by J. Stone
Wiping the shattered glass from her dress, Alice leapt off the back of the car, slowly making her way around to the side of the door where Vincent struggled to free himself of the twisted metal that now caged him in place. The operative grabbed the frame of the glassless door and wrenched the entire slab of metal off of the vehicle, tossing it carelessly aside. The bloodied bounty hunter was now accessible, and she grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him from the wreckage, holding him just off the ground.
Answers! The voice pounded in her mind. Both angry and impatient, it echoed the words.
“I’ll ask you again,” Alice began. “Why does Reginald Maynard want you dead?”
“Screw you,” he said, blood spewing out of his mouth as he spoke.
“Wrong answer, Mr. Rourke,” she told him. Spotting a bandage around his waist under his ruffled and untucked shirt, Alice saw potential for motivation. One of her tentacles crept up to his stomach and put pressure on the wound. She asked again, “Why?”
“I was there,” he replied, groaning and shifting uncomfortably.
“Where?” she asked, pulling him closer.
He didn’t answer quickly enough, so she pushed the tentacle further through the bandage. Blood was pooling against the white cloth from the other side.
He gritted his teeth and glared at her. “Maynard… he killed all the other rebels…”
Demand the truth! The voice shouted angrily.
“Why?” Alice asked. “Why would he do that!?”
“Said it was for the empress…” he answered.
Alice scowled. “Empress Mary Elizabeth didn’t even--”
“Not her,” he interrupted her. “The kid. Viola.”
“Viola?” she repeated to herself.
The voice in her head had grown strangely quiet, as she considered the bounty hunter’s words.
“He said the confederacy was her idea,” he continued. “Way to distract her mother and get her outta the way.”
“Interesting,” Alice mused.
She considered killing him now that she had what she needed from him, but the voice returned. Leave him, it instructed. He has a role yet to play.
“Hmm, it seems god still has plans for you, Mr. Rourke,” Alice said. “See that you play your part. Just remember, you either fit into god's plans or you don’t. He will send me back if you fail him.”
The operative tossed his nearly lifeless body to the ground below and left the scene of carnage. There was much left to do.
Chapter 21. Germ’s Cage
The flying fox flew clumsily back down the stairs to the entryway of the mansion, as Germ followed along behind him. Finly had been quite pleasant and curious, asking the rat of the other side, what had happened over there in his absence, and generally inquiring to anything Germ would speak of. Despite his better nature, Germ found himself reluctant to answer too much or to trust the fox more than he felt he should. Though Simon could be difficult to talk to and even harder to understand at times, that didn’t mean that the clairvoyant boy didn’t know what he was talking about. If there really was something to fear in the Pocket, Germ wanted to be prepared for it.
After an indeterminate amount of time following Finly down the long, vine-covered stairs, Germ was back on the first floor near where he had originally entered the strange universe. When they got there, however, there was an unnerving moaning sound. At the exact spot where Germ first found himself, there was a large pool of blood. From there, he saw a trail leading off into where Rowland’s lab would have been in the real mansion.
“Should we… should we follow it?” Germ asked Finly.
The fox turned back to the rat and shrugged his shoulders noncommittally.
“Someone might need help,” Germ said with a resolve he didn’t recognize.
“If you say so,” Finly agreed.
They followed the trail of blood to its ultimate end, where they found what must have once been a rat like Germ. Something had mutated and transformed it though, and it was struggling to breathe, writhing in obvious pain. Its limbs were ripped and torn, as the creature’s bones had grown too large to be housed inside its own body. Muscle, skin, and tendons had been ripped into separate pieces, as the bone pulled them apart the further away it got.
Germ approached the suffering rat, and the creature raised its hand to him, as if to ask for help. Its eyes met with his, and he was overcome with grief for the poor thing. He wanted to help, but he also wanted to run. Seeing a thing like that mutated rat was simply not something that Germ found himself prepared for. There was no doubt in the rat’s mind that this was Rowland’s doing.
“He looks like he should be dead,” Germ said, horrified with what he was witnessing.
“There’s no death in the Pocket, Germ,” Finly pointed out, seemingly unbothered by the sight.
“We have to help him,” Germ said.
“There’s some medical supplies in the basement,” the fox told him. “I could go grab them.”
“No,” Germ replied. “You stay with him. I’ll go get them.”
Finly nodded, and Germ was off to find the supplies that the fox had told him of. Part of him thought that he might have volunteered because he was somehow braver in this place, that he could navigate its corridors without fear, but he knew that wasn’t the truth. Seeing that horribly mutilated creature was too difficult for Germ to witness. He knew that Rowland had performed some morally gray experiments over the years, but to see something so monstrous made the rat sick to his stomach. The fact that it was almost certainly done in his name made things even worse. Germ couldn’t bring himself to harm anyone even at the threat of death, but now Rowland was tossing life aside with nary a second thought all to bring Germ back. The notion was unsettling to him to say the least.
He soon found the stairs leading down into what nearly looked an abyss. The crisscrossing stars that illuminated the mansion in this world didn’t seem to extend down into the depths and none of the light switches seemed to function either. He decided that he would have to rely on his chronically underused and underdeveloped rat senses. Germ perked up his ears in an attempt to hear below. There was something, but it was distant and hard to identify. He also located several unique smells, though he fared no better in trying to isolate them or determine what they belonged to. The best he could do was estimate that two of the trails of smell belonged to living things like Germ or Finly.
Concerned with how the creature was doing, Germ knew he had to press on and continue into the basement. Each step downward was followed by the creaky floorboards moaning in protest to his weight. He feared he might be drawing unwanted attention. Simon’s warning had put him on edge if nothing else. As he gained distance from the ground level and the sky lights that illuminated it, Germ’s eyes slowly began to adjust to the darkness of the lower level. He could make out the walls of the hallway ahead of him, but after a short distance, they disappeared into the darkness as well.
Things changed, however, when his head was finally below the floor of the first level. The ground floor ceased to exist above him, as far as his eyes could determine. Once again, he could see the shooting stars overhead and the basement was illuminated through their radiating light. The sudden reemergence caused his eyes to once again adjust. Curious by the sudden change, Germ took a step backward, up the stairs, and the floor above him reappeared, blocking the light again. Moving forward, the stars shone brightly. The Pocket was a strange little world, certainly. He raised his paws to block the bright light and stumbled forward, as his eyes adjusted. With one step, his toes changed from touching the wood of the flooring, to a cold metal surface.
The next thing he recalled was a pain at the back of his head, and he was laying on his side. Utter darkness surrounded him again. The light of the sky above the mansion didn’t seem to pierce here, wherever here was. The floor beneath him was cold metal, and he heard breathing nearby. Unable to see, Germ managed to sit upright, rubbing the back of his head. There was
a bleeding wound that was still quite tender to the touch. Leaving it for the moment, he tried to investigate his surroundings. Reaching a paw out, it was met with cylindrical, vertical bars raising out from the metal beneath him. Following the cold metal, he found a similar plate suspended over his head. Panicking, he turned, scraping his paw against a series of the bars. They formed a cage around him. He was trapped on all sides.
He was woozy, disoriented and terrified by his current situation, but Germ still had the wherewithal to piece together the events. He remembered going to get the medical supplies from the basement for the suffering experiment he and Finly found in the lab. There was a floor switch. Something had hit him. There must have been a trap, he realized. Simon had warned him to be careful. Disappointed in himself, Germ decided that he hadn’t been cautious enough. One of the creatures must have trapped him in the cage. But why? What could it possibly want with him?
“Don’t panic,” a voice calmingly said. The voice was deep and gravelly, but at the same time quite soothing.
“Who’s there?” Germ called out.
“A prisoner,” it replied. “Like you.”
“You’re caged as well?” he asked.
“I am,” it answered. “What is your name? I don’t recognize your voice.”
“Germ,” the rat replied. “And you?”
“My name is Henry Brodie,” the voice said.
“You’re… you’re a man?” Germ asked.
“I am.” The voice sounded quite melancholy in its response.
“How then did you end up here, if you don’t mind my asking, sir,” the rat inquired of his fellow prisoner.
“I helped create this realm,” he began. “Maxwell Rowland and I were colleagues.”
Germ had never heard of the man before. Rowland had never once mentioned him, which seemed odd considering how much time the rat and he had spent together. “You say you and the professor worked together, sir?”
“We did,” Brodie answered. “I assume he created you?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve served as his butler and assistant for nearly two decades now,” Germ replied.
“Two decades…” He seemed baffled by the length of time.
“You’ve been here all that time…” the rat said solemnly. “How did you come to exist here?”
“I had a malady,” he said. “Max and I attempted to find a cure, and eventually we came up with something that we both thought would help. Though the results were somewhat promising at first, things declined, and I lost control over myself. In a rare lucid moment, he and I agreed this was the best place for me.”
“So Master Rowland sent you here?” Germ asked.
“Many years ago, yes,” Brodie answered. “But it was certainly mutual, and I’m certain even now that it was the right thing to do.”
“You seem fairly in control of yourself now,” he pointed out.
Brodie paused for a moment. Any silence in that complete darkness was nearly unbearable. “My particular ailment’s treatment has continued, while I have been within the Pocket. I believe after much time, I have finally overcome the malady. Alas there is no way to return to my former existence.”
“I’m quite certain that the professor is looking for that exact thing, sir,” Germ said. “He’s placed me here temporarily and intends to retrieve me when he is able… at least, that’s what I believe happened.”
“He told you this?” Brodie asked.
“Not exactly,” Germ replied.
“Then how is it that you have come to believe this?” the voice in the darkness asked.
“Well… I suppose it’s a bit complicated, but suffice to say that I have reliable information,” the rat explained.
Another momentary silence from his fellow prisoner. “Even if what you say is true, I’m not sure it would do either of us any good.”
“How do you mean?” Germ asked.
“Our warden,” Brodie replied. “He poses a substantial threat to you.”
“But, my understanding was that there was no death here,” he said.
“You will soon learn that there are worse fates in the Pocket than death,” the gravelly voice warned. It was the same as what Simon had told him. “I’ve given it no name, and it never speaks intellectually. It only demands that which it craves. When I entered the Pocket, this place was full of mine and the professor’s various experiments, but when it came… everything was destroyed and devoured.”
“Devoured, sir?” Germ repeated.
“Eaten to be exact,” Brodie elaborated. “It eats everything it can. Cages its food first. Takes its time. Rather seems to enjoy the act from what I’ve witnessed.”
After a gulp, Germ got up the nerve to ask, “What happens to the things it eats? If there’s no death…”
“Yes, they have another fate,” he continued. “Whatever it consumes becomes a part of the creature. It becomes more powerful with every life it devours.”
“If he eats everything in the Pocket why are you still here?” Germ asked.
Before an answer came, lights flashed on and the rat was temporarily blinded. He squinted his eyes and covered them with his paws, as he adjusted to the sudden illumination. After a few moments, he was finally able to see well enough to view the cage he was held in and the room that contained it. The prison was exactly as shabby as he had imagined it in his mind. Additionally, Germ got his first look at Brodie in his own cage.
Unlike everything else Germ had seen during his time in the Pocket, Brodie looked comparatively normal. The man had grown a lengthy beard in his time in the dimension and was dressed in what seemed to be a pair of Rowland’s old pants and one of his button-up shirts, though they were significantly deteriorated. He had a mound of curly blond hair on his head, and his eyes were startlingly blue, so much so that the rat could clearly see them even from his fairly significant distance away.
Behind Germ, he could hear the familiar sound of the leathery, flapping wings of Finly. Turning, he saw that the flying fox was the one who had turned on the lights. The creature smiled unsettlingly.
“Look who’s awake,” he said.
“You did this to me, Finly?” Germ asked.
“‘Course I did.” He flew over to an empty cage and unclasped the lock before swinging it open.
“Why?” Germ demanded.
“Better to serve it than to be its food, I say,” Finly argued. “It lets me eat the scraps after all.”
“You… eat them too?” Germ asked.
“‘Course,” the fox answered. “I couldn’t always talk, you know. One of the many things it has allowed me to pick up.”
A scraping sound accompanied by thumping footsteps could be heard in the near distance, as some foul outline came slowly into view.
“And here it comes now,” the fox said.
The creature that both Finly and Brodie had spoken of sloppily stomped down the corridor towards them, dragging behind it the still flailing and moaning body of the experiment they had found on the ground floor. The approaching beast’s body was misshapen and awkward. Everything appeared to be mashed together unnaturally. Its flesh was an amalgamation of skin, hide, scales, fur, and every imaginable kind of beast’s tissue. Rather than being messily stitched together though, it just seemed to transition and flow into the next segment.
It walked upright on two legs, but they couldn’t have been more different. One was covered in fur and ended in an oversized hoof, while the other foot was almost humanoid in shape but with large talons extending from the toes. Messy fur covered the first leg, but the other was comprised of red, scaly armor. With each step, the hoof stomped noisily on the wooden flooring followed by a slap and scrape from the flesh and nails respectively.
On one side of its lumpy torso it had two arms, assembled one on top of the other. One was miniature and almost reptilian in appearance. The beast had only three fingers protruding from its hand, each different in color and texture. The other arm on that same side was covered in a shaggy brown
hair. This arm ended abruptly in a thick mass where the hand should have been. The limb looked quite heavy and painful if one were to be hit with it. On the other side of its body was a third arm. This one had a more dexterous looking hand, capable of complicated gestures and purposes, but at the same time, it looked not quite right and alien.
At its back were not one but two tails. There was a long lizard like tail that slithered along the floor behind it, while a furry monkey tail was coiled and bouncing higher up on his back. Even farther up still was a mismatched pair of wings that looked incapable of lifting the creature off the ground. On his right side was one that looked like that of a bird’s wing, but much too small to appropriately fit his body. The left wing was more like Finly’s. In fact, it was nearly identical except the beast’s was somewhat bigger.
Lastly, there was the creature’s head. The form was vaguely humanoid, even in the color of its flesh. The eyes were all wrong though. They were completely black and devoid of anything Germ could trace back to human emotions. Protruding from blood-stained lips were an awful set of teeth that looked capable of tearing through nearly anything.
Ripping one of the suffering creature’s limbs from its body, the monster threw the rest of its prey into the cage, allowing Finly to close and lock the door. The hideous creature then took the severed limb and raised it to its face. Its serrated teeth bit into the flesh, tearing it from the oversized bone. The beast stared at Germ, as it ravenously chewed the meat before finally moving off, back where it had come from. Finly followed eagerly behind the beast, leaving Brodie and Germ alone once again.
“That is the fate that awaits all in the Pocket,” Brodie explained, as the lights were shut off. Darkness once again enshrouded the prisoners.
Chapter 22. Pearl’s Consultation
Sitting on a bench in the foyer and rolling around the metal tube in her hand, Pearl considered what she had been able to do. She had turned what looked like an ordinary bit of metal into an object capable of casting a spell on bullets. The whole thing sounded mad in her head. The book that Viola gave her had been interesting, but Pearl had great difficulty believing that any of it was even remotely possible. The entire concept was amazing and fantastic, but she’d always regarded hekta as exactly that - fantasy. Something in old books, and just a part of someone’s imagination. Seeing it come to life was a bit of a shock.
