The Gang of Legend

by Robert J. Crane

  A digitized scream rent the air from below.

  The mountain rumbled …

  And then, rearing up from the side of it, rose the head of the hawk.

  More battered than ever, the vast automaton amalgam must’ve crashed headfirst into the mountainside, and more than once. The automatons that formed its face were crushed into one another. Parts of it were sheared off, revealing internal components and hellish lights and wildly spinning motors, fighting madly to continue working. The hawk’s beak had been ripped open at an angle, revealing a frightful maw containing the newly-formed gateway gun that it had used to return to Earth.

  The wings lifted, shoulders followed …

  Without opening the remnants of its beak, the hawk boomed, “MIIIIRAAAA—BR—BR—BRAAAAAAAAAA—”

  The syllable reached a greater and greater pitch, turning to a scream—

  I slammed my hands over my ears, stepping backward—

  And then the pink swath of clouds covering the sky split apart. A dark streak, bulbous, with massive engines on the rear side and the word VELOCITY stenciled on its galvanized hull, surged out of the skies.

  I had a moment of baffling familiarity—Velocity? Where have I—?

  Then, as the hawk’s cry reached a near-ear-splitting shrill apex—

  The airship’s cannons unloaded with a cracking BOOM!—and the hawk disintegrated into a cloud of shrapnel, raining down the mountainside.

  5

  The Velocity pulled in to the side of the mountain peak.

  On its flat top-deck, stood with his fists pressed to his hips, his gaze turned skyward, hair rustling in the wind, lips kind of pouting like he was in the middle of a photoshoot, was Tyran Burnton. Chin just as oversized as it had ever been, salt-and-pepper roots showing maybe half a centimeter where his black dye job had grown out, he positively gleamed in the pinkish sunlight of this world.

  Relaxing his ridiculous pose, he turned slowly, surveying the land … and then came upon me, at the fore of our group atop the mountain, the peak of which was now littered with the remains of the shattered automatons Tyran’s cannons had blown into smithereens.

  “Ahh … Mira Brand.” He waited until the deck was almost touching the peak then stepped over the threshold, landing heavily, and strode to meet me. Sticking out a hand, he grabbed for mine and shook it with meted, purposeful pumps. “Yes, your eyes do not deceive you—it is truly I, Tyran Burnton—the KING OF THE SKIES!”

  His posse of pirates on the deck all applauded. And yes, they were just as I remembered them: velvety black pirate garb, heads shaved, all within roughly an inch and a half of each other’s height and all just as bulky—probably followed exactly the same fitness regime, right down to a tee. Only one of them stood out, a commander of sorts I supposed, who wore a slightly more flowing ensemble with silver edges.

  Tyran was, of course, most gregarious of all: he’d traded in his own silver-edged suit (or given it to the commander) for a bright gold affair, shimmery and reflective.

  Burnton appraised me, one eye slightly squinted. Lines radiated from the corners of his eyes. The nick taken out of his cheek deepened a fraction as his face screwed up just slightly, shadowing it.

  “I know, I know,” he went on, in his somewhat off, American-ish bass. “You’d forgotten just how awe-inspiring I am in the flesh, hadn’t you? How dashing a figure I cut. Well, take it all in, Mira Brand. All of you: take it in.”

  He sidled back, putting his fists on his hips again, and striking that wide stance. Tilting his chin skyward, as though to let the sun’s full rays illuminate the half-scale Ayers Rock he’d glued to his face—seriously, that thing had to be an implant or something; no chin, human or humanoid, could be naturally that size—he pouted again—and stilled, a golden tableau.

  Heidi and Carson exchanged a look.

  Bub blinked, tilted his head.

  I only stared.

  Burnton finally relented. Seeing my face again, he barked a laugh that echoed through the air. “Oho! You really have lost your tongue, haven’t you? Well … worry not, young Mira, worry not—you’re not the only one; it happens everywhere I go. I’ll give you as long as you need to collect yourself—five minutes, an hour, however long it takes—I will be here. Drink in your awe.”

  I cleared my throat. “Uhm. Right …”

  “Aha! My attempt to assuage your fears has done its work.” He grinned, a pearly white grin full of perfect teeth. “Good day to you, young Mira. To all of you.” He tipped an imaginary hat at my companions.

  “Hello,” said Bub cheerily.

  “Bob, was it?” said Tyran.

  “Burbondrer of Ocklatojsh.” Bub bowed, surprisingly low given the obtuse bulk that was his armor.

  “Yes, yes, of course,” said Tyran. “And how can I forget young Carbuncle?” he said, striding ahead to grip Carson’s hand—again not proffered, but Tyran snatched it up and pumped it anyway—“or Miss Helga Lewd?”

  Heidi looked mortified. “My name is Heidi Luo.”

  “Of course it is. I’m terribly sorry. So many fans, you know? It’s hard to keep all their names straight in my head—especially with my advanced age!” He threw back his head and boomed a laugh.

  “But seriously,” he said, and he did look suddenly deathly serious, all traces of mirth gone from his face, “I know you might not believe it, but I was as young as you all once. Though I’m not far off your age! No grey—see?” He pointed at his hair.

  I eyed the greying roots.

  “Err,” said Carson. “I thought when we met before you had—”

  “What are you doing here, Tyran?” I asked, cutting over Carson before he finished and shattered Tyran’s oversized, but incredibly delicate ego.

  “Aha,” said Tyran. “Well, I was just thinking to myself, actually saying to myself as I stood upon the Velocity—it has new engines, by the way—and did you see the cannons?”

  “Burnton,” Heidi cut in.

  “Of course, of course,” he said, “the story. Where was I?”

  “Starting it.”

  “Aha! Yes! I remember now. So, I was stood upon the Velocity, and saying to myself, ‘I really must catch up with young Mira Brand sometime’—and from out of nowhere, a voice said—it said—well, I’m really not sure I remember what it said exactly, or even where it came from. But all of a sudden, a vast gateway opened in the skies of the P’ote-Nihe, directly ahead of us—and I thought, Well then! Why not see where it led? Well, lo and behold, it led us to you here! And just in the nick of time, wouldn’t you say?” He nudged me with his elbow, grinning like the pair of us were in on some fantastic joke. “What was that thing harassing you, by the way?”

  “A robot,” I said distractedly. “What did you say about a voice? And a gateway?”

  “Oh, yes. Well, very confusing business indeed, that, wasn’t it, chaps?” Tyran looked over his shoulder to witness the nods of agreement from his arranged crew on the Velocity’s deck. “We all heard it. It sounded like … like it came from the backs of our heads, almost, didn’t it, Commander Greco?”

  The man in the silver-edged pirate’s garb inclined his head solemnly. “Aye, Capt’n,” he murmured.

  “My second-in-command,” said Tyran, hooking a thumb at him, “and a real asset he is too, believe me. We’ve been working together side by side for—how long is it now, Commander? Eighteen years?”

  “Nineteen, sir.”

  “Nineteen! My, how time flies. No pun intended,” Tyran snickered. When none of us tittered, or even raised a smile, he said, “Flies? The airship?”

  “Oh, yes, very funny,” I said weakly.

  “Anyhow. The voice—it was a strange thing, very strange indeed. But it brought us here, to you, so who am I to question our good luck?”

  “Antecessors,” I murmured.

  Heidi nodded.

  “Sorry?” said Tyran.

  “Nothing,” I said. “Err—why was it you wanted to see me, exactly?”

  “Yes, y
es! You ask the right questions, Mira Brand—one of the things I like very much about you. You see … I, Tyran Burnton, the King of the Skies … have located the next item in the Overson quest!”

  A couple of months ago, that would’ve lit a fire like none other in me.

  Today, it kindled barely a spark.

  Tyran didn’t notice my lack of interest though; he was too busy once again adopting his photoshoot pose, pouting skyward, glinting in the sunlight like his entire face had been gone over by a floor buffer. I wondered if one of his crew was snapping photos, given how much posing he was doing.

  “Err … that’s good,” I said. “Really good. Well done.”

  Bub clapped enthusiastically.

  Tyran grinned and bowed. “Thank you, all.”

  “Uh …” Heidi said. “The rest of us weren’t—”

  “So this quest then,” I said. “What is it for, exactly?”

  “The Ex Abundantia Dicula—the Spoon of Abundance—one of the final items required to gain access to Brynn Overson’s crypt.”

  Now that did pique my interest. Forgetting for a moment the Antecessors’ latest intervention, I said, “That’s the second-to-last item in the questline,” I said.

  “It is,” said Tyran with a grin. “Now you are interested, yes?”

  “Where is it?”

  Tyran chuckled. “Getting ahead of yourself a little there, young Mira—we’ve a few trinkets to get first.” He raised an eyebrow. “I presume you are in, aren’t you?”

  I caught myself from pitching all of us headfirst into this with a resounding yes. I wasn’t sure we were in, to be perfectly honest—not only because it meant gaining the approval of everyone here, plus Alain Borrick, but also because I wasn’t totally sure why exactly Tyran Burnton was seeking me out for this quest.

  On that second point, I could at least ask outright.

  “I enjoyed our competition before,” said Tyran.

  “You didn’t seek me out to compete with me again though,” I countered.

  “Technically, he didn’t seek you out at all,” Heidi reminded me from behind.

  “You are correct,” said Tyran carefully. “The final item in this questline … it is, as you surely know, unlocked by collecting all of the items before it together—that is, the Lamina Ambroscus …”

  “And the Chalice Gloria,” I said.

  Tyran nodded. “I believe there are others too.”

  The Fork of Undying—yes, we had that one as well.

  “Whichever of the two of us goes on to claim Overson’s final reward,” Tyran said, “we will both need to be present upon its doorstep to unlock the last phase of this quest. I feel it is only right we go into this together, as equals—and, I hope, side by side as allies rather than foes, this time.”

  “Right,” I said. “Well, ah … let me talk to my friends, okay?” I glanced back at them. Heidi had a tense look on her face. Bub looked pleasantly interested, head slightly cocked.

  It was Carson who I was most interested in though. He looked only uneasy, clutching onto his manbag, bottom lip bitten hard.

  I hadn’t forgotten that Carson had said, quite clearly, that he had no interest in rejoining our cause.

  “Of course,” said Tyran, snapping me back to him. “However, not that I mean to stress you—but I can give you a day’s thought only, young Mira Brand. Once that has expired, whether I have heard from you or otherwise, I will begin to pursue this goal whether I do so with you or without. I trust, therefore, that you will get back to me as soon as possible.”

  “Right,” I said, my chest constricting—a pressing time factor; my absolute favorite. “Well, we’ll get back to you, ah, soon.”

  “Excellent!” Tyran clapped his hands together. Fists on his hips, chest puffed up, he announced to the sky in a bold boom, “Tomorrow, we heed the call—of adventure!”

  Uh …

  After a long moment:

  “But right now, I need to heed the call of nature,” he said. “Adieu.” Shaking my hand one last time, he tipped his imaginary hat again to Heidi, Carson and Bub, then clambered back aboard the Velocity. As though it were waiting for his touch, it began to pull away from the mountain immediately.

  “Charming,” Heidi murmured.

  “Wait,” I called, as the Velocity’s distance from us grew. “How will I let you know? Where will I find you?”

  “Ah! Of course,” said Tyran, gripping the ship’s outer rail. “Come and find me in the P’ote-Nihe, the same place as before, hmm?”

  “The LEGO shop,” Carson murmured.

  “Toodles!” Tyran called … and he stepped away as he receded, on the top of the ship, leaving the four of us alone on the mountaintop, a long way from home, surrounded by the debris of destroyed automatons … and a very large decision weighing upon our heads.

  6

  The four of us returned to my hideout—our hideout, I should be correcting, at this point—via the wall beside Tortilla, coming out under the ‘LONDON’ sign. It had taken almost fifteen minutes for us to find an opening, owing to the heavy foot traffic on the Strand today. Also, a group of Chinese tourists wanted pictures with Bub. There were six of them, and they took it in turns, snapping far more than a single smiling picture each. I wasn’t sure how to free ourselves of them, so we just let them finish and they finally left, probably off to employ their selfie sticks at Nelson's column.

  The library was looking much better than my first return to it after my break. All the books were cleared away, the desks at the front were not bare but decorated now with plants and candles and coasters; and under the million-world clock, which was now set to a cycle ‘screensaver’ of sorts, the floor shone so brightly it looked almost good enough to eat off.

  I’d even gotten around to getting rid of the Necklace of the Regent Adjunct. It now occupied a glass display in a Way-Crossing museum—much better a home than forgotten on the study coffee table.

  Of course, Carson remarked on none of this—because as soon as we’d gone no more than a few steps from the wall, down the central aisle, a figure stepped into view at the other end from the kitchen.

  Mug in hand, Borrick said, “I wondered when you’d be getting back here. Held up?”

  Carson froze. “What’s he doing here?”

  “Borrick is with us now, Carson,” I said, nodding to him.

  Carson looked at me, bewildered. “Why?”

  “I … got the measure of him wrong?” With a glance to Borrick, I corrected— “Well, not wrong exactly—” Borrick frowned “—because he did hire armies to try to beat us, and followed one of our goals for the sole purpose of pulling the rug out from under our feet—”

  “And kidnapped Carson,” Heidi put in.

  “I was getting to that.”

  Borrick’s frown had only deepened. “I have apologized for all of this, you know.”

  “Mm, not exactly good enough though,” Heidi said. At Borrick’s fiery look, she said, “Relax. I’m just joshing ya.”

  His deep frown returned. “Joshing …?”

  “It means taking the pee,” I said.

  Bub wore a particularly baffled look at this.

  “Anyhow,” I said, before this whole confused mess grew out of hand, “the point is, Borrick has … atoned for his sins. And now we’re working together.”

  “Also,” said Bub, “looking at each other very frequently—mostly when the other is not looking.”

  My cheeks swelled with a sudden burst of heat. “Uh.”

  Borrick very pointedly looked away. Mouth tight and jaw set, I thought a little color was beginning to bloom in his face—though I kind of wasn’t looking at him to confirm that right now.

  Heidi snickered. “Ooh, outed by the orc.”

  Carson’s mouth hung open. He stared from me to Borrick and back again, with a kind of slack-jawed horror. “This isn’t real. I’m going to wake up soon.”

  “Oh, Carson,” said Heidi sympathetically. “It’s very real.”


  Carson pinched himself. Seeing that I, and the rest of us, didn’t simply pop out of existence, Carson looked dismayed.

  “It’s kind of like,” Bub meandered on, “when Miss Heidi is in a deep sleep, and she says Carson’s name.”

  Heidi’s chuckle turned into a strangled splutter. Arrowing daggers at the orc, it was her turn to go a very deep shade of red. Unfortunate for her—but very fortunate for me, as it took me out of the spotlight Bub had so kindly shone upon me.

  Carson glanced sideways to Heidi—and yes, he, too, had taken on a bit of a pink hue all at once. If I didn’t know better, I’d think the million-world clock had malfunctioned and was shining a red-tinged light on all of us.

  Clamping down on my own laugh, I said, “Let’s take a seat and talk about this, shall we?”

  “Talk about what?” Carson asked. “When you’re taking me home?”

  I bit my lip. “Carson, honestly, if you really want to go home, then you know the way and are perfectly capable of making your own gates … but it’s probably best to wait for the dust to settle a bit in Ohio, don’t you think? And besides … I really do think you ought to reconsider …”

  “You’re not going to change my mind,” he said.

  Borrick said, “Ohh … he didn’t go for it then?”

  I pursed my lips. “Let’s just discuss things, okay? We can’t take you back to Akron at the moment anyhow—not via the university anyway. Unfortunately,” I added with a grimace, “with all those iPhones pointed at us, I’m pretty sure at least one person caught a video of you opening your hellgate and banishing the robot tearing up their campus.”

  “Oh, geez …” Carson slumped. “I’m never getting into college now.”

  “Not that college,” I said. “But maybe another one?”

  “How? The Tokyo thing was all over the news for days and it was at night in a country famed for its mecha. This was in a quiet part of the US, in broad daylight. Dozens of people got videos—probably hundreds. There were people filming out of the windows of the building as we passed, for crying out loud.” Carson wilted farther still, so it looked as though he were held up only by a string at the top of his head. “I’m going to be all over the news for weeks. I’ll never get into an American college now.”