Friday, May 25, 2012

Cricket

It woke her up again that night. That damn chirping. Enough was enough. It needed to be stopped.

Her apartment was small but opulent. She spent a lot of money on what sparse furnishings there were, but she could afford it. She did not want for money. This building, like many others in the area, was owned by her father. Her father's contacts in the construction business would be able to help stop the chirping.

She called men up and they set immediately to work. They tore down her walls and put up new ones of a soundproof material over the span of a few tortuous days. They chirped even louder at her brother's house, lurking as they did in his basement. She couldn't catch a wink of sleep. It was a godsend when the men told her their work was done and that her noise problems were ended.

For over a week she lived in bliss. Sweet, sweet silence filled her nights. But one evening, just as she was about to crawl into bed, she thought she heard something, a quiet stridulation. As she focused on it, it grew clearer, louder.

Somehow it had come back. She did not know where it could be hiding. Certainly not in the walls, which were now solid, impervious blocks of material.

She looked around her bedroom. Her eyes narrowed. She ran to the phone, calling up other men she had known her whole life. Many of her calls went unanswered, and the constant buzz of a dial tone or a ringing phone was a splendid respite from the chirping that assailed the other. Finally someone picked up. She told him what she wanted to have done, and when. He was confused. It was late.

She promised him double his usual pay if he would come down and take care of things. After a brief pause, he told her to sit tight.

The next four hours were torture, the bustle of groggy, working men added to the hellish chirping. At las , as midnight drew near, her apartment was cleared of all furniture, all appliances. They were in transit to a storage locker until this problem sorted itself out. All she kept was a single spare set of clothes, a flashlight, a pillow, and a blanket.

The culprit would be found. There was nowhere for it to hide.

She spent the next two days searching every crevice for her culprit. When she heard the infernal racket start up she as she lay, awake and impatient, she flicked on the light, squinted and strained her eyes (and ears, her poor ears) to find the tiny black insect responsible for this torment.

Nothing. It was nowhere in her small apartment, but it was still everywhere. She could hear it. It had to be here.

She got hold of the first group of men, promising them triple their normal wage for another job. They came down immediately and began affixing thick padding to the walls. It must be inside the walls, somewhere, somehow. Let it choke and rot there, so long as she had peace.

The night after the workmen finished was the best night she had experienced in a long time. It was peaceful, quiet, marvelous. The day after she would see about moving back her things, then--

The vestigial muscles in her ears twitched. The chirping. It had come back. How? Where? She took up the flashlight and set to work, trying to uncover the lair of this taunting imp. She worked long and hard and would not stop, no, could not stop until she found it.

Her brother visited her the next day to make sure she was okay. There was no answer when he knocked on her door and called out to her. He turned the knob to let himself in.

He bolted out immediately afterward. He made a phone call.

A wispy halo of gray hair surrounded the man's head. His lips were pressed together in a tight line when he came out of her apartment. He took off his glasses and cleaned the lenses on his shirt slowly, surely.

He opened his mouth to speak. "Well, on the upside, her room is already well-padded."

Friday, May 11, 2012

Convention

The woman behind the table peered up at him through her thick glasses. Three other people, two women and and a man, paused in their labors in the area behind the tables. They stared at the tall man.

The greeter's nametag read "Hello, my name is ELIZABETH." Her voice carried a slight hitch when she asked, "Welcome to Greycon! Could I get your name, please?"

"It would be under R. Ramaj." The man spoke so quietly that the woman had to lean forward to understand him.

The woman chewed on the end of her pen, the white plastic already covered with small pockmarks, as she scanned the stapled reservation list before her. "R...R...Radden, Ralkin, ah, Ramaj." She turned to look over her shoulder and addressed the man behind her. "Joe, could you dig through the boxes and get the packet for a Ramaj, T?"

"Sure thing, Liz." It took a few seconds for Joe to retrieve the manila folder. When it was passed over, T's fingertips left red smudges on the yellow paper. "That's a pretty intricate costume, friend. This your first con?"

"First time here, yes. I have been to others, however. Thank you for your help." He doffed his wide-brimmed hat to the two of them before turning to his right and marching down the hallway, cutting through the other convention-goers.

Joe crossed his arms and shook his head. "I swear, that is the best Convention Carver getup I've ever seen."

Friday, May 4, 2012

Lost & Found, Pt. 5

Jesson ran one of its tendrils over its hairless head, a nervous gesture it had picked up from prolonged human contact. Air whistled out of its spiracles in a frustrated sigh. "This has to be the stupidest thing you've ever done."

Trevor held his knife between his teeth and used both hands to keep the wriggling baby in place. The naked baby lay, giggling, on one of Trevor's old shirts. "I couldn't just leave her there." He hewed at the fabric, cutting excess pieces away.

"You don't know where that baby has been. You don't know who it belongs to or--"

"I know exactly where the baby was. I found her on that altar."

"In a temple, in a swamp, belonging to thrice-cursed Cs'e'erah! What if she was left there for a reason, huh? What if she was a sacrifice made to appease the Dread Sister?"

"Cs'e'erah should have been quicker to pick her up then, wouldn't you say?" Trevor tied the shirt's remnants into a rudimentary diaper. He cut away the tassels dangling from the preponderance of knots he had tied. The baby stretched out a hand to the flashing metal and cooed.

Jesson wrapped a tentacle around the child's wrist and jerked one of its eyestalks away when the baby stretched out to grab it with the other hand. Its other eye glared at Trevor, who had a satisfied look on his face. "Why did I agree to this madness, again?"

"Fame and wealth. Mostly the fame, I'd hope. I also think the compulsion may also have played a small role." The Bibliomancer stepped back lightly and dipped his head in a curt nod. "Let's name her Fortuna. That seems appropriate, given how lucky she was that we came through when we did."

"You are not serious. This child will just get in the way!" Jesson's voice had grown higher and shriller than usual, and magenta blooms were spreading over the Grinn's pale flesh.

"I'll keep her quiet, promise. The Borenan rebels will be able to take her off our hands once we meet with them. Or would you rather that Cs'e'erah receive this girl's energies?"

Jesson flailed two tentacles around, swatting at the drooping branches of a tree that had been unfortunate enough to grow in the wastes near Staxal. It could not win an argument with the human, not when he had his mind made up already. "If the child makes undue noise, I swear upon Maurcke that I will strangle the life from her myself!"

"Fair deal." Trevor lifted the baby and squinted skywards. "The day's getting on. We have some miles we can cover before it gets dark." He began walking to the northeast, feet squelching and sinking into the moist soil. He mumbled nonsense words to the baby as he went.

Jesson piped its frustrations to the uncaring wilderness and followed.

---

Sprusba squatted and rested his elbows atop his knees. His broad fingertips brushed the ground, gouging small furrows into the dirt and detritus. "Lady Lucinda, I found a thing."

Lucinda pushed past Kravin. "What is it?" she asked. She was tired of her journey, disgusted by her surroundings. Her hair, dirty and listless, twitched from the power she discharged in her ire.

The Chubs pinched a scrap of cloth between his thumb and forefinger. It hung listlessly, discolored and half-rotted by the time it had spent in the swamp. "Clothing fabric." He pointed at other pieces which lay on the ground. "More there and there."

Kravin rubbed at one dirty cheek with an equally dirty hand and asked the question before Lucinda. "Does it belong to him?"

Sprusba grunted. "Could be, could not." He tossed aside the cloth and regarded Lucinda with his deep-set eyes. "If he went that way, would be in the way of East Borena. Could be he went there. Easy to get lost in a big city."

"Easy to be found, too," Kravin said. The Mageslayer dropped his pack into the muck with a sodden plop and dug out a strip of dried fruit. "And Cs'e'erah would gain little by extending protection over a known fugitive, not with things standing as they do."

Lucinda shook her head. "He is craftier than that."

Sprusba chuckled. "He is crafty enough to know that you know he is craftier than that." The Chubs got to his feet with a quiet grunt. "It is my thought that we go along this trail."

Kravin remained unconvinced. "Why cut strips away like that? Was he wounded? They certainly were not torn loose. The edges are too straight." The Mageslayer chewed and swallowed a piece of the fruit. "I think it's a distraction. It seems to contrived and convenient."

Lucinda closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I agree. If we follow the wrong trail, we fall behind and it will be even harder to backtrack. That is something he would have done."

Sprusba nodded, though reluctantly. "Understood. We keep walking that way, then." The Chubs pointed out through the mossy canopy, at the mountain. It was not a good mountain, and Sprusba had aired his misgivings numerous times as they marched closer and closer to its base. Lucinda trusted in his judgment. After all, Chubs resided in the Rocky Succor, the long mountain range that stretched from near Nostrum, in Cahllyn's realm, through the Freelance regions, and into Greatah's domain before terminating to the west of Vijo Geme.

But she had a quarry to retrieve, and she would do this regardless of whether she had to climb to Staxal's peak or descend into the darkest bowels beneath the mountain.

Lucinda shifted her rod from one hand to the other. "Let us continue. We have a number of miles we can cover yet before night falls." She continued walking to the southeast, carefully feeling out the driest possible path with the butt of her staff. Kravin hurried to catch up, gingerly stepping around Sprusba.

Sprusba took a final look at the mysterious pieces of fabric strewn along the trail. A nervous rumble echoed through his stout chest as he followed.