by Lee Bond
“I do.” Chevril wondered at the life Simon had been leading since either winning his freeman status or having been kicked out of wherever he’d been for being … well, Simon. The man was uncommonly well-informed. Once they were done talking, he were going to have to dig into the man’s life wi’ a fine-toothed comb. “He shall have need of the Hounds of War, Simple Simon, a most dire and precipitous need. And he shall have those Hounds, ready to be unleashed at his call.”
Simon clapped ‘is ‘ands together and rubbed ‘em excitedly back and forth. “Oh, I do bet me own two and one half bollocks that that wee little speech does get the blood flowing just nice and proper, hey? Even got a proper name for ‘em an’ everything. And until King calls? Wot then?”
Chevril gestured over his shoulder, towards the mirror, where Thierry and Windim stood. “We shall work, Master Simon. We shall earn the trust o’ the people. They shall see that the Hounds are e’en more capable o’er mere wardogs. Where before they begged for the attention of Gerry’s sort, they shall come to us. And in so doing, we shall … acquire. Power. Wealth. Equipment. ‘tis the kind of thing our King would do.”
“Oh aye.” Simon nodded knowingly. “I were in SpecSer for a minute or two. ‘eard all sorts o’ tales. Considered most of ‘em to be of the tall variety, but as I sit ‘ere, there hain’t nowt but honest truth in your voice. You is travel with King, you is see ‘im operate. Our King, ‘e’s lucky to ‘ave a man like you on ‘is side.”
Chevy slotted that tidbit away, then planted ‘ands on the table. “Well, Simon, since you hain’t interested in joinin’ the Kennel, how about you is tell uz all the whys and wherefores o’ your visit? We hain’t half busy, you see. Army-building ‘neath the noses o’ them as make those kinds of things their concern is tiresome.”
“And troublesome, I’ll warrant.” Simon momentarily considered joinin’ the old man’s secret army. Thought o’ doin’ proper work once more. It’d be nice, he reckoned, bein’ with people as knew the truth o’ who and wot they was. Certainly would remove the need to lie and keep distant.
Then he changed his mind.
He were, as Chevy had pointed out, the only one o’ the Gear in the room. He were too steeped in who he were to be the focus. Things would go badly. “I is ‘ere to give you some valuable information, squire, Intel that could be of great service to your fledgling organization.”
“Wot might that be?” Chevril felt the stirrings of excitement course through old veins.
Simon was a grizzled old veteran of both the Outside and the Inside. Had full knowledge of who he was and what he could do. With that spark of the Gear in him, there were no honest way to gauge his levels. But no matter; whatever else the man did with his time, he clearly spent considerable amounts of it being informed.
“You and yours.” Simon thrust his chin at the mirror. “You is ‘ear tales o’ men like me ‘ere now, no?”
“There are whispers here and there, aye.” Chevy responded cautiously. No sense in mentioning Turner and his talents. Simon might take well take the news he weren't unique poorly. “Bedtime stories to while away the hours when sleep hain’t come.”
“No rumor.” Simon replied firmly, enjoying the crafty look in Chevy’s eyes. Oh aye, their old Pointer, the tales o’ him and his whipcrack mind weren’t merely tales, no they weren’t. Give the man a sip, a hint, a taste? The full meal bloomed inside that brain. “No rumor, but only truth. A handful here and there were allowed out and about, them as were set to watch over, gifted a splashgun to deal wi’ ‘em ‘ere they went wobbly. Your King, it seems, did have the misfortune o’ runnin’ into one en route to Arcadia. Meechy were the last, save for me, as were loose. This goes back decades, mind.”
“Of course.” Chevy licked his lips. Definitely no sense in mentioning Turner. Kingtech, loose on the Outside. Trinity Itself had to be as mad as Garth described, to risk such lunacy. “The pressure must be a burden.”
“I maintain.” Simon said darkly, daring the old man to pressure further. When the silver-haired old-timer merely pressed his lips together so tight they formed a seal, the gearhead resumed. “But that were only a fraction o’ gear-kissed fools let loose on the Outside, you see? King sought to flood the Outside wi’ ‘em, and through means I cannot and will not remember, ‘e pushed men and women like me through. Whereupon they was captured by Trinity Itself. For inspection. I is thank God I is slip through the cracks, squire. I cannot imagine … I cannot.”
“Ah.” Chevy’s mind popped and whizzed. “I see.”
“I warrant you do.” It were well nice to talk to someone like Chevy, e’en if there were an expiry date on this little palaver o’ theirs. “And so we do come to why I is here, Kennelmaster Chevril Pointillier, in this … garage.”
“Go on.” Chevy daren’t say anything further. His breath were all bunged up in his chest and the stink of hot metal were curlin’ throughout the interrogation chamber like a thick, hungry snake. Talking to Simon were like dancin’ wi’ fire. You ‘ad no way o’ knowin’ if you were goin’ to get burnt and couldn’t, ‘til the stink o’ barbecue did make your mouth water something awful.
A tremor of a smile flitted across one corner of Simon’s mouth. No doubt the youngsters in the other room had all manner of gun and cannon and grenade and who knew what else ready to go, ready to blast him into atoms should he twitch the wrong way.
It was good they were on the ball like that, as he himself hadn’t been entirely certain which way he were goin’ to go until right this second. He rather liked the idea of the man known as Garth Nickels bein’ King o’ Arcadia. It were well and good to replace a frothing lunatic wi’ a man so viciously capable o’ determinin’ who got to live and who got to die.
Moreover, ‘e were positively tickled pink at the thought of an army of reborn gearheads awaitin’ ‘is order. Garth’s distaste for all things Trinity were well known amongst them as walked the hallowed halls of Camp Nova, e’en to them as had decided to leave. You could scarcely have a class wi’out the man’s name bandied about. Usually cited as what not to do, but still.
So, aye. Kennelmaster were goin’ to get ‘is news.
“I is learn summat.” Simon whispered. “Trinity is keen on Kingtech, you see? Smart and wily enough to know wot It’s got in them gearheads as It put on ice, hey, but not smart enough to figure it all out. The science behind wot made us geared is beyond It.”
“Are you telling me It’s keeping the rest of … them as are like you … alive?” The thought of it stole his breath clean away. Oh, if they could but get their hands on one or two or a dozen of them as had the whisper of the cog in ‘em … the Kennel would triumph. That weren’t to say that the regular Hounds would be any less coveted. Quite the contrary. But … gearheads?
“Aye.” Simon nodded once. He rose from the table, dug into a pocket, pulled out a creased, stained piece of paper and dropped it onto the flat surface, where it … smoldered. “’pon that bit o’ parchment be coordinates, Kennelmaster. A secret jail, wherein are stored a minimum o’ three of my ilk. Mind, Trinity do keep watchful eye o’er It’s precious little trinkets, hey, so if you is think about a rescue operation, do be prepared for a battle. One that might nowt e’en be worth the effort.”
Chevy itched to grab the piece o’ paper, but he were damned if he were goin’ to look so eager in front of Simon. “How’s that?”
Simon stopped at the door, grinned most cruelly. “Why, wakin’ up a gearhead hain’t as simple as whisperin’ a few words into an ear, squire. Fair lot harder than goin’ ‘oi, is you not old Miserable Martha, a right an’ vicious bitch you was, is you remember cuttin’ up that family out there in Regent that time’. Oh no, squire, wakin’ up a slumbering gearhead … that’s like pokin’ a volcano. Not all boys and girls’re like me, Chevy. Well, look at the time. I is need to go. ‘ave fun, Chevy. Build our King’s Army. Make them strong and true, for if our King truly is the Specter, I warrant wotever it is you think ‘e’s fightin’ for is gonna g
rind through all o’ you like a Big King through a passel o’ ordinary folk.”
Chevy watched Simple Simon bang through the door. He counted to ten. When he were certain that the man was well and truly gone, he closed his hand around the dingy piece of paper and held it tight.
Pointer had some thinking to do, didn’t he just?
If Your Offer Still Stands… Let Us Pillage and Plunder‘cross the Stars
She … she were standing at the edge of the Stack, standing there, bitter wind blowing in from all corners, pebbling even her immaculate flesh, bringing with each torrential gust of scything cold another layer of doubt, a doubt that settled into her and refused to move.
Doubt she’d survive. Doubt she e’en deserved to survive. Failure at losing Book to shattered Mirabelle ran rampant alongside doubt, forcing her to wonder also if she were the person she thought she were. The voice in her head, coming from the sphere in her hand, had no answers for her, for to it, she were the same as always, same as ever.
Only, as she clutched to the side of Stack wi’ a grip so strong e’en Bolt-Necks -who the voice politely informed her were, in truth, known as Frankenstein’s Monsters- would yelp like an abused pet, only … she weren’t.
Not at all.
Garth Nickels, King N’Chalez, he had wrought changes within her, hadn’t he just. Reached in with the power he held so casually, so … so awkwardly from time to time it were nearly a joke that he were the one slated to destroy the whole of Everything, creating a transformation that she suspected weren’t quite done yet, else …
“Else I should be standing inside this Stack, clutching my Book, all triumphant and victorious, hey, wi’ me giving them the same sorts of warnings as that harlot Mirabelle were giving to uz.” The only thing warm on Agnethea were her ears, which burned with shame and embarrassment at fleeing from the sight of a Golem that were barely old enough to tie her own corset.
“And yet.” Agnethea risked another glance downward, catching an ill wind right in the face for her troubles. Eyes stinging, cheeks flustered with rain and tears from the abuse, the once-upon-a-time Queen of Ickford tried once again to gauge the depths awaiting her down below.
Tried, and failed. E’en the voice in the sphere, the brain in th’ orb, had no real answers for her, other than to say ‘all else who tried, died, body ne’er recovered, no effort made at recovery’.
For down there, down there at the very bottom o’ each Stack that sat upon the world called Earth, were either lands so rotten and festering that the air alone were poisonous enough to turn lungs into melted goo or oceans so alive with this thing called radiation that the skin would melt from pristine white bones ‘ere thirty seconds had passed.
“I am made of sterner stuff, though.” And it were true. If she could survive the ministrations of Platinum Kings, armored titans called Enforcers and the efforts of her own kinsmen, mere poisonous air and radioactive waters held no mystery for her.
And yet … sterner still as she knew herself to be, all that doubt that burned inside her, it stayed her hand. Or rather, it conned her hand to hold just as tight as e’er to the Stack-girder. Delicate ears, drenched wi’ rainwater and who knew what else, could hear the metal of the pole she gripped for dear life warping ‘neath her irrefutable grasp.
This Stack will be destroyed soon, ma’am
“How say you?” Agnethea shouted to be heard above the din of the tempestuous, wet winds blowing ‘gainst the side, no matter the two o’ them spoke on some different level altogether. “Mirabelle may be many things, mind, but she doth appear to be … rehabilitated. She would not seek to end the lives of so many, not so soon after such glorious triumph. If anything, she would do the opposite, if the mantle of victor does not weigh too heavily upon her ruin’t brow.”
It won’t be Mirabelle that does the destroying, milady, but Trinity Itself. It is a certainty. Beyond the presence of foreign technology that is in direct violation of It’s Laws, there is also the undeniable fact that the whole Stack has been tainted. By your presence, by the other Arcadians, by the deaths of five Enforcers. It will seek to mitigate It’s losses by burying It’s shame down below
Agnethea nodded, shifted her grip and her stance slightly.
It were a thing she’d seen ‘ere now, ‘neath The Dome. Every time luckily dead Barnabas shat the bed or failed at some new thing he were trying out, the entire bottled world of Arcadia were on hand to witness the destruction.
“Why should a metallic monarch operate any differently than any fleshly one, hey? No point to it, other than to concede that if you do have the power to hide your errors from the glaring light of truth, then you should hasten unto that decision. Mind, how long do you think remains ‘ere Trinity Itself pulls the rug o’er this shite-filled monument to failure?”
Soon, I think. Someone, possibly one of It’s Representatives, is placing quantum repeaters nearby, allowing for communication between Itself and those who will do the actual destroying. I am … augmented by your presence. I can just hear the chatter, milady. Crews of some nature will be arriving to place destructive charges all over the place
“Well then.” Agnethea looked once more over the edge of where she stood, hoping against hope that this time, she would be greeted wi’ some sign, some hint that where she stood would lead to soft meadows capable of slowing her speedy descent to the point that when she made impact, ‘twould be nowt but a gentle kiss of motion that would e’en more speedily transform into a gentle nap.
A howling vortex of bitter wind, vicious rain and sounds similar to Barnabas’ Giant Green Men rising from their birthing crevasses reached her.
The wryest of all grins across her cold face, Agnethea shrugged. “Nowt to do but do it, I do reckon. Mind, if, in the proceeding moments, we do lose contact wi’ one another, I should like to thank you now for your services. ‘tis a shame all has come to such an abrupt end.”
You will triumph, milady. I know not how you do the things you do, or how we communicate so easily, but … I know it. You shall survive
“Did I ever tell you?” Agnethea started as she dangled one foot o’er the edge. “I fell once before, ‘neath The Dome? King Barnabas Blake tossed me out the window o’ his stateroom, he did, and I fell and fell and fell. That were the beginning of a long, unpleasant war ‘gainst my liege. I do wonder, then, what shall arise from this fall from grace? Allez-oops.”
Agnethea deRois, once Queen of Ickford, aspirant to become Pirate Queen o’ th’ Universe itself, stepped from her platform, eyes wide open, to greet the destiny that awaited, one of her last, clear thoughts being ‘would it be water, or would it be earth?’…
***
The Pirate Queen fell and fell and fell and fell. She fell for so long that, for a time, she forgot wot she were doing. Now and again, the mind in the ball whispered to her of things it thought she might like to know, and other times, it fell as quiet as she, nowt more than a cold orb pressed ‘gainst equally cold skin. She fell and fell, she did, shocking silver hair a beacon.
The Pirate Queen fell until she could fall no more. She hit something that felt like it were the most solid thing in all Existence, felt the mind that’d been her companion for so long on the Outside bounce clean from her hand, felt … felt consciousness hammered right out of her body, but not before something cold, wet and obscenely vile crawled in through nose, ears, mouth.
Water, then. The poisonous, wretched waters of Earth.
The Queen resumed falling, only this time, much more slowly...
***
Warmth. So delicious, so indescribable, that her mouth actually quivered in anticipation of food. That was how glorious the warmth were. It filled her from her toes to the top of her head and all the way through.
Far cry from the bone-chilling, hideous blackness that'd swallowed her up, leavin' nowt but a stuttering, guttering emptiness that'd been filled with soggy, bristling liquid that'd spread through to all corners of her body.
It'd been terrible. An awful,
flagrant violation of her entire being, infinitely worse than anything King Nickels had e'er done for the mere fact that the poisonous waters leeching all life from her veins had been insensate, death for no good reason at all.
Dark, fluttering memories of that foul, brackish liquid funnelling into her lungs, in through her ears, up her nose, crawling into the corners of her eyes lurched into her and suddenly, Agnethea deRois was leaning over the side of the soft bed into which she'd been placed, guts heaving and churning emptily, spewing nowt more than thick ropes of bile-streaked foulness. She moaned miserably and tried spitting the last few remaining strands from the corners of cracked lips, succeeding only in getting gummed up further.
"There you are, bright and cheery?"
"Fuck off, whoever you are, leave me to these, the last few moments of my life." The hollowed out Golem rolled onto her back and stared up at the pure white ceiling. One hand grabbed hold of a pillow and used that to clean herself up. When she were done, she tossed the soiled pillow off to one side. "For I am more certain that here and now, I am in fact dying, making this gloriously soft bed and delicious warmth to be some form of mental projection."
"I assure you, milady, you are not dying." The female voice sounded most sure of this fact. "At least, not on my watch. Later on, be my guest, but for the time being, I won't allow it. I went to considerable trouble and spent even greater coin to arrange for your rescue and resuscitation."
Agnethea thought she might recognize the soft young voice traipsing through her ears, but she refused to move from her position 'pon the bed. She were still coming to grips with the dire memories roiling just 'neath the surface o' her thoughts, and did shiver summat at the unwanted recollection; 'ere falling into the spoilt oceans o' Earth, she'd always imagined her desperate climb to freedom wi' Shaggy Men hot on her heels to be the worst of all experiences one could ever hope to avoid.
So wrong. So very, very wrong. The crawling dark, the creeping black, the insidious cold, leeching all warmth …
