by Lee Bond
“Ah. Here we are.”
Everyone watched on in awe as Agnethea punched through the wall, gloating looks on all their faces save Constance. The young woman shouted out a screech of warning as she realized what the not-so-terrible addition to her sweet sixteen party attempted, but it was too late; the alleged Arcadian’s hand pulled free, clasped around a steel-VII orb that shone as bright as a quicksilver star.
Amidst incoherent shouts of ‘not possible’ and ‘why isn’t she dead’, Agnethea looked drolly up through the hole she’d torn in the roof. “I see. That’s an Enforcer, and there hain’t one nor two, but five of the Dread Knights of the Realm arranged atop Stack 17.” She addressed young Mistress Constance. “It does seem that your lord and master, this thing called Trinity Itself, has a direct interest in the goings on over yonder, dear girl, and with the danger these Enforcers do represent, I cannot in good faith provide you with the protection I claimed. Whatever It plans, nowt but death and destruction will come of it, as the ones already there and hunting after my Book aren’t the sorts to play fair or die easy.”
“Why aren’t you dead?” Constance stammered, pointing a trembling finger at the steel-VII orb in Agnethea’s hands. “There … they’re protected by measures that can kill any…anything.”
The Queen of Thieves –a solo guild at best for the time being, more was the pity- rolled the shiny orb ‘twixt her hands like a Mesmer at a show, quick and fast sinuous loops that sent flashes of light across the faces of all those who’d hoped she’d die a quick and nasty death.
“I reckon there’s nowt in this Unreal Universe as can cause me lasting harm, Mistress Constance, and ‘sides which, my new friend tells me that those measures you mention function at the whim of the mind within and ‘ere now, not one of them has truly seen reason to spare whosoever were foolish enough to lay a hand atop the orb. The freshly crowned King of Lost Arcadia, Garth Nickels, wrought changes in me sufficient enough for his own needs, and it appears as though I am more like this bauble than the woman I once was. Either way, having a friend who knows the ins and outs of this world better than myself will be of value. Now, I do apologize once more for ruining your sweet sixteen, but I must get to the roof to see what these Enforcers intend.”
Constance watched Agnethea leap lithely up through the hole in the ceiling –fifteen feet high or more- as if she were hopping over a handbag. She disappeared with a friendly wave.
“Well.” Constance said primly, mimicking the woman she wanted to be more than anything else in the world. “I do think it’s time for all of you to leave, don’t you? A lot has happened, and now she’s gone with the house AI, there’s going to be rather a lot of explaining once the authorities arrive. I’ve got to make certain mother and the men that were injured are on the same page, storywise.”
One of her long-time friends, Marc Frangu, opened his mouth. “But … but she stole from you and hurt those people …”
“Marcus, shut your hole and get your ass out of my house. I’ll thank all of you to keep your mouths shut and say nothing to the police, or I’ll make it my personal business to let everyone know in our little circle just how much nothing all of you did to make certain I was safe. The Hoopersmyth name will remain unsullied by lies and storytelling. Are we clear?”
***
Agnethea sat on the edge of the roof, feet dangling over the edge, trying to peer into the deep and foggy mists a thousand or so feet below her and failed. The mysteries hidden behind that shroud were much like her life right now; she could see quite easily what the very near future held for her, but beyond that, it were a right proper mystery.
A cluster of strange sounds boomed and popped through the atmosphere, overriding even the ceaseless noises of this strange Outside.
:the Enforcers arrive:
A few quick images sketched themselves just on this side of her eyelids, a strange by-product –according to the artificial intelligence- of their being in close proximity; five armor clad Enforcers were, that very moment, burning their way through the atmosphere and –if the strange images in her mind were to be believed- making a fiery beeline right for Stack 17.
“How are you getting these images?” Agnethea demanded, wondering if perhaps taking this thinking mind in a ball might have been a bad idea after all. She weren't particularly keen on having someone around as could draw pictures inside her brain. The King’d tried that long and long down through the years, hadn’t he just?
:long-range satellite images. I am still connected to the house hardware through remote signal enhancers. When we move from here, all I'll have is my own memories and intellect:
The concept of ‘long-range satellites’ filtered into her lexicon as smooth as you pleased and just like that, Agnethea deRois, Queen of Thieves, understood that this world was as watched –if not more so- than old Arcadia.
More images drew themselves ‘gainst her eyelids, though these were of a finer quality than the last, and it took Agnethea a moment to realize that as the connection ‘tween her and the thinking mind grew more comfortable, like as not, things like this would get better.
Agnethea chose to table concerns over the thinking mind’s abilities for the time being, for was she not a stranger in a strange land, and more concerned about making less of an entrance the next time around? Having summat on her person as was capable of ensuring that she spoke the local lingo and allowed her the luxury of not outing herself as a complete and utter child when it came to things everyone else in a thousand miles took for granted was the sort of thing that Garth would no doubt call ‘a tactical advantage’.
:this man Garth is correct. I am a tactical advantage:
“Yes, well,” Agnethea replied primly, watching the approaching Enforcers with clinical circumspection, “when this particular moment is done, me and thee shall have a discussion on the nature of this … communal area … within my melon, and of which areas within that are not for you to wander through like a maiden through a garden, plucking those prettiest flowers, hey?”
:as you command, Queen Agnethea:
“I am a thief, now, mind, but I do … I say!” Agnethea couldn’t contain, control or even understand the heart-palpitating shock of recognition that hammered through her once the images of the Enforcers –who were even then landing alight atop the highest level of darkened Stack 17- were resolved into their most clearest ever.
Her mind was fairly battered this way and that! Though each fine suit of armor had been through all manner of changes and additions under the crafty hands of Trinity Itself, Agnethea had lived for eleven thousand years, and in that time, she’d seen more of what the King built than any other living soul. It was in the way the suits moved, in the way a particular joint moved when an arm was waved, or how a leg flexed, or how guttering light from a nearby Stack flashed off intimidating helm.
Trinity’s Enforcers –allegedly the most dangerous, most powerful beings in the machine mind’s employ- were draped in Dark Iron-forged machinery!
Scandalous!
Shocking!
And more importantly, worrisome in the extreme, for if there were anything this side of the now-downed Dome capable of bringing her any sort of harm, it'd be summat as had once been built by the King Himself.
“How so?” Agnethea murmured fretfully, trying to find some way free of involving herself with Trinity’s forces once she herself arrived back at Stack 17.
Obviously, her kinsfolk would need dealing with. That were a moot point, and a gut feeling told her they were either all of them going to arrive nearly at Book at the same time or close enough together so that it made no never mind.
Now, she’d fought in her fair share of four ‘gainst four in her time, but that’d been with her being the top Golem on the block. If she’d been through changes ‘pon coming through the Dome –in whatever fashion it made no nevermind- then it were a dead cert that the others had as well, and if their lives were following some kind of script, well, Agnethea were clear on one thing: Dom B
reton, Chevy Pointillier and Mirabelle would provide more than a passing moment of entertainment.
It were going to be a knockdown, drag-out fight of uncertain proportions.
The arrival of yon Enforcers –who, it seemed, weren’t above wasting a moment with how do you do’s and general chitchat from the way they loitered- didn’t bode well.
But what was their game?
“That’s the infuriating part, hey?” Agnethea pulled a delicate lace fan from her stolen purse and tapped her lips thoughtfully.
:how do you mean?:
“It is like this, mind. If yonder Enforcers were here to take Book ‘ere any one of us four Arcadians, who are scattered about Stack 17 in an almost equal pattern which will, through various means and ways, take us all about the same amount of time to reach our goal, actually and truly get there, then I cannot help but think such mighty soldiers, armed with powers currently beyond my ken, would not go through the roof, hey? ‘tis not impracticable to imagine they possess some means of cutting through the fortifications, yes? So why the roof when ‘twould be simpler, at least to my country mind, to go through the side?”
:valid point:
“All points I make are valid, and if they are proven otherwise, any new point I make on the matter shall automatically override any previously made points.” Agnethea continued working her way through this small conundrum. “So then if they are not here to take Book before we get our hands on’t, then … ‘tis a game for Trinity. It does want to see which of us claims the prize, and then to see after what occurs. Oh, this is a dangerous game it plays, mind, one that is full of evil. There will be much destruction, and on a level I think It does not understand fully. When we are all down there in the darkness of this place, fighting over Book, I warrant these Enforcers will find cause to join the fray rather than stand by the wayside, I feel it in my toes.”
:and then?:
“Well.” Agnethea pursed her lips together grimly. “I reckon then, mind, that we shall all behold the true nature of Man, hey? For it can only be the worst of the worst as will come out not only alive, but with prize in tow.”
:they’ve begun cutting through the roof. They’ve arrayed themselves properly across the structure. If each one of them go straight down, they will be placed equidistant from the central location in your mind. A perfect spot for them to survey without being involved:
“As I said, as I said.” An idea popped into Agnethea’s head. “Mind, do you have a method of getting me over there without any difficulties?”
:I can bring one of the cars around, madam. We can fly over quite easily. Controlling the mechanisms are within my skillset. What do you plan?:
“Well,” Agnethea said, adjusting her stolen bag so it sat better across her back, “I intend on taking one of their holes down, don’t I? 'twould be simplest, don’t you think? Though I am hardy, I should like to spy on these here Enforcers ‘ere I go head to head with my kin. I do not like the game we've been invited to play by their master, do you?”
:I am currently uncertain how I feel. This is all very new. There has never been an organic mind capable of communicating with an artificial one without the use of an interface. It will take some adjusting to:
“Oh.” Agnethea murmured, patting the orb in her purse. “It’s sweet of you to think I’m still all natural. Very kind. But after Master N’Chalez’ efforts in bringing down the King, I am rather more than that, but I’ll still take the compliment.”
:The car arrives, madam, please be careful a gust of wind doesn’t blow you off:
The Path of the Righteous Woman is Sometimes Marred by The Occasional Bout of Killing Everything In Sight…
Mirabelle could feel the people moving behind her, hollow ghosts, silently shuffling their feet e’en as she shuffled hers, whispering quiet, soft words to those who stood on either side, and found herself praying –a thing she’d never heard of before on the Inside, but ‘twere a concept she’d come to understand here, on her own, whilst making this journey- that they kept their distance; there was something in her still that were as raw as ever, and while she had neither reason nor desire to cause anyone significant hurt, it was just there, under the skin.
So hard, to follow and be pure for the new King, when it seemed as though everything in the Outside were designed to be an assault on a poor Arcadian’s nerves.
And this was with the lights out and almost no energy flowing to the homes and buildings rising up on all sides around her like monuments to Kings or Gods.
Mirabelle didn’t want to imagine what this world full of Outsiders would be like when it were fully charged and on. The mere thought of all that sound, all those lights, all that choking, claustrophobic smoke and fumes and who knew what else clinging to her damaged skin made her itch and want to flail about.
The Lady of the Weeping Eye kept walking, moving her feet slowly, pushing those crowding thoughts of noise and barely breathable air away, away, far down inside her and thought only of Book.
Book was all that mattered, in the end.
She couldn’t allow any of the others who even then were on the prowl just as she was lay their grimy hands on it. The metal-bound tome –full of King N’Chalez’ plans and thoughts and all else as made him who he was- was the most dangerous thing in the whole of the Outside and she was the only one meant to possess it because she was the only one who didn’t want it for herself; e’en if it took a thousand years … a million years … Mirabelle would do all she could, walk through the very black emptiness that was called space, to return the Book to its rightful master.
Mirabelle wondered where her King were right that moment. It’d crossed her mind that he himself might very well have arranged all this for the four remaining Arcadians, a King’s Gauntlet all his own, complete with traps and trials and tribulations, but of course, he'd do no such thing, for she’d heard from his very own mouth how much he despised that kind of nonsense.
“Tell me,” Mirabelle’s voice cracked and sputtered as she hadn’t spoken in hours, “tell me, do you Outsiders have a King? Someone who rules over you? as I did ‘neath The Dome?”
Stunned silence even more profound than the quiet whispering and shuffling of those who followed the woman in white rippled backward through the crowd. Many of those following the Lady of the Weeping Eye had believed her incapable of speech. Some few had even imagined her to be an hallucination brought on by plummeting oxygen levels while still others hadn’t even been following the strange, shuffling woman at the head of the line, instead simply following the crowd itself because with most of the lights off, the gangs that ruled the dark alleyways were creeping out past their borders.
Safety in numbers, it seemed, truly was a thing.
Mirabelle kept moving forward, eyes on the huge … elevator … that'd take her down to the next level. There were lights on it now, bright, piercing things that were used to like as not stab through the darkness to impale anyone or anything foolish enough to get too close.
Would it be men of honor, Mirabelle wondered, that stood at the gate, or fiends? She reckoned it didn’t really matter which were which when you got right down to it. Honorable men or heartless thieves, all that truly mattered was the mood they were in when she and the crowd behind her arrived.
Mirabelle cleared her throat, thinking mayhap the broken sound of her voice had caused too much confusion. When she was confident she’d be able to speak aloud without sounding like the ruined instrument she was, the Golem spoke once more. “Is the Outside ruled? By a man or woman or summat else? Who makes the rules, who makes you follow them?”
A quiet, tremulous voice spoke up louder than the rest. “I … it depends … it depends on where you live and what Conglomerate you rely on. There’s Voss_Uderhell and BishopCo…”
“I speak not of men and their companies, nor of the business they perpetrate.” Mirabelle shook her head. “They are men and women who seek to turn you into coin to spend. I look for someone else, a King or Lord or summat. Some
one who keeps all under control, someone with the power to turn this place into a slowly suffocating tomb.”
“T…Trinity Itself.” A voice stammered out the answer.
The name flowed through the Lady of the Weeping Eye, and for the first time in a long while, she allowed a smile to cross her cracked, ruined face. Trinity Itself. Oh aye, that were a name that demanded a following, hey? Why, the very name held within it remnants of Barnabas Blake’s monarchic insistence that he and he alone were the only one like him in all of Arcadia, didn’t it just?
Mirabelle gestured for the speaker to walk beside her. There followed some hurried rustling, and in a few seconds, there was a second person at the front of the crowd, a young girl in stained, dirty clothing and all barefoot.
Mirabelle put her age at no more than ten, though for all she knew this mad world of the Outside didn’t even bother counting with years, or that with all the strange science the Outside possessed, the young girl could in fact hold the mind of a wizened old whore. Either way, knowing her face were a ruined mess as caused even the staunchest person to feel uncomfortable, the Arcadian did all she could to ensure that the young girl saw nothing untoward.
“Come, child,” Mirabelle said, gesturing towards the way down with the sweep of a bone-white hand, “speak of this Trinity Itself while we continue walking towards our destination.”
“I only know what my dad told me.” Ainsley said softly, trying to get a better look at the crying woman’s face. They said in the crowd that it was broken somehow, and that if you looked right at it yourself, your face might break. She knew it was stupid to want to see something that might do that to you, but she couldn’t help what she wanted, and thought it didn’t really matter what happened to her; everyone in the Stack knew what it meant when the lights went out and everything dropped down and made those horrible sounds.
They were sealed in, just like the lady said. Sealed in and they were going to die. Some of the more scared men in the crowd, men with scars and tattoos and who were supposed to be tough men, listed the ways they were all going to die.
