by Kyle Spencer
The two gun barrels shift from the bouncing blue lights of the luxorbs to the skittering green spider-troll making his way up the cistern wall. Fortunately, Reggie hasn’t really looked my way yet - just one cursory glance across the shadows. As he clamors higher, I train both barrels on the center of his body. Now, just like Archy told you: keep breathing nice and steady. Both eyes open, Calmly squeeze the trigger. Let it surprise you. Eyes on target. Squeeze...squeeze...squeeeezzzzeeee…
Tak-tak!
...Oh shit I grabbed the wet ones.
Even in the dim light and from across the room I can see those black eyes gazing into me. “There you are!” The congeniality of Reggie the Riddler is gone. All that’s left in his voice is raw animal hunger. And rage. He bunches his limbs together - gods it’s weird how much like a spider he is - and leaps from the ceiling to the far wall. I scrambled to pull out the next set of guns.
In one fluid motion the next two pistols escape their holsters and point up at Reggie, then up past Reggie, then up out of my hands with a slick sucking sound. Up, up, up, then down into the central pool with an ominous plop. The troll, who had been busy watching the two weapon’s majestic arc from my paws to the sewer, looks back at me and laughs. He bounces from one wall to the next, keeping a quick pace and getting ever closer.
Paws and tail fly every which way as I scramble back to where I put my lantern. Above me Reggie continues his bounding approach. Each time he lands its punctuated by a bone-jarring grate of claws on stone. During the last few treacherous steps I decide to bring out the massive hammer strapped to my back.
With all the adrenaline pumping through my veins and with the million-and-one thoughts of what to do in this situation (along with the million-and-two ways they could go wrong), I grossly misjudge the weight of this hammer. I yank on the handle but in doing so not only do I free the giant mallet from my back but spin myself around as well. For a split second I slip (literally) the surly bonds of earth, catching a brief glimpse of a puke-green missile flying directly at me. My back smacks against the hard stone, forcing everything out of my lungs and prohibiting reentry. Above me the flat square head of my hammer connects with Reggie’s face in an explosion of crunching glass.
His body falls in a heap besides me; his head at a very jagged and wrong angle from his neck, his mouth a bloody sack of broken teeth and jawbone. The yellow rings of his eyes are now pinpoints. Collapsing in the muck I let the hammer roll out of my grip. I don’t care if it takes a week of constant bathing to get the funk out of my fur, the money Reggie’s head is gonna pull in for me will be worth it. I could buy a solid gold bathtub if I wanted to. Maybe a few voluptuous bathing assistants as well. Yeah...that sounds good. And food. The finest dining Aquarian has to offer. I think I’ll just buy out the restaurant for a night, have my meal in some peace and quiet. I wonder if Archy knows any good places that sell-
Chk-chk-chk…
The Hel?
Chk-chk…chk…
Someone is chipping off pieces of a glass bottle. Right beside me.
My left paw pads around for my hammer as my eyes roll over to where Reggie lay motionless at my right. Semi-motionless, actually. His jaw is writhing and moving, like dozens of large beetles are crawling around just under his skin. Beetles that make ceramic scraping sounds as they pass over each other and settle into place. Nausea punches me in the gut and its not from the horrid stench.
As I watch this strange dance play out on Reggie’s face, something tugs at the back of my mind - long fingers of memory picking at loose threads. Something about a little rhyme that Archy taught me when we first agreed to go after this job. How did it go now...
Trolls, trolls, are hideous brutes
A beast that has a strange attribute
It takes more than a sword
To seal the deal
So kill them with fire before they h-
Oh fuck.
“Hue hue hue hue…” Reggie chuckles at the ceiling, his fingers and toes starting to wiggle. The fractures and breaks in his jaw are still apparent but healing at a much quicker pace now. The black worm of a tongue lolls out the side of his slack mouth, drooling a mixture of blood and spit.
Hammer hammer hammer hammer! My paw rests on something solid and blocky with a fine slippery film of I-don’t-wanna-know. Rolling over I use both paws to get a firm grip of head of my warhammer...only to watch it squirt through my fingers and drop like a stone into the large cistern. A flurry of bubbles marks its descent to the bottom.
Strange...the bubbles aren’t stopping. Slowing down definitely, but there’s a steady stream of bubbles plop-plopping their way to the surface.And there’s more over there. And over there as well. How did I not notice that before?
...oh shit that’s it!
Something cold and wet on my shoulder stops me from reaching for one of my remaining two pistols.
“I must admit you did well. Better than the others, at least.” Reggie slurs his words. His large claws sink into my shoulder and I scream. I’m spun around and realize the cause of the troll’s changed speech: his jaw is fully healed but set back askew to the rest of his face. His eyes say that he’s fully aware of this and none too happy about it. “Maybe I’ll just shred your legs and let sepsis take care of the rest. Yes...I like that idea. Slow. Painful. You sitting there in abject agony as you watch yourself rot away from the bottom up.”
“Ew.”
Before I could say anything else he flings me against a wall. Clutching my shoulder I rise to my feet and shuffle over to the edge of the pool. My free paw draws a pistol and I aim it shakily at the troll. Bemused ebony eyes draw closer as I inch my way to the very edge.
“Face it,” Gnarly teeth scrape sideways against each other in anticipation, “There’s nothing you can do to stop me now.” The barrel of my gun makes a tiny squishing noise as he presses his chest against it.
Now or never. Hopefully this doesn’t kill me. But if it doesn’t work I’m dead anyways.
A tiny step back is all it takes for me to fall like a tree into the water. Just as I break the surface I pull the trigger.
***
“What happened?” Talia asks, her legs dangling off the end of the hammock.
“Volatile gases.” I smile and follow up with an exploding gesture. “Reggie was blown to crispy bits and I walked away with a burnt paw and scarred shoulder - you can’t really see either now. Turned in the skull for a nice reward and spent the next week and half in a bath.”
“Funny.” She muses. “You’d think that you’d become a kind of celebrity, taking care of a troll like that. But I’ve never heard of you and I don’t think any of the sisters have either.”
“I was, actually,” I grumble, “For about a month. Thing about monster hunting or whatever the Hel they call it is that hunters are a dime-a-dozen, and unless you bag a lot of monsters, or something really big, nobody is gonna remember you for long. I’m sure you’ve heard of Artorius Montebell?”
“Who hasn’t?”
“Yeah, well, he got famous on the next big job in Aquarian after that troll.”
“You mean the vampyres.”
“Yup.” I sigh and lean back in my hammock. “Could’ve been me, but I’ve got a rule. Never fuck with vampyres.”
“Why?”
“Reasons. Artorious may be set for life now, but he’s also missing an eye and a left paw, so there’s that. I’ve settled on taking the small-time stuff: ogres, griffins, shit like that. Fairly decent pay with little risk of life. Well, littler risk. Every now and again I’ll take on a bigger job if I’m feeling bored.”
“Go against any trolls again?”
“Hel no!” I laugh. “Although I did hunt down a Wendigo one time.”
“Another story for another time?” She asks.
“Maybe.” Really it’s another story for never. I can still see the empty huts and blood-stained snow in my mind. I can hear the Wendigo’s cries of starvation carried on the wind. No one else needs to exp
erience that.
“I see.” She nimbly back-rolls out of her hammock and walks over to me. “Honestly, when I first met you - when you woke up, not when you were drunk and being stabbed - I thought you were a real ass.”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t get me wrong, you still are.”
“Oh.”
“But you’re not a bad guy overall.” She leans down and kisses my forehead. “That’s for trying to help me in that alley.” Before the feel of her lips has even left my forehead, she flicks me on the end of the nose. “And that’s for pretty much everything else. And just for the record, you’re still not my type.”
“Owwwwwww!” Tears well up in my eyes. “Was that necessary?”
She smiles from the bottom of the stairs. “Absolutely.”
The Necromancers' Next Move
“One of two things will happen: I run out of mead, or I run out of patience. Pray it’s the first one.”
- Ubel von Zerfallen
The jaunty tune rings down the corridors in time with the flickering torches. The two skeletons at the entrance tap their feet to the singing but bow low as I enter the throne room, if it could even be called that; everything in this forsaken place is dank and wet and smells of cat pee. As I pass by the two guards their bleach-bone heads turn to me, the green fire in their eyes licking at the edges of the sockets. Somehow my husband has managed to keep their kilts on their bony waists, which I must admit does add a nice aesthetic touch.
And there he is, sitting on the throne, if it could even be called that. It is massive, though, dwarfing my husband’s smaller maus frame. To make up for it all the furs from the wall have been draped over the seat and side. Ubel lounges across them, his head against one armrest and his feet propped up on the other. In his hands he hold the skull of a cat. As he sings he moves the jawbone for the replies:
“I’ve got a lo-ve-ly bunch of coconuts (deedlee-dee-dee) there they are all standing in a row (bum bum bum) big ones, small ones, some as big as your head. (Give them a twist a flick of the wrist that’s what the show-)”
“Ahem.”
The skull turns to me, its jaw hanging open in mock surprise. Then it begins to talk to me using Ubel’s voice, with a horrendous accent to boot.
“Ach! Halloo mah dear! What brings yoo aboot on this bonnie eve’ning? Uh-oh…’tis tae dreaded ‘Look’!”
“You’re drunk.”
“I may be a wee mad wae it. The mead here’s top ‘o the mornin’. And besides -”
“Stop it.”
Aodh’s skull immediately clatters to the floor. The jawbone breaks off and skids a few feet. The paw that was holding it now rests underneath my husband’s chin. He looks at me, knowing what I’m about to ask but waiting for me to ask it anyways.
“So. Where is she?”
“He didn’t know.”
“Didn’t know or didn’t say?”
“Trust me, he didn’t know.” Ubel looks down with disgust at the remains of Aodh Shadowpaw, former Chieftain of the former Clan Shadowpaw. “But on the bright side, he contracted the Ko’mori to bring her back.”
“Ugh. Disgusting things.” A shiver shoots up my spine at the thought of those beasts touching my daughter.
“Disgusting but competent things.” My husband corrects. “In fact, I’ve been tempted to call on them once or twice.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” I glare at him. “You know they are not to step foot in my home.”
He waves me off. “I know, I know. But the point is she should be back within a day or two.”
“I just don’t know why she didn’t try to contact us when she escaped.” I walk over to the side of the throne and run my fingers through Ubel’s hair.
“She’s been quite livid with us about the marriage arrangements.” He says matter-of-factly.
“I know, but I thought that with some time to herself she would cool off and come to see reason. I mean, what have we always told her about relationships?”
“Marriage is not a love letter, it is a chess move.” He smiles up at me and I give him a peck on the forehead. “Now don’t you worry. As I said, we’ll have her back soon and everything will go back as it was.”
“And what if the Ko’mori don’t bring her back?” That possibility has been growing in the back of my mind ever since my husband mentioned the vile creatures.
“You know as well as I that they have never failed.”
“I know. But there is a first time for everything.”
“Then as usual I will take matters into my own hands.” He grabs the back of my head with both paws and pulls me down closer. We kiss with the passion that always hides just beneath the surface. When I slowly pull away his eyes are steel and he repeats the promise he made me so many years ago.
“I will bring this world to fire and ash to ensure that our House continues.”
Goodbye, Aquarian
I love this feeling! The wind lifting the sails! The salty spray of the waves! It’s like the Sea herself is welcoming us home with open arms.
- Captain Erik “Trips” Trippson, embarking on his last voyage before disappearing
Susi sits on the professor’s shoulder as they watch the seaside buildings slowly shrink away to their right. Talia stands beside them, arms folded against the wind. To their left the sun is on the last leg of its daylong journey, peeking out between gray clouds and the ocean. Sea water sprays up over the side of the ship, filling the air with hundreds of rubies that cascade back down in a soft roar. Overhead, the ship’s crew expertly scrambles about the masts, preparing the sails and mizzens and whatever the Hel all those things are called. They’re raucously singing a shanty while the gulls overhead caw with the chorus.
Oh Sally is a girl that I loved dearly
(Way hey, bully in the alley)
Sally is the girl that I spliced nearly
(Bully down in shinbone al)
“Good crew.” A solid paw slaps my shoulder. “Little rough around the edges, but good crew. We’ve got five months at sea ahead of us; you’ll get to know them in time. They sure as Hel want to get to know you.” Captain Saltana winks at me as she saunters to the railing. Leaning out she reaches for some of the crimson spray dancing in the dying sunlight. Having caught a few drops she rubs her paws together and brushes them through her hair.
“Captain?” I venture over beside her. “Could my friends and I have a word with you in private?”
“What for?” Her eyes are closed and her nostrils flare as she breathes deep the salty breeze.
“Something we wanted to mention to you back at Equuinox but you were um, predisposed at that moment.”
“So I was.” She sighs. “Very well, let’s go to my quarters. Niani! You’ve got the helm ‘til I return.” The otter steering the ship gives a sharp salute and an ‘Aye Captain!’. She can barely see over the massive wheel but looks like she could chew up iron and shit nails. Or is it spit nails? Eh, either way.
Saltana takes us into her quarters which is actually much less luxurious and cozy than I expected. There’s a simple hammock with some blankets stretched in one corner of the room. There’s a desk and some writing implements in another. Bookshelves are lined up on one wall and the opposite wall is almost entirely made of grimy windows showing the last little specks of the city at the edge of the horizon. The most prominent thing in the room is the large wooden table in the middle. Fabric maps of various sizes are strewn about and bookended by two large luxorb lanterns.
“I eat with the crew,” She explains while taking a seat. “And what’s mine is theirs, save for a few of the more delicate treasures you see before you.” She sweeps her paw at the maps.
“And the books?” Archy asks. His eyes keep wandering to the four tall shelves behind us.
“As I said, what’s mine is theirs. Everyone on my crew can read and if a new fish comes aboard who can’t, we teach her. But let’s get to the point; the sun’s setting fast and you might want to be on deck to catch a glimpse o
f Le Rayon Vert.”
“What’s that?” Susi asks.
“Hopefully you’ll see. But, as I said, the point…”
“We’re being followed.” If Saltana doesn’t want to beat around the bush I’m happy to oblige. “By the Ko’mori.”
There’s a very long, very awkward pause at the table.
“You’re mistaken.” She says with grave finality. “They simply don’t exist. Now maybe you are being chased by some group of killers who claim to be the Ko’mori, but those things are just legend - bedtime stories to scare cubs straight.” During this whole exchange her face is stone except the eyes. They zip from one of us to the other, trying to gauge our sincerity. Now I understand. It’s not that she doesn’t believe us.
She doesn’t want to believe us.
“But they are real!” Susi pleads. “I even-” I put a gentle paw on her shoulder and she quiets down.
“Whoever is after us, I don’t think they’ll stop. I’m sorry for putting your crew in danger but-”
“Ha! My crew? In danger? They’re battle-hardened bitches, the lot of ‘em. I’d like to see the poor bastard who messes with my girls the wrong way.” Saltana pushes herself from the table. “And no need to apologize; it’s my fault for being, what was it now, predisposed? But I thank you for the warning. Besides, with the amount you’re paying me it would simply be rude to not offer protection as well as passage. Come on now, sun’s almost down.”
Back on deck a still quiet has fallen. The crew dangles from the rigging, sits on masts and railings, and leans against each other. All face the setting sun. Saltana climbs the stairs to relieve Naini from her post.
“Now keep looking at the horizon and try not to blink.” She instructs.
