't think he went that far," I said.

  "Hey, if it's not dishonoring, then it's pretty goddamn noble to me," replied my brother.

  "What do you think of them?" said Jericho to Fala.

  She moved to us, not quite in a straight line, but as if she were swept in a circular path. She walked around us, then in between us, prompting Szandor to move over. She stood up on the tips of her toes to look me in the eye. She even sniffed the air around us, prompting Szandor to jokingly apologize for not using the fancy stuff when he showered in the morning. She waved a feather in front of us both, then swung a crystal on a necklace like a pendulum. Then she danced away from us, back toward Jericho. We were being awkwardly judged... or at the New Age strip club, one of the two.

  "Well?" he said.

  "They are both troubled warriors, but warriors they are," she said.

  "Will they benefit us?" said Jericho.

  "His smell is already upon them," she said. "Like you, they are in his orbit. Yours is far more ascendant, but his gravity pulls them too."

  Jericho grunted and then had something resembling a smile. "That's high praise, but ultimately I decide if you are warriors." He walked over to the practice area and picked up a staff. He twirled it in front of him like a baton, then twisted it under his arm in a stance I had last seen in a Hong Kong wushu film. "Now, come at me."

  "What?" said Szandor.

  "Grab some weapons and come at me," said Jericho. "I want to test your skills."

  "Now?" I said. Jericho hadn't even taken off his coat.

  "Yes, now," responded Jericho. "Unless you are cowards."

  "Which one of us first then?" said Szandor.

  "Both of you," said Jericho. He walked to the other side of the practice area and got into his stance again. "Now come try and beat me."

  Szandor and I looked at each other and shrugged. He took off his jacket and flexed. He was still wearing the Black Flag shirt from the night before. I walked over to the weapon crates, seeing if they had something suitable for us. I grabbed two bokkens and was surprised they were even in the armory. A bokken is a hard wooden practice sword from Japan. It doesn't have an edge for cutting like a true katana, but it has a similar shape. The wood is very dense. While it's called a "practice" sword because it can't cut, you could still seriously harm and poss
ibly kill someone with them. It would just be blunt force trauma.

  I tossed a bokken over to my brother, who caught it with ease. He swung it around in his hand, testing the balance.

  "Not bad," he said. "I can work with this."

  I thought the bokken was a perfect weapon for both of us. For me, it was very similar to my dearly departed katana. For Szandor, it was a blunt weapon that wasn't too long. As we approached Jericho, we brandished the wooden swords in different ways. Szandor held his similar to a lead pipe or tire iron. I used a stance I cribbed from a Kurosawa film.

  We both kept our distance, trying to examine Jericho's movements. As he moved, so did we, keeping our distance, sometimes moving left or right, looking for an opening. Now you might think from this that we had some great kungfu master who educated us or that we had real combat training. The truth is, like I've said before, we're self taught. That's why Szandor is an expert at hitting things with blunt objects. That's why the only moves I have are copied from movies or learned while slicing through monsters. I always pay attention to the things great masters say during movie training montages, the finer points of fighting that cinema badasses mention about how to fight. I've tried to make that work in real life, with varying amounts of success. Some of the movie stuff is essentially bullshit. So I know a few things but am hardly traditionally skilled. Essentially my brother and I are both two self taught brawlers.

  So of course we got our asses kicked.

  "Stop messing around and attack!" shouted Jericho.

  Szandor took the bait, as anyone other than an idiot knew he would. He's easily riled. He thinks with his weapons and he's one to charge in first, think later. I know the advantage of a swift first strike, but I always try to think what the second and third move after that are before I attack. Szandor would rather beat and/or tackle the first target he sees then worry about the next one when he's done. If I didn't have his back, he'd probably be a whole lot deader. Of course, I won't deny he's also the reason I'm still alive.

  My brother rushed Jericho, no subtlety in his movements. He charged from the left, striking high at Jericho. It was a ferocious strike that we all knew would be blocked. But it was also my opening. I lunged low, my swing coming up high, theoretically under Jericho's guard, since he had to fend off my brother's wild attack first.

  Jericho was an experienced fighter, so he dealt with our attacks easily. The staff whirled up to deflect Szandor's swing, the bokken bouncing back, causing Szandor to step back and bring the weapon back under control. The staff then whipped around, the haft swinging down to block my attack. I even had to quickly step back as the end of the staff threatened to sweep my leg off the ground.

  My retreat was momentary as I stepped forward and slashed. Jericho stepped back and blocked as I attack twice more. He had given ground, but his defense was impenetrable. He hadn't even tried to attack us. Staying completely on the defensive, he was keeping us from doing any damage with ease. It was actually kind of frustrating after generally fighting zombies and ghouls, creatures that lack any sense of defense other than hitting you first.

  Szandor came at Jericho again, even while the old man was defending from my swings. But my brother had an idea. Rather than swing with great force, it was a feint. He attacked lightly, keeping it a token effort. When his bokken bounced, he easily redirected it where he wanted it. As Jericho tried to swing the staff back toward me, Szandor thrust his bokken in the way of the staff - not to hit Jericho, but to twist up the rotating and swinging motion of the weapon. It was awkward for Szandor too and wouldn't last. There was a contest of strength between the two of them, but Jericho had all the leverage. My brother would quickly lose, but it gave me an opening.

  I was already frustrated. I didn't have the patience of a trained fighter. So I admit that I struck out of that frustration, rather than out of ferocity or fighting spirit. It was more my brother's territory. So I didn't fight fair. I could sit here and argue to you that when in battle, you use any of your opponent's weaknesses. It's not always just, but it is necessary. But even I know that arguing that does not defend my action. I was still being shitty.

  I swung my bokken at Jericho's fake leg, hoping to knock his prosthetic limb and get him off balance.

  Yeah, I decided to use the disabled person's weakness against them. I was that guy.

  Jericho's staff still tied up, my strike was unimpeded. I hit his leg. Then I had a great moment of surprise. I expected my bokken to hit hollow plastic, maybe a thin rod of carbon steel in the center. Instead there was a loud dong as my bokken hit a large piece of metal. This wasn't a thin prosthetic hidden by a pant leg, this was a full leg-sized piece of metal. I felt the impact hard in my arms and between that and the surprise I nearly dropped the wooden sword. Even worse, Jericho's balance wasn't disrupted in any way. In fact, he even turned to me and gave me a grimacing smile.

  With a turn of his body, he twisted, the staff spinning around him. I couldn't even see the end, it was so fast. But I felt it as it whacked me in three places and knocked me down, my bokken flying out of my hand. My brother was also thrown away from Jericho, disarmed and stumbling to the ground. If it wasn't clear he had been playing with us before, it was clear now.

  Jericho walked off the sparring mats and put his staff against the wall. I couldn't even tell if he had broken a sweat.

  "I commend you for trying to exploit a weakness," said Jericho, his voice booming. "It's what I would have done. It's what I expect you to do. But remember that your foe knows his own weaknesses as well and may bait you into attacking a weakness that is actually a strength."

  Szandor still hadn't pulled himself up from the floor, preferring to mutter a curse at Jericho from the ground. I was also still on the floor rubbing my head.

  I nodded to Jericho. "I'll remember that."

  "I guess we failed," said Szandor.

  "Not at all," said Jericho robustly. "Welcome aboard, gentlemen. If you choose to join us, Meat will tell you what you need to know."

  "So what is his deal?" asked Szandor.

  We were back in Meat's SUV, heading back to our apartments. The rain was tapering off, but puddles still covered the city.

  "Who? Jericho?" asked Meat, seemingly oblivious.

  "Of course him," I said. "What's up with his leg?"

  Meat shot me a glance, then his eyes returned to the road.

  "His leg?" said Szandor.

  "His leg isn't real," said Meat. "He lost it to Jack."

  "He fought Jack?" I said.

  Meat nodded. "The two have a long history together, even before his leg. But there was a time when Jericho nearly had him... and Jack nearly had him. Jericho took Jack's eye and Jack took Jericho's leg."

  "His leg is prosthetic?" said Szandor, who had not noticed it during the fight. "Or else that's the coolest peg leg ever. Looks real, stops swords."

  "According to what I've heard, his new leg is made of Avalon Brass," said Meat. "He had it specially made from some mechanic in Riverside. Supposedly there's something mechanical in it that helps him walk. But that's what I've gleaned from conversations, so I don't know all the details. One does not just ask Jericho directly about his leg."

  Avalon Brass was a metal only found in New Avalon area mines and a source of local pride. Long thought to be just cosmetically pleasing and otherwise useless, nowadays people are finding surprising uses for it. Unfortunately the mines are tapped out now, so unless someone scrapped a bunch of jewelry, light fixtures, and building furnishings, it wasn't easy to obtain. It looked similar to gold or brass, hence it's name, but metallurgically it was nothing like either. It was also well known by its distinctive shimmer when light reflected off it.

  "So he's got like a robot leg?" said Szandor. "Damn, as much as he's an ass, I don't know if I'll ever be as badass as him."

  I nodded. "If I ever lost my leg, I'd want a cool robot leg too."

  "I know, right?" said Szandor. "Maybe like with a rocket jet. Not functional, since I'd need two,
but like I could kick someone in the face with it and have the jets burn them. By them, I mean like zombies or ghouls, not real people."

  "Or it could have a built-in holster for a gun like in Robocop," I said.

  "I advise you two not to say anything like that around him," said Meat. "As you may have guessed, he's quick to anger. And the leg is a very sore subject."

  "Point taken," I said with a nod.

  "And what's with the chick? Fela? Fala, I think?" said Szandor. "Are they banging? I bet they're banging."

  Meat turned from the road (thankfully at a stop light), to shoot Szandor a glare.

  "I mean," said Szandor, "uh, are they in a fine, healthy, and mutually consenting relationship which may or may not consist of regular boot knocking? Which probably is not any of my business, but fuck, I still want to know."

  Meat shook his head. "Your guess is as good as mine." He pulled the car to a stop in front of my apartment. "I think you two need to think this over. Don't just decide recklessly. This isn't a normal hunt. This isn't even a Call to Arms. It's a big decision, But unfortunately, time is short. You need to decide quickly. The briefing is tomorrow, and after that, the hunt begins."

  "So what are we doing?" said Szandor. He was lounging on my couch. He had a beer in one hand and a cigarette in another. His feet were up on the coffee table. I kicked his feet off the table as I sat down in the armchair with my own beer. After Meat dropped us off, we had come up here to enjoy the delight of an afternoon beer on a weekday.

  "About Jack?" I said.

  "Yeah, are we down for this hunt? Because I have my reservations."

  "Of course, so do I, who wouldn't?" I took a sip of beer.