by Kyle Spencer
“No way. Just because you escaped the wrath of a warlord and forest deity-”
“Forest Deity?” The professor’s ears perk up.
“I didn’t say forest deity. Anyways, just because you escaped from-”
“Helped you escape too.” The maus corrects. “If it wasn’t for me-.”
“No. No no no. And no. Too dangerous. Absolutely not.”
***
“This is exciting!” Susi pitter-pats besides me on the cobblestone street, clutching one of Archy’s silver letter-openers in a gloved paw. The blade would look minuscule next to the giant walking combustion that is Professor Archeleus, but wielded by Susi it’s a regular longsword.
“Careful with that!” I twist away as the point idly swings by my midsection. “Alright, let’s recap: fifteen murders in about as many days. That leaves a few options for who - or what - could be causing them. Let’s go over the game plan. What do you do if it’s a ghast?”
“Throw holy water at it and run like Hel.”
“Good. And if it’s a wight?”
“Silver dagger to the face! Oh, and run like Hel.”
“Correct. Troll?”
“Um...kill it with fire and run like Hel.”
“And vampyre.”
“Faceful of pocket sand! Sha-sha-sha!” She digs into the tiny pouch at her side and throws up a pawful of sand into the air. “And then run like Hel.”
“Good. And what if it turns out to be a run-of-the-mill psychopathic serial killer?”
“Uh, um.” She stops and gives me an unsure look. “All of the above?”
“Yes! But still run like Hel afterward.” I smile at her and she beams right back at me. I don’t have the heart to tell her that the monsters I just listed would be the least of our worries, except the vampyres. Fuck those guys.
We continue down the thankfully empty street. A monk and a maus walking around together in an area known for murders while armed to the teeth in the wee hours of the morning is sure to arouse suspicion from anyone who sees - something I honestly didn’t fully think through before heading out from the workshop. The stained panes of glass of the streetlamps hold luxorbs that wash everything around them in the surreal orange glow of a desert sunset. We continue in silence, Susi constantly checking the many alleys on either side for anything that goes bump in the night. Eventually I grab the top of her head with one paw and spin it forward to follow my lead: eyes straight ahead so as not to give the impression of suspicion, but every other sense is tuned to even the slightest of changes in surroundings.
Like that flickering luxorb to our right. Luxorbs don’t flicker (as far as I know). And it’s not so much flickering as changing color…
Okay, luxorbs definitely don’t do that.
The orangish glow strobes to a lime green and we both freeze in our tracks. One by one the lights around us dance with the darkness before completely changing color. Some become grapes, others lemon, a few even begin to emit a sparkling silver light. Faint music drifts over the cobblestones and dances in the colors. Calliope music.
This lonely street has become a carnival midway. And usually where there’s a carnival there are…
Nope. Hel no. No fucking way. In one swift move I put an arm around Susi and swing her around back the way we came. “Bow, what’s going on?” Panic begins to rise in her voice. “Why did all those lights change like that?”
“Walk faster.” The calliope music grows louder behind us. We quicken our pace as another sound joins the toot-toots of the whistles. A voice high pitched and as sweet as poisoned honey sings a song that freezes my blood.
“たんたん狸の金玉は、風のないのに、ブラブラ～”
“Bow,” Susi keeps her voice low as the singing starts up the second verse, “What’s a tanuki?”
“They’re pervy old hermits that live high on mountaintops.” I decide to leave out their penchant for dirty jokes and dirtier tricks. And their rigorous training. Testicle-stretching training. Stories tell of some of the great old tanuki masters living in huts made out of their own stretched nutsacks. Pretty weird shit. But nobody outside of the Shimmering Isles knows about that. Let alone some calliope-playing, sweet-singing, carnival-starting stranger.
“Okay, here’s the deal.” I maneuver Susi so she’s walking in front of me. “When I give the signal you run like Hel back to the professor’s. Do you remember the way?”
“You’re not going to throw me again, are you?”
“Not this time.”
“Yeah, I remember the way.”
“Good. Ready?”
“No.”
“On three...three!” To her credit, the maus seems to have expected this and immediately bolts. I don’t giver her a second glance as I whirl around and draw the first pair of pistols.
...which I almost immediately drop. My grip wavers as the sights, sounds, and smells of a small-town celebration hit me in the face. This well-kept street in Aquarian’s wealthy district has given way to a no-shit carnival. Instead of cobbled streets there’s just a well-worn dirt path. Where fine shops and taverns lined either side now sit colorful tents selling all kinds of sweets and savory treats. The smell of sweet bean cakes tugs at my nostrils as my brain goes haywire trying to make sense of the scene before me.
Panic sets in and I shoot a quick glance back at Susi., or at least where Susi was supposed to be. My expectation of a tiny maus in pink turning a far street corner is shattered by the infinite gloom of a dark forest behind me. A thin scar of dirt runs right down the center of it with a brightly lit banner near the entrance. A sign in a language I’ve never seen is scrawled on the torn fabric in dripping purple paint (dear gods let it be paint). Staring at the strange letters for too long makes them shift and swirl into different words, bringing on a massive headache.
“ようこそ~!” That honeyed voice sings jauntily. I slowly turn back around and my testicles scamper up into my throat.
He (She? It?) saunters down the center of the midway, one paw twirling a silken top hat the color of midnight and the other tapping a small cane on the ground to the rhythm of the music. Long black hair cascades around a slender face and onto a shimmering dark blue suit. Eyes that glow like fireflies stare at me and light up the blood red fur on its face. Even from this distance I can see the devilish grin with perfect teeth. Whoever is coming towards me looks like they walked straight out of the big top of Hel’s own circus.
Just thank gods its not a clown…
Backing up isn’t an option; if I run all it would take is one slip up and I’m lost in those scary-ass woods - and I’ve had enough of scary-ass woods. However, every second standing here is another step it takes towards me. Every five or so feet the creature’s whole body shimmers and distorts like it's walking through a mirage. Every time it does so, a feature changes ever so slightly. The hair get shorter by a few inches, the glowing eyes dim, the wide white grin grows wider and sharper. Taking a deep breath, I steady my quavering paws and level the barrels right at its chest.
The next step tears away at the thin veneer it has been shrouding itself with; gone is the tophat and cane, gone is the suit of starless night, gone is the wide smile and dark red fur. Only the eyes are left. And a form I cannot begin to comprehend, something completely alien that tugs my mind in fifteen different directions. At this moment I would prefer a ghast or vampyre. Hel, even taking on a lich barehanded would be better than facing down whatever horror stood before me.
The report of two pistols echoes off the empty stalls and drowns out the carnival music. The being before me coalesces back to the form of The Ringmaster just as the bullets hit. Well, more like pass through. The bullets blow right through its chest and right eye like they were passing through smoke. Gaping holes where the projectiles hit reveal small glimpses of the carnival behind it. Four more blasts shatter the upbeat melodies of this insane circus as I toss aside the rest of my spent guns.
“Well that was pointless.” I grumble as The Ringmaste
r takes another step towards me. The six holes I put in it slowly fill in like molasses until even the clothes look brand new. Worthless guns. Although none of them exploded in my face this time. Archy will be happy to hear about that. If he ever hears about that.
“Huh? Wha? What’s going on? Why does it smell like tarts and happiness?” My chest pulses with a soft glow.
“Wait, were you sleeping?”
“Of course I was. Why wouldn’t-”
“Fine. Whatever. Now that you’re awake if you would kindly tell me what that strangely alluring creature-”
“Run Bow! Run now!”
When a sassy water spirit screams at you to run away from something, you don’t argue with it. I try to turn tail and run towards the woods, which are progressively becoming a better option, but instead I turn around only to stare right into the face of The Ringmaster. She - definitely a she, I think - is close enough for me to smell her. She’s surrounded by a delightful cloud of funnelcake and cotton candy. But there’s another scent underneath. A dark, metallic smell that sticks to the back of your throat.
“A water spirit.” The Ringmaster’s eyes gleam with murderous intent. “How unexpected.” She places a much-bigger-than-expected paw over my heart and my blood runs cold. Literally. Feeling quickly disappears from my fingers and toes and my lips go numb. I feebly try to keep my breathing regular. Just as my world goes to black my last sight is the gleaming white grin of the Ringmaster spreading wider until it takes up her entire face. Her jaw opens to reveal a second set of teeth behind the first, just as sharp and just as long. So very long…
“I don’t think so.” Leena’s voice drifts to me through a thousand miles of clouds and water. “If anyone is going to devour this stupid monk it's going to be me!” Warmth sprouts in my chest and courses through my body. The lullaby carnival music jerks and jangles into discordant screams as I collapse to the ground.
Tail Between the Legs
“No no no. This is not right. A monk like you should not be wielding a gun.”
“But I need to-”
“A monk like you should be wielding six guns.”
- Professor Archeleus Zott
“Well, I say! A fellow passed out drunk in a ditch at this hour of the morning! And a monk no less!” A hard stick prods my right thigh. “I say! Have some dignity sir!” Another sharp poke. I groan and rub away the crust that glues my eyes shut. My mouth is a desert swirling with the taste of stale popcorn. Groggily I look up and down the clear cobblestone street of Aquarian’s uptown. Hovering above is an older bear glaring down at me through a silver monocle and twirling a wispy mustache. He jabs at me with his walking cane a third time. “I dare say old boy, do you make it a habit of drinking yourself stupid in random gutters?”
“More of a passing fancy than a habit.” My legs are wobbly and my head is spinning. I reach out for support but the old bastard shrinks away. Asshole. “Can you tell me which way to Old Town?”
“Old Town huh? No surprise there. You fit right in with that riffraff. It’s that way.” The cane leads me to my right. With a sarcastic bow and flourish of my arm, I leave the bear huffing and harrumphing and lamenting the rudeness of poor people.
I freeze after taking one step.
We are all, to some degree or another, creatures of habit. It can be the way we walk and talk or our daily routines or what we wear. And when those habits are disrupted in even the slightest way we notice, maybe not in a grand moment of revelation but in the quiet nagging that something is out of place. When a schoolteacher misses out on their morning cup of tea, when a tiny roadside stall closes business, when a detour makes you walk one extra block, when a husband leaves his wedding ring on the dresser.
When a crystal pendant no longer hangs around your neck.
A brownish-gray slurry of food scraps, refuse, and other less-pleasant things slops about my shoulders as I dive back to into the gutter, much to the disgust of the morning pedestrians. While my paws feel around for the familiar hardness of crystal my mind struggles to keep a hold on the events of last night. Bright colors. Playful sounds. The sweet, sweet smell of childhood treats. All twisted and perverted into some fevered nightmare that’s quickly fading. As my robes become soaked in sweat and moldy food the only thing I’m able to remember is a soft blue glow before waking up. I know that it was Leena but why…why, I just can’t recall.
The midday sun heats the cobblestone streets and bakes the stench of runoff into my clothes and fur. People walking by give me a wide berth, edging along the opposite side of the street to avoid me. Fancy suits and elegant dresses stroll on by, holding embroidered handkerchiefs to their oh-so-delicate noses (not that those help much). And I’m pretty sure flies are starting to drop dead around me from the odor. After an eternity of searching the only thing I find is a stale loaf of bread dripping with sour milk and sadness. Yup, time to head back to Archy’s. My paw instinctively reaches for the center of my chest. Of course nothing’s there. It’s going to be a lonely walk back. But on the bright side, no one is going to bother me - they’ll probably keel over before they get to close.
At night, no sane person would go down any of Aquarian’s alleyways for any reason. But in the daylight they’re a great way to get from A to B without a lot of prying eyes (or sensitive noses). You gotta know where you’re going though; one wrong turn and your knocking on the front door of a notorious (yet hospitable) crime lord’s hideout. Another wrong turn and suddenly you’re running for your life from a pack of rabid kobolds - tiny little beasts that sift through garbage for anything stone or metal. But take the right turn and you’ll end up at a brothel known as Kiss of the Succubus. Heh. That was a good day…
But today is no such day. I do encounter a roving little party of kobolds but they made sure to stay the Hel away from me. It’s tempting to give chase - they’re squeaky little yips are so cute, especially if they roll up in those little armored balls. But they can be clever and have been known to set up slightly deadly, albeit pretty damn obvious, traps. So I let them go about their business of collecting scrap metal and continue my trek towards the ruins of Old Town and Archy’s workshop.
The gilded facades of North Side give way to the pragmatic wood and brick of the main avenue which in turn gives way to the storied stone and mortar of Old Town. Passing by the dilapidated buildings I pick up the pace, spurred on by a now-obsessive need to get clean. And eat. I hope Archy still has some of that soup left. But first clean. Definitely clean.
I open the brand new metal door (Archy’s gotten really efficient at replacing them) and the professor greets me with a wide smile. “You look like Bullywoah nonononono! I do not know what happened last night and I do not want to know! But first you go take bath!” He shoos me out the door with the business end of a sledgehammer and slams the door behind me after tossing a bar of soap and a towel at my feet.
“Can’t I at least use your shower? Or have a hot bath?” I shout through the iron slab.
“No!” Son of a bitch…he’s laughing on the other side! “You go to nearby well for bath. Monks like cold water, yes?”
“Just because we sit under cold waterfalls for hours on end doesn’t mean we like it, you asshole! And you better have some soup for me when I get back!”
After five very cold baths I return to the shop. Archy sits at his desk with his back to the door, tinkering on gods-know-what. Besides him is a bowl of soup, still steaming. He turns to me with another smile. “It will not be as effective second time around, but you look like Bullywug that has been on three day bender.”
“I feel like a Bullywug that’s been on a three day bender.” After snagging that bowl of soup I flomp down on a chair with a groan.
“Did not go so well I take it.”
“Could’ve gone better. But all your guns worked this time. Well, in a manner of speaking.”
“Yes!” Big white fists punch the air. “Yessss! HaHA I knew they would work-” The fists stop their aerial assault. “What is meant by
‘In manner of speaking’?” I explain how the bullets simply passed through the Ringmaster like raindrops through smoke and Archy laughs again. “Well, I do not make magic bullets, my friend. And where are guns?”
…Fuck.
“Now I know I’ve used this excuse before, but this time I actually mean it…I think your guns are on another plane of existence. Don’t give me that look! I just told you what I was up against. And don’t even try to tell me you don’t have extras lying around. Yeah…see? Now you said you don’t make magic bullets, but I know someone who can. I’m going to see Mama.”
“Whose Mama?” Susi stands in the doorway lugging a large basket. Wisps of vapor seep through the gaps in the wicker container. Seeing me she hurriedly totters over, drops the basket at my feet and begins to pull out its contents. “You’re alive! Which is good because I got some ice cream for all of us and even though I could’ve eaten your share I didn’t because I’m a good friend and besides I don’t really like the flavor I got for you although I’d eat it anyways and I also got Leena some blueberry tart ice cream and what’s wrong?” She peeks up over the growing wall of ice cream cartons between us. Her hazel eyes lock onto mine for a second and without even looking down at my chest, “...Where’s Leena?”
“I honestly don’t know. But I’m going to find out.”
“Going to see Mama may not be best idea.” Archy points out. “Remember what happened on last visit.”
“Look, all I’m saying is if they don’t want anyone to drink the sacrificial rum then they should just label the damn thing. Anyways, I can’t think of anyone more suited to help in this situation than Mama. Can you?”
The professor throws his paws up in the air then lets them drop to his hips. “Fine. But be careful.”
“I’m coming too.” Susi blurts through a mouthful of cookie dough ice cream.
“Fine,” I sigh, “I know better than to argue at this point. Just don’t drink the rum.”
The Ko'mori
