A note concerning Arsiel (Project: Lodestar 3)

The humid air stickily embraced her. It was an altogether unpleasant change from the cool dryness of Grey’s office. Cassandra made a face and shrugged out of her coat. She tied it around her waist and surveyed her surroundings. Thick jungle blocked her vision from every side. She was standing in a clearing, maybe forty, fifty yards square, feet sinking slowly into the thick, aromatic soil. Looking down at her feet, Cassandra saw a tiny green shoot peeking back at her. A voice, strong, but colored by uncertainty startled her. “Cassandra?”

She peered over her shoulder. A tall man, broad of shoulder, held a hoe as if it were a spear. His straw blond hair seemed ephemeral in the light of the full moon. Cassandra smiled, “Arsiel!”

His smile was brighter than the moon, “Cassie!” Arsiel dropped the hoe and dashed across the field in long strides. Cassandra giggled like a child as he swept her up in massive hands, twirled her around, and tossed her easily into the air. She tried to catch her breath, but even as she was gently caught and set back upon the ground she couldn’t stop laughing. “Cassie, it’s so good to see you! What an unexpected pleasure.” His voice was warm and the kindness radiated from him like heat from a furnace.

Cassandra rested her forehead against his sternum and took a few deep breaths. “You’re such a big kid, Arsiel. Stars, it does me good to see you. I should visit more often.”

Arsiel shoved her playfully, “Yeah you should. What’s up with that?”

She grabbed his shirt for balance. “Some of us had to grow up and have work to do.” She stuck out her tongue. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

Arsiel’s exuberance settled. “Work, eh? Seems like that’s the only reason I get to see you these days…”

She sighed, “Time for that in a moment. I haven’t seen you in over a year, what have you been doing to keep out of trouble?”

“Well I was helping out Ridley for awhile after, well, you know, all the unpleasantness. But I got tired of the mercenary life, too much bloodshed. I wanted to do something constructive for a change. So I moved out here and now I’m a farmer. Don’t have too many plots, enough to get by. Plus there’s a community up river a bit that’s always happy to take the surplus. I help ‘em out a little if the bandits get out of hand. Couple months back some would be dictator needed to get knocked down a few pegs. It was a good way to shake the rust off. “

“And you’re happy with all this?”

“Yeah. It’s a fulfilling life. Don’t get me wrong, the old days have a nice warm spot in my memory, and I miss you guys sure as the sun rises, but sometimes change is good, you know?”

“We could all benefit from an outlook like yours.”

“Do you keep in touch with the others?”

“Grey mostly. Though I meet up with Ama every month or so.”

Arsiel chewed on the inside of his cheek. A hint of sadness was obvious in his eyes. “Well, that must be nice.” He brightened up a little, “Grey, huh? How is his nibs?”

“Just as smug and infuriating as he was when he was twelve and wore his little suits and carried around those too big briefcases.”

“He never did change much on the outside.”

“I’m not so sure he’s changed on the inside.”

“So you two work together then?”

“Yeah. I do a lot of consulting work these days. I’m on hiatus at the moment though.”

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Your hiatus?”

“Something big has come up, Arsiel, and I’m terrified.”

“What is it?”

“Ansel. I’m not so sure he’s dead. I think he’s back.”


Arsiel was silent. He looked up at the moon and scratched his chin. Finally he spoke, “What’s Grey think about this?”

Rosy fingers of embarrassment crept up her neck and cheeks. “Grey…Grey hasn’t found anything yet. But he’s looking.” Cassandra absentmindedly nibbled on the nail of her index finger. “It was just a dream, Arsiel, but I don’t think I’m wrong.”

“I believe you.”

“You do?”

“Of course. Wouldn’t believe it from anyone else, not even Grey, but you Cassie?” He rubbed a scar on his neck, “You’re not usually wrong.” Cassandra hugged him tightly. Tears leaked from her clenched eyelids. “You’re here, and you’ve told me, and I believe you, but what is it you want me to do?”

Cassandra wiped her eyes and looked up at him. Her voice was creaky, “What?”

“I’m just a glorified thug. You don’t know where he is or what he’s doing, and without that information there’s not much I can do. “

“You can believe in me. That’s enough for now I think.”

“Who else have you told?”

“Just Grey,” She paused and the tears snuck back, “And Gabriel.”

Arsiel drew her into a solid embrace. He stroked her hair. “Since you’re here, I can guess how that went.” Cassandra responded by trying to bury her head further into his chest. “It’s not your fault, you know. I can see why he’s so upset. Stephen was his brother, and Kyler, hell she was just a kid. She shouldn’t have even been there. That’d mess any guy up. It’s not right for him to blame you, but that’s his business, you know? You don’t have to believe him, though, and you don’t have to blame yourself.”

Her voice was hoarse whisper, “But it’s been so long. I was hoping… I was hoping things would’ve improved by now, Arsiel.”

“Some folks take longer to recover from that kind of hurt, Cass. Everything’ll come around in time.”

“I hope so, Arsiel.”

“You’ve got plenty on your mind already, Cass. If Ansel is back we need to be on our toes. You can’t let your head or your heart get clouded. Let Gabe sit this one out. Maybe he’s earned the rest.” Cassandra rubbed the back of her hand across her eyes and nodded. “What’s your plan?”

“I was going to go see Ridley. Grey probably can’t send me, so I’ll have to travel long ways.”

“Nah, don’t worry about Ridley. Till you get some proper intel he’s just as useless as I am. I’ll fill him in.” The tip of Arsiel’s tongue just peeked out from between his lips, a sure sign of deep thought. “You know, if we checked the Tomb that’d be an easy way to tell for sure what’s going on.”

“Yeah, I thought about that. Grey isn’t budging.”

“Have you tried Val?”

“He won’t tell me where she is or how to get in touch with her. “

“Can’t you just, you know, with your brain?” He touched his thumb to his temple, and waggled his pinkie in a visual demonstration.

Cassandra shook her head, “No. Not over this kind of distance. If we’re assuming Ansel is loose then he could intercept messages I send to anyone who’s more than a few dozen feet away.”

“Right, well then. You said you’ve kept in touch with Amaranth, yeah?” A nod. “Go see her and fill her in. If I had to bet a dollar I’d say she’s got a line on Dayth and Alex. I’ll work on Grey. Let’s get this thing mobilized properly.”

“But we don’t even know, not for sure, if it’s a serious threat…”

“No room for buts. Deep in your gut you know it’s true, right?” Another nod. “ Then that’s all there is. Stop being so timid about it. We’re your friends Cass, we don’t care if you’re crazy.” Arsiel’s smile was large and compassionate. “I can see why you’d be all shook up on the matter seeing as the first two people you told about it were Grey and Gabe, but now you’ve got Arsiel on the case, and we all know he’s too thick for doubt.” His smile grew in size and warmth.

It was infectious and Cassandra couldn’t help but grin. She squeezed his arm, “Thank you, Arsiel.”

“Don’t mention it.” The two stood side by side, Cassandra bolstering herself with the strength Arsiel clearly had to spare.

“It’s been nice. I really mean that. I needed this. I should get going though.”

“Sure you don’t want to spend the night?”

“Grey gave me a return ticket. Besides I’m feeling restless and wouldn’t want to be a burden.”

“Burden! Are you kidding? I haven’t seen you in over a year and you’re worried about being a burden?”

“Shhh. That’s enough out of you. I’ve made up my mind.” She hugged him tightly. “Say hi to Ridely for me, OK?”

Arsiel shook his head and squeezed back. “Of course. You be careful. Once you meet up with Amaranth I want the two of you two stick together.”

“Yessir!” She executed a sloppy salute. He responded with a wry expression and a raised eyebrow.

“Seriously, be careful.”
“I’m not new to this. I’ll be fine.” She put on her coat and pulled a small charm out of her pocket. It was made from pewter and fashioned to look like a pair of feathery wings. She flicked the charm into the air and a rent, similar to the one from Grey’s office appeared. Cassandra smiled, reached out and squeezed Ridley’s forearm, then stepped into the rift.

Arsiel looked around his empty field and ran his fingers through his hair. “I sure hope she’s wrong about this, but I don’t know that any of us is that lucky.” He retrieved his hoe and picked his way back to his home.

A note concerning Grey (Project: Lodestar 2)

The parlor was tasteful, assuming you didn’t have to spend any time in it. The room was designed to subtly unnerve its occupants. To start, it was four inches off square, the floor rose two inches from east to west, and the ceiling dropped three inches from north to south. All of the paintings and tapestries on the walls were hung almost imperceptibly askew and asymmetrically to one another. The focal point of the art was a series of three paintings over the barely un-level mantel. All were of the same size, but were not hung equidistant from one another, with the left most being closer to the center by just enough to catch the eye. The furniture, though appearing normal, was in fact slightly closer to the ground than one would expect, and although initially very inviting, was just hard enough to ensure that no one could sit in the same position for any length of time and still be comfortable. The floor was specially treated to be just tacky enough to affect the tread of the foot without seeming sticky.

It was an utterly trying room and Cassandra hated it. She stood in the corner and stared out the window while she waited. The glass of course was just impure enough to soften the edges of anything seen through it. A door whispered open and a tall thin man announced, “The Master will see you now.”

“Thank the stars.” Cassandra eagerly followed him out of the room. It took her a moment, but she eventually realized that even the butler was walking arrhythmically. She grabbed his sleeve, “Knock it off would you? I’m not in the mood for Grey’s bullshit.” He ignored her. It was a short walk to the double mahogany doors of the study. The butler announced her presence and then silently excused himself. “Grey, why do you always make me wait in that wretched room?”

“It’s a parlor, Cassandra, that’s what it’s for.” Grey was seated behind a heavy teak desk. He dimmed the desk lamp and leaned back into his chair. “How was Vermont?”

“Like you really need to ask.”

“I’m just being polite.”

“You’re being smug.” One of Grey’s smiles was very subtle, just the slightest turning of the lips, a miniscule bunching of the cheeks. It barely touched the corners of his eyes. It was a very infuriating smile. He employed it now. “Always with your games. It’s a wonder anyone can tolerate you.”

“You keep coming back.” More of the smile.

“Yeah well, I knew you long before you were like this.” She paused for a moment and sat down. She looked at her feet. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you were right about Gabriel.”

“Seriously, how did it go?”

“I hit him.”

“Did that improve the situation any?”

“No, just made me feel worse.” She leaned forward, hands on her knees. “It’s like he’s an entirely different person. I brought up Ansel anyway, but that didn’t help much either.”

“I believe I said something to that effect before you went.”

“I already admitted you were right. Just say ‘I told you so’ and get it out of your system.”

The smile left and was replaced by a more genuine look sadness. “This time though, it would have been nice to be wrong. Did you get to see Kyler?” Everything about him radiated sincerity. His face, his tone, even his eyes were cast with concern.

Cassandra wanted to believe it was true, but a tiny part of her was hesitant. Grey was the only person she had ever met who could lie so convincingly that not even she could tell. “No, things rather fell apart before we got to that point. She’s not dead, but I’m guessing she hasn’t improved.” She sighed

“Of course.” Grey removed his steel framed glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Even I find this Ansel business hard to swallow, Cassandra. I know how accurate you can be, but I’ve found nothing to confirm your statement. Not a single piece of information has surfaced in any of my networks.”

“Please keep looking.”

“I will for now, but there’s only so long I can commit my resources in such a fashion.”

“There is a way we can be sure about this.”

“I will not reveal to you the location of Ansel’s tomb. Neither will Valentine.” Cassandra began to speak and Grey held up a hand. “No. Dream or no dream it’s too risky.”

“Fine. Let’s hope this isn’t something you’re going to regret.”

“Yes, let’s. What’s your next course?”

“Gabriel said I should talk to Ridley or Arsiel. It’s not a bad idea. Do you know where they are?” Grey made a show of flipping through a ledger. Nothing in the ledger was true, Grey kept everything of importance in his mind and he had an infallible memory. The act was unnecessary, his study was utterly secure, but Grey’s cleaving to security practices was so habitual it bordered on the paranoid. “Really Grey? Even here?”

“Everywhere, Cassandra.” Grey smiled. This one was much more smug than the first. “You do realize we’ve been having this entire conversation telepathically.” Cassandra was surprised, she hadn’t noticed. The realization was shocking enough that the contact broke. Grey spoke aloud for the first time since the meeting started, “I guess I’m not the only creature of habit.”

Cassandra’s stare was murderous as she reopened the link. “Do you know or not?”

“Of course I know. Ridely is in Japan. He’s in the middle of a security contract. Arsiel is in South America, the ruins of Rio.”

“If Ridley’s is in the middle of something I’ll go visit Arsiel first. He’s always been the more empathetic of the two anyway. Can you send me?”

“Yes.”

Cassandra stood and walked around the desk. She pulled Grey out of chair and embraced him. “Thank you for humoring me, Grey.”

“The threat is too serious for me to treat it as anything but credible at this point.”

She leaned back, holding him at arm’s length, “It’s ok, deep down I know it’s because you care about me.” Cassandra needed that statement to be true, so she believed it despite that tiny speck of doubt that always surfaced in Grey’s presence. She kissed him lightly on the cheek and mussed his hair.

Grey gently pushed her away and revealed another smile, this one built from warmth. “That will be enough of that. Stay safe Cassandra, I hope you have better luck this time.” He reached out with an exquisitely manicured index finger and deftly sliced a cut into the air. The cut arced fat, blackish purple sparks.

Cassandra stepped up to it and looked back at Grey. “I hope so too.” She stepped through and the wound in space quickly sealed behind her.

Grey smoothed his hair back and sat down at his desk. He stared at the blotter for a moment, and then picked up the phone. “Cynthia, I’d like a secure line please. Full encryption, level nine, please.” He waited. Clicks and hums emitted from the receiver followed by a steady tone. Grey punched in a fifty-six digit number without faltering, and waited another moment for the line to connect. “Hello Val, we need to talk.”

A note concerning Gabriel (Project: Lodestar 1)

The heat from the workshop was a physical pressure against her skin and the furnace colored everything in russets and rosy oranges. He stood silhouetted against its maw. She chewed the inside of her cheek and said softly, “Gabriel.” It had been too long since she had last spoken that name. Her breath was quick, the acrid air tasted burnt on the back of her tongue.

“Cassandra.” The chill in his voice rooted deep within her chest. She pulled her coat tighter despite the overwhelming heat.

“It’s been some time,” nervous hands tucked errant strands of blond hair behind her ears, “When was the last time we spoke?” she asked without conviction.

“The funeral.” Gabriel pulled a long pipe from the furnace and began shaping the nascent glass vase at its end. “What do you want?”

“There’s trouble…”

“Oh?”

“Ansel is back.”

He stopped his work. The pipe rolled off the bench and clattered to the floor. Gabriel is not a large man, but Cassandra felt tiny in his presence. “What did you say?”

She shut her eyes tight as he approached, told herself it was only because of the sweat, refused to believe she was flinching, “He’s not dead.”

“I saw his fucking corpse.”

“Gabriel, it’s true. You have to believe me.”

“Have to? You lost that right a long time ago.” Gabriel turned and picked up the pipe. The tension seeped from his muscles with a long sigh. His shoulders slumped. “I don’t know if this is a ploy for attention or what, but it’s not going to work. He’s dead.”

“I saw him in a dream. He’s coming back.”

“A dream, Cassandra?” his laughter was short and harsh.

“It’s not a trick, Gabriel. I came because I need…because I want your help.”

“You don’t need me. You need a shrink. Stop wasting my time.”

Tears formed slowly in the corners of her eyes and quickly evaporated in the dry, blasted air. “Gabe…”

Gabriel turned away and stared into the furnace. “Even if something was going on, I don’t do that anymore. I’m done. I’ve been done ever since the day we put Steven in the ground.”

“Gabe, listen to me…”

She reached out, but her hand was dislodged with a rough shrug of his arm. “I’m just a glassblower now. If you’re serious about this why don’t you go find Ridley or Arsiel.”

“So that’s it? This is where we’re at?”

“Do you really need to ask that?” he picked up the pipe and halfheartedly worked at salvaging the piece. “What did you expect to find here?”

“I was hoping to find my friend.”

“You should have learned your lesson about hope by now. The rest of us did.”

Heat came and sparked her fury. Cassandra fiercely yanked him around and drove her fist into his jaw. It was like punching an anvil. Gabriel did stagger, although more from the shock then any force behind the blow. “You really are miserable. Grey was right.” She shook her head slowly. “You think I need a shrink? At least I’ve moved on. All you’ve done is run away. When did you become a coward, Gabriel?”

“I think you should go now.”

Cassandra bit down on her bottom lip and tried not to think about crying. She turned and walked slowly to the door of the workshop. Something made her stop. Without turning, she asked in a quiet voice, “How’s Kyler?”

“Please leave.”

Cassandra stepped out into the pouring rain and let it wash her tears away.


The only sound in the shop for a long while was the pounding of the rain mingling with the drone of the furnace. Gabriel slumped to the floor, rested his head on the bench and stared at the ceiling. His eyes saw only painful memories. A ringing alarm brought him back to the present. The ruined glasswork was tossed into a scrap bin, the furnace banked, and the slender artisan locked up his shop. The rain outside was merciless and made for a demoralizing walk to the house. He removed his muddy boots and grabbed a towel, which he used as he moved through the dark rooms.

The air inside was heavy. It was almost as if the house itself were feeling sorrow. The only light came from under an upstairs door. Gabriel quietly opened that door and just as quietly closed it behind him. The room was warmly lit by dozens of tiny lamps. The lighting was at odds with the martial nature of the room. Weapons lined its walls. There was a circle painted on the undamaged floor.

A girl sat in a wheelchair facing the door. She was young, certainly no older than her early twenties, and had features that would be quite striking if not for the emptiness of her eyes and the slackness of her face. A gnarled scar on her right temple detracted further from her beauty. Gabriel walked over to her, squeezed her limp hand gently. He tried to watch her face, but his gaze kept wandering to the scar. Her long, black hair was pulled up into a loose bun. Gabriel seemed to struggle over something internally, then reached out to undo the bun. He arranged her hair so that it covered the scar. The girl did not respond nor make a sound. Only her soft breathing and the occasional blink indicated that she was even alive. Gabriel ran a hand through his own hair and walked to a cabinet on the other side of the room. It contained two slender swords. The scabbards seemed new. Gabriel took them and returned to the girl, gingerly placing them on her lap. His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke, “Ok, pup, time for your daily training.”

Kyler didn’t respond. She never did. Gabriel knelt and watched her face expectantly. He remained kneeling on the hard floor even when exhaustion took him to face his nightmares.

A note concerning reputations

“So what’s the guy’s name?”
“Halcyon.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, that’s what the dossier says.”
“Weird name for an assassin. He work alone?”
“No. Two accomplices, Rose and Levity.”
“Holy crow, this guy is expensive.”
“One of the best, so they say.”
“Damn well better be.”
“Get this, even Arkham is afraid of the guy.”
“Arkham? Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Right then. Put in the call. Damn, I can’t even imagine what kinda sick fuck this guy must be to put a whack job like Arkham on edge.”

Elsewhere a young girl with crimson hair smiles as she pours tea for her guests. Sunlight streams in from a multitude of large, airy windows and causes her pigtails to flash. A large, vulpine creature basks lazily in a bay window. Sitting across from the young girl in a chair entirely too small for his frame is a youthful man with gleaming silver eyes. His knees are up near his chin and a saucer and cup balance precariously upon them. Something chimes in an adjoining room. “Excuse me, Miss Rose, may I get that?”

Rose clicks her tongue against her teeth, “Now Mister Halcyon, you know it’s rude to leave in the middle of a tea party.”

Halcyon smiles easily, “But Miss Rose, it could be important.”

She delicately sets the teapot down on the table and cocks her head to the side. “More important than being polite, Mister Halcyon? Look at Mister Darius here.” she gestures to a threadbare stuffed bear in an ill fitting top hat and vest, “He’s a minister of finance with many important obligations and meetings, and he understands the proper protocol for a tea party.”

“But Rose…”

“Or what about Mister Alfonz?” Here she indicates the stuffed crab sitting across the table from Darius the bear. It is bright yellow, possesses a comedic handlebar mustache and is missing an eye. “A diplomat of his caliber has many pressing engagements and he would never dream of interrupting a tea party.”

“Rose I…”

She narrows her eyes and strides around the table, her paisley sundress swishing briskly about her slender calves, “I do not appreciate your informal tone, Mister Halcyon.” Halcyon stares impassively ahead as Rose grabs his arm leans in close to his ear. She whispers fiercely, “Knock it off, Halcyon! You're embarrassing me in front of my guests! I know you know better.” Her breath smells like ginger snaps.

Halcyon rolls his eyes and sighs, “Sorry Miss Rose.”

“Smile.” Halcyon rolls the corners of his mouth up so far that he’s squinting. “Good.” In a flash Rose is back around the table, her tiny features once again open in the beatific expression of a happy child. The chiming stops coming from the other room. Halcyon sighs through his teeth.

Levity had opened an eye and nonchalantly watched the whole affair. Now that the drama appears to be over he rolls onto his back letting all four of his paws dangle in the air. The warm light feels good on his belly. He smirks as only an animal can and contentedly closes his eyes. Halcyon glares at him then looks at his cup. “May I please have some more tea and another cucumber sandwich, Miss Rose?” His is the resigned tone of a man trapped.

“Of course Mister Halcyon. It would be my pleasure.” Rose curtsies and retrieves the teapot.

A note concerning psychotic breaks

“Let me ask you a question, lieutenant: Do you think I’m crazy?” Omni-directional lighting blasted all traces of shadow from the steel room. Arkham sat down on the corner of the table and brought his face closer to Lt. Rex’s by leaning forward. “I’m not, you know, but Command thinks I am. Psychotic break from reality they say. Totally not true, though. Just ask Mr. Nod.” Arkham gestured to an empty corner. “Post traumatic stress they say. Plane I was on went down a month or so ago. Uncharted territory, everyone else died except for Mr. Nod and me. Well, Mr. Nod wasn’t part of our group, he found me later. Saved my life.” Arkham stood up and walked around the table while he spoke. He headed over to a sideboard and poured himself a glass of water. “Water Lieutenant? No? That’s all right. You know, I could get you a more comfortable seat, even a change of clothes if you’d just co-operate and answer our questions.”

“I have nothing to say to you.” Rex pressed his back to the chair and continued to work his right hand against the cuffs. A few more minutes of work and he could likely get the hand free without losing too much skin.

“Yes, we’re well aware of your current position on co-operation.” Arkham sipped from his glass. “Ok, I’ve got another question,” Arkham set his glass down, “have you ever seen an eye like this?” He removed his visor and gestured to his left eye. The iris was a bright golden color and highly reflective. “It changed into this at some point after the crash but before I was found. Mr. Nod says it’s a good omen, Command thinks it’s a traumatic mutation. Silly theory, eh? As if high stress could induce a physiological change of this type.” Arkham drew his left arm across his chest and tucked his hand under his right elbow. He tapped the visor he held in his right hand against his temple. “They think I’ve cracked under the stress of my ordeal. I know what you’re thinking, ‘if he’s broken then why hasn’t he been discharged?’ Well, Lieutenant, it’s because I’m very good at my job. And my job, as you may have surmised, is getting people to co-operate that may not be inclined to do so.” He moved over to a cabinet set against the wall. Using a key from his belt, Arkham removed the lock and opened the doors. Rows of glittering tools filled the interior. Based on the contents alone, it would be difficult to tell if the cabinet belonged in a machinist’s workshop or a surgical suite. “I’ve never really enjoyed my job Lieutenant. At times it can even be quite tedious.” Rex continued to focus on Arkham and did his best to make his struggle against his bonds as surreptitious as possible. “Mind you, I still get it done. Fortunately for both of us, with the arrival of Mr. Nod I find that I have an alternative. You see, Mr. Nod is very good at bringing people around to my point of view. It makes my job so much easier. So, why don’t you talk things over with him, see if you don’t change your mind.” Arkham reached the door with a few long strides, but paused and turned back to look at Lt. Rex. “Don’t try anything silly, Lieutenant, I’ll be watching.” He tapped the skin under his golden eye. The eye seemed to grow impossibly bright and a tingle rushed across Rex’s skin. Something smelled like it was burning. The recorder on the table leaked thin tendrils of acrid smoke. Rex also noticed that the telltales on the video cameras had all shut off. “Take your time Mr. Nod.” Arkham left the room and shut the door behind him with the faintest of clicks.

“It’s now or never,” thought Rex. He compressed the bones in his right hand and jerked hard against the cuffs. His hand made it halfway out. He flinched against the popping sound and tried to work some of the blood from his freshly torn skin between the cuff and his hand. A second tug freed his hand. He stood and looked around the room. His eyes alighted on the cabinet and he headed over to search for a weapon. The door swung shut when he was halfway there. Rex thought he could make out motion from the corner of his eye, but couldn’t see anyone else in the room. He took another step towards the cabinet and was knocked clear across the room by an unseen blow. His vision blurred when his head hit the wall. He sagged forward onto his knees and could make out a fuzzy outline of something coming towards him. There was something else in the room. Panic seized his chest and made his breathing erratic. His fingernails scraped against the steel floor as he tried to push back through the wall. The lock was clicked into place on the tool cabinet. Lieutenant Rex screamed.

Mr. Nod didn’t need any tools and, unlike Arkham, very much enjoyed his work.

A note concerning art thieves

“Sam, explain something to me: You are the greatest art thief the world has ever known…”

“Says you.”

“You have had in your possession items worth millions of dollars…”

“Says you.”

“And yet you live in squalor…”

“Says you.”

“Why is this? Do you pay attention to the media? All the big art thieves are rich and handsome and have titles and gobs of money. You have a tiny one and a half room flat with ‘furniture’ actually made from take-out boxes.”

“I’m a barber’s son. Doesn’t usually come with a title and my mum still lives in the house.”

“Besides the point. You’re an art thief, you’re poor, and I’m the only one who knows either of those things.”

“You know I don’t do it for the money. Never have, the only reason I steal ‘em is because putting ‘em back is fun.”

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that…”

“Gill, this is a hobby, if I did it as a job, it wouldn’t be fun anymore. ‘Sides, I’ve already got a job.”

“You work at the Chicken Deluxe. You clean grease traps and frialators.”

“A hard day’s work. How can you even expect me to make money as a thief? Do you know anyone who’d buy the Mona Lisa? It’s sitting over there right now and it’s got a sheet over it ‘cause it creeps me out. She looks slightly concussed, even if someone was willing to pay for it, who’d actually want something like that?”

“Are you serious? The Mona Lisa is over there, in the corner, with a sheet and a pair of likely dirty knickers draped over?”

“I’m always serious Gill.”

“There’s something wrong with this picture, Sam.”

“That’s what I was just saying. Glad you agree.”

“You amaze me, Sam.”

“I’m an amazing guy. Hey Gill?”

“Yeah Sam?”

“Can I have thirty quid?”

A note concerning angels

The angel in the dirty T-shirt waited. Neither the light drizzle nor the gazes of the mourners fell upon him. The service was brief and somewhat cookie cutter as far as such things went. As the mourners dispersed and filtered past, the angel deftly plucked a very poisonous and highly agitated spider from the collar of a young boy. He set the spider down on a tree limb and it bit him for his trouble. The angel walked over to the casket and pulled a white carnation from a wreath. With an easy motion he levered the coffin open with one hand, then stooped to peer inside. Mary blinked at him, realized he was offering a hand up, and took it out of habit. The angel clapped a warm hand to her shoulder. She looked from the angel to her body lying in state and back. Confusion wrinkled her features and the beginning of a question parted her lips. The angel smiled with his eyes and his mouth, an expression more genuine than any Mary could remember, gently laid a finer across her lips, and offered her the flower. She took it, inhaled deeply, and felt much better. The angel in the dirty T-shirt offered his arm, which she took, and the two walked off together, arms interlocked. The coffin clicked shut.

A note concerning swords

The sword could easily be described as sinister. Five feet long, single edged with a slight curve in the eastern style, its blade was forged of a metal black like a beetle’s shell. The guard and pommel cap were crafted from pristine bone, delicate and ivory in color, and the grip wrapped in smooth leather the creamy white of a maiden’s skin. A menacing blade indeed. Beside it was an exquisite scabbard, fashioned from the same fine bone as the guard and pommel. Linked to the scabbard by a slender chain was a jade and shell comb. If such a sword were to make a sound, one would expect the gnashing of demons or the lamentations of its victims, certainly not the whimpering pain and broken sobs of a young woman. At the time, the blade and its scabbard lay upon a woman’s colorful festival kimono, which was also at odds with the weapon’s apparent demeanor.

The warrior pulled out a battered flute and clean, bright notes filled the night air. The tune was poignant, defined by the carefree and idyllic character of youth. It was a song written by the only son of a village smith for the youngest daughter of the apothecary. Though the warrior played with a practiced ease, the song lost nothing in the playing. As the last notes reverberated through the air the crying from the blade had ceased.

A note concerning literal mindedness

“Get down. You’re being disrespectful.” This was said to the lanky man perched atop the gravestone. He cocked his head to the side, poised like a curious bird.

“Disrespectful to whom? I don’t think…” he peered between his toes, lips moving slightly as he read, “Joseph Tawson, loving husband and father, is in much of a position to care.”

The lanky man’s companion, a large man with a strong brow, strong chin, and a generally brutish build pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know I was not referring to Mr. Tawson. These are for the living.”

The smaller of the two men craned his head around to look at the neighboring marker. “Well, it seems like Mrs. Tawson is sharing the same real estate, so no harm there, eh?”

“Humor me, Zagan.” Zagan lithely hopped to the ground and easily matched step with the other. The two walked and everything was quiet save for the wind in the trees. Zagan noisily retrieved a wax paper bag from a worn pocket.

“Right, you’re so smart, Ronove, tell me this: Why do these people do this anyway?” He made an inclusive gesture with a pretzel retrieved from the bag.

“The memorials help the living to cope, it would seem…”

Zagan cut him off in a spray of crumbs, “No, that makes sense. I mean putting the bodies in the ground.”

“It’s all part of the process.”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t work. I mean, look at what else they put in the ground: seeds and things they don’t want to be seen or found. The latter is excluded because it would defeat the whole purpose of a memorial, and the former doesn’t make any sense. I mean, what do they think could possibly grow from a corpse?”

Ronove thrust his hands into his pockets as if he were throttling an assailant. “Read some of the literature for once. It’s all in there. Dust to dust, and that sort of thing. It’s cyclical. Plus it’s part of the process for some of them depending on the faith. Besides, no one appreciates your literal mindedness. Planting the bodies like seeds? No one thinks like that, you’re being inane.”

“Inane? Please, try inquisitive,” Zagan shook his head, “Pretzel? No? Bah. No one makes pretzels like the guy on Brook Street. That’s the whole reason we came out here.”

“Maybe you. We should get back.” The two stood in tableau: ogre-like Ronove making a peculiar gesture with one massive hand and slender Zagan messily whistling out of key amidst a growing pile of crumbs. They stood for awhile and, much like time, they eventually went.

It came to pass three weeks later that a tree was found growing from the grave of one Joseph Tawson. Its smooth bark was a pale peach color and its leaves a vibrant crimson. It bore a curious fruit of a half dozen shiny pink babies, each hanging from their belly buttons by a slender stem. No one found the incident to be very humorous except for Zagan who, though severely disciplined by his superior, felt the whole thing was worth it in the end.

A note concerning Silk

Mercurial Silk leans forward with one arm resting upon the battlement. As he gazes out over the quiet harbor, he uses his other hand to effortlessly fold small origami lotuses. After each flower is completed he relinquishes it to the breeze blowing off of the bay. Freshly spilt blood still steams on his skin in the cool air. Turning his gaze from the sea to the origami, he smiles slightly as he muses, "Hmmm, my hands are staining the flowers red...perhaps I should be making poppies instead of lotuses." He releases his most recent creation and then runs his hands through his hair, cleaning the remaining blood off before returning his paper into a slender, lacquered case. "Hello. Is there something I can do for you?"

“Thrice-Damned Silk. I doubt you’ll be courteous enough to turn yourself in quietly?” says the steel-eyed man as he steps around the corpses.

He gently sets the case down and turns to look at the person stepping out onto the battlement behind him, “Have you come to play? I was hoping for more sport from this purported city of warriors. I have thus far been very disappointed.”

“This is not a game. I will stop you before the sun next rises.”

Silk stretches out his arms, interlaces his fingers over his head and arches his back. “Oh this promises to be such fun. Please don’t let me down.” His eyes gleam brightly between blood caked lashes.

A note concerning Rooster

The trio stepped out of the taxi and made their way up through the lobby of a well-appointed apartment building. Julie was giggling and clinging to Rooster’s arm as Samantha fumbled around in her bag for the keys. Samantha started to giggle as well by time she finally found them and opened the door. Rooster quickly spied the bar and made his way over, casually dropping Julie off at the sofa on his way. “Would you ladies like another drink?” offered Rooster. Samantha dropped her bag and coat to the floor and stalked towards Rooster.

“Oh I don’t know about that, I think I’d rather have something else…” she said huskily, grabbing his arm and pulling herself up against it.

“Now, now ladies, no need to rush things, there’s always time for another drink. “

Samantha pushed Rooster down onto the couch next to Julie, who promptly started to crawl into his lap. “Oh, I wasn’t planning on rushing, not with what I’ve got planned,” breathed Samantha as she settled down next to him. Julie reached over and started to slide loose his tie while Samantha started to run her fingers through his hair.

Rooster stood, gently disentangling himself from the two ladies. “My my, aren’t we eager? We may as well head to the bedroom, then, don’t you think?”

Samantha smiled, “Now you’re speaking my language. She and Julie herded Rooster into the bedroom, pulling at his clothes along the way.

***

Rooster awoke on yet another unfamiliar couch, staring blearily at a strange ceiling. He sighed as he sat up and stretched. The sun had not yet begun to stir and the apartment was still dark. He stood, groggily stretching and made his way towards the bedroom, pausing in front of a mirror to preen. Satisfied he continued on and opened the door. The girls were lying in bed, fully clothed, just as he left them the night before. Samantha was snoring slightly. Rooster shook his head solemnly and shut the door with a quiet click. “Hell, I don’t even regret it anymore, not even a little…” he muttered as he headed for the bar. He poured himself a drink and walked over to the apartment’s eastern facing windows. Every dwelling he ever stayed at invariably had them. The drink in his hand slowly collected condensation as it sat undisturbed. Finally, the sun began its ascent and Rooster raised the glass in greeting, “Mornin’ sunshine,” before downing the contents in a single swallow. He set the glass down in the kitchen, gathered his coat, and let himself out.