The Puppethead War #14: Spanners (Part 2)

< < Issue 13

The inside of the sequestered Freak church practically groaned with age.  To the two teen-aged visitors, it felt like it was older than the world.  Unfortunately, the long years had not been as kind to this building as they were to the Mucatedra over the high barrier.  The inner hall was lined with buffed but clearly deteriorating pews.  Scaffolding on the right hand side went unnoticed by the few congregation members still milling around.

At the front, under a plain window through which the morning sun shone was a crucifix.  Less than half of Talon’s height, the dilapidated woodwork was surprisingly fitting.  A plainly dressed man approached them from a bare-bones lectern that headed the rows of pews.

‘I shouldn’t feel the need to apologise for the state of this building,’ he said, a warm half-smile growing on his face.  ‘I’m Father Adiestre.  Pleasure to see some new faces around here.’

Talon and Leyh shook hands with Father Adiestre and he waved to them to sit down.  The trader appeared amused and Talon felt awkward.  The last time he had spoken to a preacher was... it was very long ago, if he didn’t count the Honch.

‘I guess we’d like to ask about...’ the youth said.  He looked at Leyh and she nodded.  Not very helpful.  ‘I’ve got a friend, an acquaintance really, he told me he was a Keeper.  And, well, my family have always been Freaks.’

‘Aha,’ Adiestre said.  ‘I sense you aren’t very comfortable, um -?’

‘Talon,’ the youth said.  ‘And this is Leyh.’

‘Well, Talon, would it help if I put this on?’

The man seemed to produce a large hat out of nowhere.  It looked somewhat like a grey and white variation on that of the Keepers.  He placed it lopsided on his head and opened his eyes wide.  Talon had to fight down a laugh.

‘I don’t use it that often but it’s still part of the tradition,’ said Adiestre.  Leyh huffed loudly and covered her mouth, looking bashful.

‘Besides breaking the ice,’ the preacher said, placing the hat on his knees, ‘what I like to do is show people how similar we are.’

‘Huh?’

Adiestre stood up and gestured widely. ‘When it comes down to it, Freaks and the Kept Sect share the same faith.  Religion is somewhat more complex...’

Reflexively, Leyh and Talon looked past him at the otherworldly symbol.

‘The Keepers may have a lot more dogma when it comes to the Quandomen,’ Adiestre continued, ‘but that’s just the dressings, like the shape of a church.’

Talon raised a hand, feeling a bit foolish for doing so.  ‘Dogma?’

The preacher realised that he hadn't properly explained himself.  ‘Think of it this way: the Pharaohs, Nebuchadnezzar, Caesar, Napoleon, Adolf Hitler, Macer Argtyde... countless more diasporas, wars and struggles – when the Quandomen came, it followed the same pattern.  They were a test.’ 

Father Adiestre paused and Talon tried to place the ancient names, realising that he didn’t know half of them.  The preacher sat back down.  ‘Now we’ve made a pretty easy life for ourselves out here, over the centuries.  We’ve even made contact with the tirans and the guernas.  But the Keepers fear and revere the Quandomen as the hand of God.  Freaks simply accept that everything happens for a reason.’

‘Okay,’ Leyh spoke up.  ‘So whether we concern ourselves with the past or not, the Keepers would be concerned if the Quandomen were going to return?’

At the back the church, half a dozen parishioners had started to file in.

‘Oh yes,’ the preacher suddenly became very serious.  ‘If that were to happen, a lot of people would find their lives getting much more interesting.  If the Keepers’ signs have any factual basis, we’d also have to find ‘the brothers’ just to stop another exile.’  Adiestre brightened slightly.  ‘But there’s no reason to be afraid.  After all, what’s the end of the world?’

Before Talon could ask what the preacher meant, there was a thumping noise behind them.

‘Excuse me,’ a voice said.  ‘Excuse me, I’m looking for –’

The southerner they had met at the Overarchy dome forced her way to the front of the aisle, appearing very flustered.  Her hair had bounced up into a bushy tangle.

‘Nairé?’ Leyh said.  She and Talon approached.  ‘What’s the matter?’

The woman stood straight and brushed back an errant strand of hair.

‘I need your help.  Irena’s missing.’

***

Father Adiestre showed the group into the building’s woefully meagre kitchen while a layperson began the day’s reading.

‘Take a seat,’ he said to Nairé.  ‘One step at a time.’

They all gathered around the table while the preacher started to pour hot water into a stout pot.  Ogard appeared at the kitchen's entrance, crouched under the doorway and looked about nervously.  Talon was happy to see him.

‘Don’t worry, I knew you were here, trader,’ said Adiestre.  ‘There’s tea enough for everyone.’

Leyh nodded at the big man.  ‘Oge isn’t accustomed to speaking with preachers.’

Talon resisted the urge to point out that he hadn't heard Ogard speak at all since they had met.  ‘What happened?’ he asked Nairé.

‘Oh, I don’t know, I don’t know...’ she said pitifully.  ‘I mean, I guess she got the idea when we were talking about bad dreams.’

The only noise was that of Ogard trying to fit onto one of the kitchen’s stools.

‘Don’t just sit around,’ Nairé said.  An involuntary shiver ran through the woman’s body.  ‘She was having nightmares about lake monsters, so I told her about the old country, how I ran away from home...’

‘This can’t be a coincidence,’ said Talon.  He was suddenly very aware of Father Adiestre’s presence, as the man brought over a tray with the cups of tea.  He thought about Ferran’s warning - anyone could be an agent of the puppetheads.  Then again, could a puppethead lead a congregation, however small, and still be convincing?

‘This wouldn’t have to do with your Keeper friend, would it?’ the preacher asked.  He sat down between Talon and the traders.  The youth could see that Ogard was actively avoiding Father Adiestre’s eyes while Nairé continued.

‘She overheard the Captain speaking with one of his men after the expedition.  I don’t know about the Keepers, but Irena said that the Captain was her grandfather.’

‘If you don’t mind me asking,’ Adiestre said, ‘who is Irena?’

‘She’s the daughter of Lord de Postrem’s nephew,’ Nairé said.  ‘I couldn’t just lock her up, besides, I think I was curious too.’

‘Wait, wait wait wait, wait.’  Leyh put both hands flat on the table.  ‘Back up a bit.  What expedition?  And is it really our problem who the girl is related to?’

Nairé took a long sip of the tea and looked at the trader.  ‘Lord de Postrem and the Captain were looking for Quandu artifacts in the south.  With me on their team, they got lucky.’

‘How?’

‘We found a cache.  It was filled to the brim with plunder and devices.’  The woman sighed.  ‘But it doesn’t make any difference now.’

Father Adiestre was by far the most taken aback by the strange discussion, but he recovered enough to put on a happy face.  ‘Don’t worry, I’m sure that Talon and Leyh will help you find Miss Irena.’

‘You bet we will,’ Talon said.  ‘We owe you, after you spoke to Captain Gelba for us.  We just have to go next door to get Ferran and the Honch.’

Now it was Nairé’s turn to avoid the others’ eyes.

‘Og- og- Ogard and I,’ she said.  ‘After I found him, we went straight to the Mucatedra.’

The big man nodded in affirmation, a stern expression on his face.

‘I’m sorry Talon, but your friends have already left for Yerz.  They said that there was an altercation and they set off immediately.’

‘What do you mean, altercation?  Are they alright?’

‘The man who addressed us, or at least, I think he was a man behind the mask – he said that there had been an attack of some kind.  They fought it off and left as fast as they could.’

‘Dammit,’ Talon muttered.  ‘I knew we were having it too easy.  Did they say if they were Dirty Fighters?’

‘We weren’t told,’ Nairé said.  ‘The Keepers were anxious to start the service and Ogard suggested we come here.’

Father Adiestre stood up and gathered the empty cups.

‘I can see that this is going to get complicated,’ he said.  ‘I’ll be praying for you and Miss Irena that this horrible business is over soon.  As for today,’ he winked at Talon, ‘we’ll have to take a rain check.’

The preacher left to deliver the sermon and the other four headed out the back door.

‘So where do we start looking?’ Talon said as they walked the main boulevard back to the bridge.

‘Last night she went up to the Captain’s private study,’ said Nairé.  ‘I’m going to have to tell him that.  Hopefully he’ll know why she’d want to run away.’

‘Sounds tricky,’ Leyh said.  ‘Especially if none of us are supposed to know he’s her grandfather.’

Talon didn’t add anything, but the corners of his lips turned up slightly.  The day had just become very interesting.

The Puppethead War #13: Spanners (Part 1)

< < Issue 12

Issue 14 > >

Sincerest others,

I am writing to inform you that a series of disturbing events have occurred in my home village, Yerz.  A hostile force known to us as "the puppetheads" recently attempted to infiltrate our society from their home deep under the lake.  The puppetheads can swap their own minds with those of any human they touch, making them very difficult to detect.  Ferran, a friend of mine who was subject to this mind swapping process, would have been trapped were it not for yours truly and a pair of young troublemakers called Talon and Daiv.

I intend on travelling with Ferran and Talon to the capital, to inform the Overarchy of the dangers that these puppetheads pose.  However, I cannot be sure that anyone else is trustworthy.  Therefore, I also invoke the right granted me to call a meeting of all available Keepers.  As you are aware, the first sign of the Quandomen's return is when a man is not himself.

We will leave with a pair of traders, Ogard and Leyh, later this week, and hopefully arrive in Carpol late on Saturday.  Until then, stay vigilant.

Keeper in Yerz.

Last time on The Puppethead War, the puppetheads hit a snag when Payke, the agent whose original body was ruthlessly killed by Commander Darrin Sasket, chose to turn against his colleagues.  This week we find him running for his life after a disaster at the village.

Meanwhile, in the city of Carpol, the travellers from Yerz have made a significant step toward repelling the invaders.  By allying with Rudimar Gelba, current steward of the recently reinstated House de Postrem, they hope to bring their news before the entire Overarchy.  Additionally, an ancient group called the Kept Sect have been engaged by Verden, the owner of Yerz and secretly a Keeper himself.  Despite these successes, Ogard's carriage was assaulted the same afternoon by hired warriors, prompting the travellers to change lodgings and keep vigilant in case of further attacks.

***

SATURDAY

Payke bashed his hand on a boulder and ducked a pine branch, maintaining considerable forward momentum through the twisted trees.  Little puddles were growing along the hillside as the rain hit.  Mud built up on his shoes and still the puppethead agent didn’t falter - even the constant slippery roots failed to trip him as long as he kept moving.

The darkening evening was making it difficult to see the way through the woods.  Finally, Payke leapt from a rocky outcrop and misjudged the distance.  He tumbled to the hard ground below, almost not hearing the hack of a laugh behind him.  The second runner was obviously better than the puppethead agent and landed with a soft thud to his right.  Payke stood to examine his forearms.  The skin was ripped up from the fall.

'That went well,’ Tean said.

Payke sucked down more air and frowned.  ‘Shut.  It.’

Above them, a crunch prompted the two escapees to turn.  A montiger rider guided his mount down to them.  In his left hand were the reins of two others, animals which clearly wanted to be elsewhere.

‘Care to tell us what just happened?’ Tean asked.

Another figure was behind the rider of the first beast, slumped and only barely hanging on.

‘Yoh,’ his brother said.  ‘It should’ve been me out there.  This was a huge mistake.’

The figure behind Daiv sat up and spoke as resolutely as he could manage.  ‘I’ll live.’

‘You saw what the Commander had, along with the breathing pack?’ Payke said.

Daiv dismounted carefully.  ‘I don’t know what it was.  I was more concerned with keeping the others away.’

‘Well they shouldn’t have returned with you!’ Tean shouted.  ‘If they’d stayed with the treehouse -’

‘Quiet,’ Daiv said.  There was rustling in the trees, but truth was that any stealthy pursuers probably couldn’t be heard over the rain.  ‘We’ve got to move.  Besides, you know that we couldn’t have done anything.’

Yoh wheezed.  ‘They wanted to fight.’

‘Humans, listen to me,’said Payke, rather awkwardly.  The others looked at him.

‘The things that the Commander brought were bombs.  If he can’t find out where it is, he’ll start blowing up the village, whatever parts aren’t already burnt down.’

‘We don’t even know what he’s looking for,’ Tean said.

‘You’re right,’ Daiv said and turned to the puppethead.  ‘No thanks to your stunt with Arak.’

‘How could I have known that you would return with arrows blazing?’ Payke said.  ‘We have to go back and take him out.’

Daiv tried to keep a level head.  ‘Roran and the others don’t need us, they need an army.  Not to mention the other agents would likely die to defend Mr Sasket.’

‘And where’s the problem with that?’ Payke growled.  ‘Do you really think your pontoon pals can get their bodies back?’

‘Don’t you dare,’ said Daiv.  He raised a finger to the man’s nose.  ‘Don’t you dare think that they don’t matter.  As far as I’m concerned, you’re a hideous -’

Payke slammed the boy’s arm away.

‘I will not be lectured to by an adolescent sand-for-brains human.  You either accept my help or we part ways right here.’

Tean stood agape at the glower contest that erupted between Daiv and the puppethead.

‘You two can’t be serious!’ he finally said.  ‘We’re in the middle of an invasion!  As long as we want to stop Mr Sasket, we’re on the same side!’

Both of them watched as Tean paced towards the montigers.  He pointed at the ground.

‘I’m going to take my brother to Arten for medicine.  Join me if you will, because then, with the biggest army I can find, I’ll make these body-stealers pay.’

***

SUNDAY

Sometime in the seventh hour of the morning, Talon’s shift was almost over.  Throughout the previous night there had been no sign of silent assassins or unseemly characters entering the Hanged Bat.  Sitting behind a triangular window, set high across the street, he watched as activity in the hotel grew.  Visitors and regulars were stirring to the song of the magpies but the youth wished only to return to sleep.

Around five, Ferran had joked that the puppetheads were sleeping peacefully while the travellers stayed awake on the lookout.  As silly as it sounded, Talon wondered if there wasn’t some truth in it: if the teacher had any reasoning, there must have been deep cover agents all over the country.  However, aside from the Dirty Fighters which Ogard seemed to handle deftly, their biggest obstacles so far had come from each other.

Breaking this line of thought, a sound prompted Talon to lift his head and stand up quickly, narrowly avoiding the beam that ran along the roof.

‘Shh,’ he heard someone say.  ‘It’s only me.’

Talon turned around.   Leyh had climbed out of her own small bed fully clothed.

‘He’s woken up,’ she said, pointing down, referring to the butcher whose attic they had rented for the night.

‘Ugh,’ Talon said and sat down.

‘Don’t settle now,’ the trader continued quietly.  She raised a finger into the air.  ‘We’re taking a walk and then you’re going to take me to church.’

Talon gave her a puzzled look.  ‘I can’t go back to bed?’

‘Nope.’

Talon stood back up.  ‘But I’m not a member of the Kept Sect.’

Leyh stuck out her lips and rolled her eyes.  ‘I know that.  Verden said that most of you up in Yerz are Freaks.  Take me to the service at eight.’

Behind her, the Honch snored heavily and turned over.

The youth sighed and mumbled, ‘I think I saw the place yesterday, it’s near the Mucatedra.’

‘Great, let’s go.’

They tiptoed past their sleeping comrades and Talon stressed his reservations.

'Trust me on this, there won’t be anyone,’ he said.  ‘I doubt there’ll even be a priest.’

***

Sometimes the Troublemakers could make one furious.

What had gone wrong?  Had he started to become sloppy?  There was no reason for them to switch lodgings, and yet they just weren’t there.  Did they suspect him?  Had he passed the hotel too many times?

In the morning, the Trailer returned to Market Street after scouring nearby alleys.  This would have to be the last time – after all, even with the new clothes he had procured someone was bound to notice that he’d been hanging around.

After spending an hour in the shade of an unused fruit stall, the Trailer was about to leave when two of the Troublemakers hurried out of the butcher opposite the hotel.

'You’re sure there’s no way to find the boy?’ the Honch said.  He and Ferran looked around, hoping not to be pounced upon at any moment by hiding Dirty Fighters.

‘I’m certain that Leyh didn’t just kidnap him, if that’s what you were thinking.’

They walked past the fruit stall without so much as a sideways glance.

‘The Most Sincere would have been pleased to meet us all,’ Verden continued, ‘but maybe it’s for the best.’

Ferran furrowed his brow.  ‘I sense that you still don’t agree with my decision to bring Talon.’

The Honch replied so fast that it shocked the fisherman.  ‘The boy’s a liability.  Besides, we don’t get along.’

‘It might help if you stopped calling him a boy.’

Verden pouted, forwent a reply and started to analyse a nearby building’s architecture.  Soon, the two men had moved far enough away for the Trailer to resume his silent pursuit.

The Puppethead War #12: One Untangle, Two Untangle...

< < Issue 11

Issue 13 > >

It’s me, Daiv.  We reached the Floating Village, but the puppetheads had already attacked and taken the bodies of several people.  Mr Sasket is their commander.  They took us below the surface, ready to be used as vessels to attack Yerz, but one of them let me go.  She said that not all of them support this “invasion”, and now I’m pretending to be her.  So play along and I’ll try to sort this out, just know that you can trust me.

***

SATURDAY

‘You’re lying,’ Darrin Sasket said.  He had Yoh pinned against a wall and a scary, twisted blade pointed at his throat.  ‘I can’t call the others until I see everyone else.  You tell them to come out.  Tell them all to come out and defend our little town.’

The puppethead squad’s approach to the village had been less than stealthy - after all, the group and their montigers was a sight to be expected when they finally returned to Yerz.  The brothers Tanslan had been the only villagers standing outside the town hall, and had approached eagerly.

‘I’m telling you the truth,’ Yoh said.  ‘Why wouldn’t I?  No one else is here!’

Mr Sasket pushed harder and Yoh breathed out suddenly.  He watched the man’s sword lightly touch his neck.

‘Stop!’ Tean yelled.  ‘I can show you where they are, if you let him go.’

Daiv was standing very close to the younger Tanslan brother with the modified crossbow pointed at his gut.  Darrin ventured an aside glance at Tean and let out a cackle of a laugh.

‘You know I really couldn’t care about the two of you,’ he said.  Behind him, Evaraea and the puppethead whose body had been killed by Darrin appeared shocked.

‘I admit that we could do with the bodies,’ the old man continued.  ‘The army would be disappointed if I didn’t procure them.’

‘With respect, Commander, what are you going on about?’ asked Arak.  Darrin’s face became a bloodthirsty grimace.  As he turned back to Yoh, Daiv mimed biting onto something and passed a small piece of cloth to Tean.  Tean looked puzzled for a second but took it and shoved it into his mouth before Mr Sasket turned around.

‘It might have escaped your notice but I’m here for more than what the Queen gets out of this.  I chose all of you because I knew that you were loyal to me first and everyone else second.’

Fat chance, Daiv thought.

‘We are here to look for something very... important.  First, we will secure all of the villagers.  Then we can begin our search before the other soldiers arrive.’

He looked at Daiv.  ‘Leave that one here with us.  “Daiv” will escort Yoh to wherever they’re hiding.’

Tean’s eyes widened in fear but he couldn’t speak for the cloth in his mouth.  Daiv tried not to engage either of them, nodding over his shoulder to Durga.  He then waved his crossbow at Yoh and the man pointed east.

‘Go on then,’ the boy said.  With the montiger traipsing warily behind them they led away from the town hall.

‘The rest of you,’ Darrin said, ‘take down that ridiculous fence.’

Three of the puppetheads walked down to the lake front.  Tean thought that he recognised one of the floating village people, but he knew that they wouldn’t be any help.  Seizing the only chance he had, he ran.

‘Hey.’  One of them, who might have been Arak, chased him up the main road.

Darrin yelled at the other two who followed momentarily.  Tean zigzagged between the baker’s and another house, dodging around the corner.  Quickly, he unravelled the note, lucky not to have swallowed it.

‘Freeze!’

Arak had a knife pointed at Tean, who raised his arms, the cloth clenched in one fist.

‘I surrender.’

Roran and the floating village man appeared behind Arak.

‘What have you got in your hand?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Open it up,’ Arak said, brandishing the throwing knife.  ‘Show me!’

Tean dropped the note and tried to slide along the wall as the puppethead agent picked it up.  He began to read, out loud and hesitantly at first.

‘That boy is in big trouble,’ he said afterwards.  ‘Roran and Payke, or whatever your human name is, grab him.’

Roran looked at Payke and the two of them turned to Arak.

‘I think you’re the one in big trouble,’ said Roran.

‘What?’

Tean was still edging away.

‘Wait, you’re one of the humans too?’ Payke said.

‘’fraid so,’ the montiger rider said.  ‘Fooled you pretty well, didn’t I?’

Arak dropped Daiv’s note and fumbled for the knife.  Before he could get his hands on it, Roran grabbed his arms and twisted them tight in several painful directions.

'Payke!  Stop this idiot!’

The floating village man twitched.

‘You know what?’ he said, picking up the knife and lazily twirled it around.  ‘It’s not that I never really liked you, Sawgei, but more about what the Commander said.  My real body is dead.  I’ve got no stake in that business, no more than this man here.’

He pointed the knife at Tean.  ‘Would you stop that?’  The Tanslan stood still and lowered his arms.

‘I reckon I’ll help these dumb saps,’ Payke continued.  

'Great, thanks,’ Roran said, still holding onto the struggling puppethead.  ‘Would you get on with your change of heart already?’

‘Shut up,’ Payke said.  ‘Gentlemen, we have a hostage.  Let’s find out what Darrin is looking for.’

***

When the Honch returned to the Hanged Bat shortly after his meeting with Nabbat Sing, the others were already waiting in the common room right of the main lobby.  As he rounded the corner, all three rose from their seats and stared at him.

Verden stood under the arched doorway and put his hands out, palms up.

‘How was the sight seeing?’

‘You should have told us who you were,’ Ferran said eventually.

The Honch seemed shocked.  ‘What?’

Leyh pointed at each of the fishermen.

‘Even I know that whatever’s going on, whoever is planning this, if we need help, the Keepers could drum up an army within weeks.’

Ferran continued.  ‘Settle down,’ he told her, ‘we promised we would let you in, but I think it’s best to wait until we see this Gelba fellow.’  He looked back at the Honch.  ‘What I don’t get is why you couldn’t be straight with me.  We’ve known each other for years and you didn’t even think to clue me in?’

A dark cloud had passed over Verden’s face.  He pointed an accusatory finger at Talon.  Despite his distaste for the man, the youth couldn’t bring himself to look away.

‘You!’

‘Don’t blame him,’ Ferran’s weathered eyes betrayed a fierceness within that Talon had never seen, ‘you would have done the same thing!’

Verden, his head hung low and large hat waving about, moved to step inside.

‘Stay right where you are until I’m done speechifying!’ Ferran spat.  ‘Trust.’

The Honch pleaded.  ‘Surely you understand that -’

‘Not finished, Verden.  Trust is all we have when we can’t tell who’s who.  Now I’m willing for you to earn it again, but you’d better have a damn good reason for staying with us.’

Leyh and Talon swapped exasperated glances, the trader occasionally looking through the front window over the youth’s shoulder.  Daylight hours were moving on around them.

‘Ferran, I spoke with the Most Sincere - he’s willing to -’

The Honch glanced behind him.  No one had come downstairs or in from the street.

‘He’s already going to help us,’ he said.  ‘Please, I just couldn’t have the town know.  You know that most of Yerz are just Freaks.’

Talon felt his stomach tighten and Leyh shot him a confused expression, mouthing, ‘freaks?’

Ferran waved at the sofa in front of the Keeper.  ‘I’m sorry, my friend.  I’ve stuck by you ever since you became Honch of the village, but your condition doesn’t excuse you from lying.’

The man bent over and leaned on the coffee table.

‘Have a seat.  We should be receiving notice from the de Postrem residence soon.  Meantime, I’m going for a walk.  And don’t even try to take this out on Talon.’

Ferran left the room, knowing that behind him a quiet death-stare would have begun.  He pushed through the hotel’s front door, startling a man who had been standing outside.

‘Uhh, sorry.’  The man was wearing a tubular scarf that covered the bottom half of his face and he carried a rolled up piece of paper.

‘Go on in,’ the fisherman said.  ‘I hope you’ve got some good news.’

The messenger man quickly nodded back.  ‘Yes, uh, I hope it is good.’  He turned around but hadn’t touched the door when Ferran called out.

‘Hey, we haven’t met before, have we?  I swear I recognise you from somewhere.’

The man didn’t look back but brushed a hand down the door and went inside.  ‘Sorry, don’t think so.’

***

Several minutes after delivering the Captain’s message, the Trailer hurried out onto the street.  He adjusted the cold weather scarf around his face and thanked whoever was listening that he’d escaped unnoticed.

The Trailer had needed to do a few unkind things in order to get the job of delivering the summons.  There was the unconscious servant whose clothing he had taken, the drugged guards at the mansion’s gate, the old butler he’d tricked into accepting him at short notice - altogether rather messy.  It all paid off however, because now the Trailer had gotten a good look at the four travellers, or as he thought of them, the Troublemakers.

They had been making trouble for him since they left the coach back at Gaimswick.  Riding those extra miles in the pitch dark simply peeved him.  At the very least he’d made good time following them to the Overarchy dome and finding out what was up.

The Trailer considered whether their plan could succeed.  A letter on the back of a pigeon might have been in order, to find out what was happening up in the mountains since he'd left.

***

Nairé knocked on her ward’s bedroom door.

‘Won’t you come out, Irena?  You’re beginning to worry me.’

‘I won’t leave until they do,’ the girl said, muffled through the thick wood.

The southerner looked back across the hallway to the main chamber.

‘They only just arrived, sweetheart,’ she said.

‘Don’t call me that.’

Nairé couldn’t suppress a short giggle.  ‘Okay, I’ll admit that was a bit much.  But you’ve got to let me know why you don’t want to be with us downstairs.’

The door opened and Nairé stepped inside.  Irena was lying on her country-sized bed, arms crossed over her chest.

‘How did you -’ Nairé began.

‘I propped a book against the door and threw another one at it,’ Irena said.

‘Pretty smart,’ replied the guardian.  And a bit creepy, she didn’t say.

Irena sat up.  ‘I know, right?  I thought I could distract myself...’

‘From what?’  Nairé sat down on the bed beside her.

‘Hmm,’ the girl said.  She put her chin on her fist and faced the wall.  ‘First these nightmares I’ve been having, then this morning, what Gelba said -’

‘You shouldn’t have been listening,’ Nairé said, though she didn’t think it sounded forceful enough.

‘He said that I’m his granddaughter.’

There was a heavy silence in the room.

‘And not just that,’ Irena said.  ‘The other man mentioned a place called Yerz.  Then this afternoon we just happen to meet a whole group of people from the same place.’

Nairé sighed and wrapped an arm around her.

‘He,’ she paused, ‘he was probably speaking metaphorically.  You know how close the Captain and your Uncle are.’

‘I don’t know,’ said the girl.  She could feel that much more talking would bring on tears, and that was not going to happen if she could help it.  ‘It sounded like he needed,’ she choked, ‘needed me to do something.’

Her babysitter stroked back long strands of her hair and sighed again.

‘How about I go and listen to what’s happening,’ she said.  ‘We’ll sort this out, don’t you worry.’

Irena nodded slowly and hugged her friend.  After a second, Nairé got up and went downstairs.

‘Let me get this straight,’ the Captain was saying, ‘you’ve come all this way because we might - let me stress this, might - be invaded by a group of tentacle people, that no one has ever heard of, rising out of the lake near your village.’

‘This isn’t a "might",’ Ferran said.  The travellers paid no attention to the southerner as she entered the parlour.  ‘The creature was very aggressive.  For all we know, their entire society is made up of megalomaniacs like him.  They had already taken several people hostage, which means there could be spies out across the world by now.’

‘Also, we didn’t say they were tentacle people,’ said the Honch.

‘Yeah, although you’re right there,’ said Talon.  ‘Like giant spider-squids, not to mention the parrot-heads.’  He motioned the legs with his fingers.

Leyh wisely remained speechless, preferring to analyse her opulent surroundings.

‘I can see that this is an important matter,’ the Captain said, ‘but you’re going to need proof.  The Overarchy are less likely than me to believe any of this.’

‘The Keepers are the proof,’ said Verden, carefully phrasing his point as to appear neutral.  ‘They know that the Quandomen will return, and that one of the signs points to this mind swapping business.’

‘Wait just a minute,’ Captain Gelba said.  ‘These puppetheads are the Quandomen?  Come to do whatever they left undone when they were driven away the first time?’

Before the Honch could open his mouth again, the butler walked in with a tray of sweet biscuits and drinks.

‘Shall I draw tea?’ he said.  He glanced reproachfully at the visitors.  ‘I have begun preparations for dinner.’

‘Good grief, my man,’ the Captain said.  ‘Is it getting that late?’  He waited until the butler had left the room again.  ‘Normally I would invite you to have dinner, but the kitchen won’t be ready until Monday.  Wulmer is a good chap but cooking isn’t his strong suit.’

‘We won’t take up any more of your time then, Captain.’  Ferran rose from his chair and extended a hand.  ‘I hope that you will choose to support us before the Overarchy convenes again.’

The Captain shook Ferran’s hand amiably.  ‘You'll have my answer before sundown tomorrow.’

***

Even though they hadn’t eaten yet, Talon felt just about ready to climb into bed for the night.  Horseback riding took a lot more out of you than sitting in the front of a coach.  They made their way down the hill, and saw that the owner of the hotel had been kind enough to leave a lamp on.  The street was still very busy with store owners packing up and groups of young, rich people heading from evening parties to nighttime after-parties.  When they rounded the corner though, everything seemed to fade away.

There was a large shadow under the lamp.  Ogard sat on a bench outside the hotel, head resting on his balalyre.  There was a dark streak on the fat end.

‘Oh no,’ Leyh said.  She ran to him and held his face, waving to the others to come over.

‘The coach was attacked,’ she said.  Ogard stood up and raised the instrument for them to see.  ‘I thought there was a chance, but I didn’t know for sure that anyone was following us.’

Talon looked to Ferran for help.  ‘Are there puppetheads trying to stop us from telling the Lords and Ladies?’

The battered but unbroken musical instrument in his right hand, Ogard raised a torn piece of clothing in his left.

‘Not ordinary attackers,’ Leyh said.  ‘Looks like someone hired Dirty Fighters to catch us.  Luckily, they underestimated Oge here.’

‘Let’s get inside,’ Ferran said.

‘Right,’ Leyh agreed.  ‘We might have to change hotels to give ourselves a chance if they’ve tracked us down.’

***

Second floor.  Gelba's study.  Right now, the Captain was giving Wulmer a lesson in what "al dente" meant for pasta, so she had at least fifteen minutes.  Irena tiptoed along the dark hallway despite Nairé's chastising.  The girl respected the southerner, and even loved her as a friend, but Nairé was not in control as much as she should have been.  The woman was concerned that any disruption in the house before Irena's parents returned would change their opinion of her.  It also helped that she was as curious as the girl about the Captain's real motives, though she did not let her ward know that.

Strangely, the door was open.  Perhaps, as it really was the most out of the way room, Gelba had no need to appear secretive.  No one had set foot in the house since Friday without his permission, so no one unwanted would have read whatever secrets his papers held.

Irena was unsure about what she'd expected to see, maybe a letter to her uncle about her lineage or even a birth certificate.  Instead there was a map, a photograph and a sketch with hastily scrawled notes.

'The Ceeyn Cache,' she read aloud, 'often called the Quandu treasure.  Can be opened two ways, by a Union or the code lock.'

The photograph was of a gigantic tree in the forest.  Directly in front of it was a stone inlaid with metal.  The sketch depicted the stone as a set of dashes and shapes.

'Code makes no sense!' was one of the scrawls.  'Irena shows no signs.  Writing is nonsense.  Focus on other caches for the time being.'

The girl felt a prickle on the back of her neck but there was no one in the room.  She took the map and folded it up.

Caught at the Nines

This is a short set in a new shared universe, and so incorporates some ideas from other writers.  Read more at the main page on sci-fi storytellers.


Warning: while this NOT an 18+ story, it contains moderate violence and themes, though hopefully no more than a police procedural show on TV.

You can never be sure if it’s your first time at the Nines when you set foot inside that snappy virtual door.  Something about long distance communication screws up cause and effect, meaning that snail boaters from wave three could meet up with first wave colonists without even knowing it.  Everyone mixes with everyone else, producing a cross section that spans space and time.

I track the mark to this fancy digital dive and enter, surprised at what I see.  Information from Shiny Green, my guardian angel, prints across my vision without order - I realise it’s a text based version of the chatter.

‘Thanks, Gee,’ I say, ‘but where’s the aural feed?’

‘Look up,’ she says.

Flashing between dark and light blue on the Nines’ roof is a message from my Uni-Net linkup.  A picture of a jigsaw piece broken in half, and a line of text: “RealHear™ plugin has crashed.  Reboot?”

I tell the roof no-thanks and respond to Shiny Green.  ‘Just do your best with the text and remind me to get to Coldreiuntuf for upgrades.’

I don’t really want to go back to the capital planets - every time I do, it reminds me of what I don’t have.  I won’t lie, it’s hard being a public detective.  Company men get all the backing that money can buy, even if they’re only chasing fraud or off-piste individuals.  Me?  I’m one of three guys this side of the binary systems working on the big case and we’re stuck accessing the net from Secondrok IV.

Shiny Green reads me the chatroom text in basic approximations of the dialects that each patron has chosen.  That’s enough.  Now I can focus on my immediate surroundings.

I take in the strange, almost non-euclidean shape of the Nines.  Walls curve off, and yet keep parallel with each other.  Some avatars aren’t strictly three-dimensional.  As I look around, Gee makes sure I’m aware of the community board dead ahead.

‘Company breakers and rival stooges,’ I say, fairly happy I could rattle that off.  ‘Maybe if I had a job with IndemniCo or InterSlice we’d be tracking one right now.’

‘Wrong place to be looking for a big-shot criminal,’ she replies.  ‘I can count over $4 million in bounties in your field of view alone, all of which can’t be traced to their real world location.’

‘Well we aren’t here for a big-shot criminal, are we?’ I say.  ‘Anyway, who tipped us off?’

‘I found it hard to believe until we got here,’ Gee says, ‘but I think you did.’

I groan and sweep my eyes across the clientele nearest the bar.

‘So I've been here before?’

Shiny Green hums.  ‘If you can’t remember, maybe you’ll be back in the future.’

‘Yeah, except right now?’  I can’t get over the sheer lunacy of the idea, despite what I’ve heard.

‘Just follow the code interceptor that I’ve placed in your vision.’

I track my own info to a thoroughly red-skinned man sitting in a booth by one of the walls.  I realise why the walls seem to curve: an infinite number of private booths line them, but on the outside there’s a finite distance from corner to corner.  Imaginary, fractal space at its finest.

‘Open up,’ I say.  I hold up the simulation of my licence, which simply states, “Norian Osthorpe, Homicide” and an authenticity number.

‘What have I done?’ the man says, though he unlocks the booth and I step in.  I take my time, shrug, and quietly hope I’ve given myself the right man.

‘Nothing,’ I say.  ‘I’m just investigating a murder on Malabierta.  Not an official assassination, this was done without a company contract.  Very rare these days, know that?’

‘The hell?’ the man says.  ‘This is the net, how do you -’

‘Wait a second,’ I say.  ‘I just wanted to ask some questions.  Witnesses say that you, or perhaps I should say your real-life persona, was seen running from the scene of the crime.’

‘Dude,’ the man says, pointing above his head.  A neon username flashes into view.  ‘This is me.  Nothing to do with RL.’

At that moment, a rather boisterous individual bursts through the front door, proudly announcing his name and his intent on having a good time.  That is all the distraction I need.  I prep the simulated syringe and jam it into the neck of the suspect’s avatar.

‘Worm!’ he shouts, and shimmers slightly.

‘Lock the booth,’ I tell Gee.  The man squirms about without being able to escape.

‘What gives?!’ the man says.  His eyes are flaring.

‘That, my friend, is one of the few cool tricks I’ve got in here.  You see, that code I planted in your access account will keep you on the net until I can trace your body’s location and arrest you for questioning.  R.  L.’

‘Don’t do this to me, man!’  The mark is still shimmering in and out - trying to but unable to log off.   ‘I need to eat!  I gotta sleep!’

‘Would you like to co-operate and answer my questions?’

‘Stuff that,’ he says.  ‘I did the dame in, ‘kay?  Just let me go!  I didn’t mean to, but she was pestering me for the fifty -’

‘You did not kill her over money,’ I say.  ‘You were paid by an unregistered syndicate, weren’t you?’

‘What?  No!’

‘Don’t play dumb, Roody569.  Someone arranged for her to be killed, and for it to look like it was an accident.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, it was an accident!’

Shiny Green patches in Constable Beet as I begin to have doubts.

‘We’re tracking his real world location now... really think this one’s the guy?’

I can’t think straight so I respond slowly.  ‘I’m having some trouble here...  He’s definitely the perp,’ I continue.  ‘But there’s no link.’

‘What?!’  Beet’s voice over the phone line was exasperated.  ‘You aren’t telling me that.  You aren’t telling me that!’

The confessed killer’s avatar was lying immobile on the table, all of his energies directed at trying to escape the vice-grip of our trace program.

‘Every single lacky we’ve seen took way longer to crack,’ I begin.  I try to contain my frustration.  ‘I’m afraid this is that one-in-a-million we’ve always feared.’

Shiny Green backs me up in her cold, mechanical way, without thinking about how I’m feeling.

‘I believe he’s right, Constable.  The killer doesn’t match the profile of a syndicate member.  We lucked out at the wrong end.’

‘Damn it, damn it, damn it!’ I say, thumping the table hard, though I don’t hear the sound it makes.  Any other month I would have been happy to apprehend a real criminal for the sheer moral victory over the uninterested corporations.  But right now, on the big case, we needed any lead into the syndicate that we could get, and a totally unrelated killing was impossibly aggravating.  Why would I lead myself here if it was just another dead end?

Sure, a battle won, I think, but still no closer to winning the war.

The Puppethead War #11: Concerned Visitors

< < Issue 10

Issue 12 > > 

Today's issue begins with a recap in the form of a letter written by the Honch shortly after the original first encounter:

Sincerest others,

I am writing to inform you that a series of disturbing events have occurred in my home village, Yerz.  A hostile force known to us as "the puppetheads" recently attempted to infiltrate our society from their home deep under the lake.  The puppetheads can swap their own minds with those of any human they touch, making them very difficult to detect.  Ferran, a friend of mine who was subject to this mind swapping process, would have been trapped were it not for yours truly and a pair of young troublemakers called Talon and Daiv.

I intend on travelling with Ferran and Talon to the capital, to inform the Overarchy of the dangers that these puppetheads pose.  However, I cannot be sure that anyone else is trustworthy.  Therefore, I also invoke the right granted me to call a meeting of all available Keepers.  As you are aware, the first sign of the Quandomen's return is when a man is not himself.

We will leave with a pair of traders, Ogard and Leyh, later this week, and hopefully arrive in Carpol late on Saturday.  Until then, stay vigilant.

Keeper in Yerz.

***

SATURDAY

‘But I am the Honch!’

‘I’m sorry sir, but only a Lord, Lady or their representative is allowed to speak before the Overarchy.’

‘Well I’m sorry that you weren’t handing out peerages when we seceded!  This is an urgent matter that I can only present to -’

‘Then I suggest that you bring it to the attention of a Lord, Lady or their representative.’

‘You aren’t listening!  All the Lords and Ladies are in there!’

Verden pointed behind the receptionist at the great doors.  He’d kicked up a fuss shortly after the group arrived at the dome and for the past few minutes Talon, his teacher and Leyh had quietly edged away.  The wide circular corridor that surrounded the main meeting hall was a sort of national museum; by the time tourists and other visitors were staring at the Honch, the others were metres away pretending to be interested by a suit of armour.

‘This is impossible!’ Verden yelled, throwing his arms in the air.  At that moment, the central chamber doors swung in and a hundred high-class citizens came thundering across the room.  In a fit of impatience, the man stood in the path of the throng and waved a hand.

‘Hello there, does anybody have -’

Talon winced as he witnessed what could only be described as a stampede.  Various coloured cloaks and fancy hats surrounded the Honch until he was no longer visible, as Lord or Lady tried to reach the dome’s outer exit before other business caught up with them.  After the wave of people had passed, a significantly grubbier Verden collapsed to the ground, hand still stretched out.  He made squeeking noises.

Talon walked up to the land-owner and offered his own hand to help.  The Honch appeared not to notice and continued to lie on the floor.

‘Is he going to be okay?’ the youth asked.

Ferran folded his arms and cocked his head sideways.  ‘He’s physically fine.  But I doubt that being ignored like that was good for his ego.’

Leyh had turned away, glancing about at the other visitors.  She narrowed her eyes and watched suspiciously as two of the museum-goers approached.  One was a young girl who couldn’t have been more than a head below the trader, while the other was a very tall and striking southerner, with dark skin and dancing pale hair.

‘I hope your friend is alright,’ she ventured, trying to avoid the trader’s glare, instead looking at Ferran.  The Honch got up and mimicked the teacher from earlier by brushing down his light brown coat nonchalantly.

‘I’m fine.  Thank you.’  He took two deep strides towards the strangers and held out his right hand.  ‘I am Verden, current Honch of the village Yerz.  Who may I ask has the honour?’

Leyh saw that the girl shrunk back, her eyes becoming wide plates as Verden introduced himself.  Concerned, she thought, perhaps because of the Honch’s self-important attitude.

‘Pleasure.  I’m  Nairé,’ the southerner said.  With reserved grace, she took the hand.  ‘Irena thought we might be of assistance to you.  You need to speak to the Overarchy about your village?’

‘Yes,’ Leyh said.  The twang in her voice had returned and she raised an eyebrow.  ‘What exactly was so urgent?’

Verden ignored her and concentrated on shaking hands.

‘We would prefer to discuss it with the Overarchy or not at all,’ he said.

Ferran chimed in.  ‘Could be a matter of national security.’

The trader shrugged.  ‘And here I thought that tensions had mostly subsided.  I’m Leyh, by the way.  Been all over this country.’

Talon did a double take.  Did Leyh think that the threat of invasion was from the north?

‘I am not certain I understand,’ Nairé said, looking down at hers and the Honch’s hands.  ‘But if you want to bring something to the Overarchy’s attention you need to have a Lord on your side.  I happen to be employed by Lord de Postrem, who is currently represented by Captain Rudimar Gelba.’

‘Postrem?’ Ferran said.

 Nairé looked puzzled.  ‘Please stop shaking my hand.’ She withdrew and looked to the teacher.  ‘Shall I inform the Captain of your arrival?’

Ferran stepped forward and bowed.

‘We would be in your debt.  How will we know if the Captain has accepted our audience?’

‘I can have someone send word to your lodgings.  The house is at Five, Dean Avenue.’

‘The Hanged Bat,’ Leyh said instantly.  ‘We’ll return there about four.’

‘That’s settled then,’ Nairé said.  ‘Come on.’  She nodded to the group and dragged the girl, Irena, out the entrance way to follow the road back over the bay.

‘Curious,’ Ferran said.

‘What?’

‘Nothing important,’ Ferran shrugged.  ‘I’d just heard that -’

Verden had started towards the door, readjusting his big hat.

‘Hey, where are you going?’ Leyh said.  ‘I was going to show you the city.’

‘Been here before,’ the Honch said without looking back.  ‘You three have fun though, I’ll meet you back at the hotel.’

Talon rolled his eyes and turned to the fisherman, resigned to the continued presence of the trader.

‘There are a few things that you ought to know.’

***

Another Keeper strode into the Mucatedra.  That was all that bystanders knew or could know, as every single one that entered the large, pillared place had his identity veil drawn down.  Once inside, this Keeper veered away from the main hall and knocked on the door to the right.  After a small window slid back, he muttered something and the door was opened.

On the other side, Verden removed the veil.  There were three others of his sect in the private parlour, one drinking a cup of tea in a soft lounge chair and the other two pouring over a map spread on the parlour's big desk.

'Sincerest others,' the Honch said.  

One of the map-readers looked up and had to rub his eyes in surprise.

'Verden?  You're here already?'

'Sure,' the Keeper in Yerz replied.  'Most Sincere Nabbat, I was able to ride here from Bing-Milton in order to arrive early.'

The Most Sincere walked towards the Keeper in Yerz, shaking his head.  The corners of his lips turned up.

'Good to have you here,' Nabbat said.  'And your friends stayed with the traders?'

'No, Most Sincere,' Verden said.  'They rode with me, along with Leyh, who is giving them the guided tour.'

Nabbat Sing was a scrawny man, older than Verden but still razor sharp.  He appeared slightly crestfallen.

'So it's straight to business then,' he said.  'Not all of the Keepers in Ryndia have arrived yet, but we have a minor voting party between us.'

Verden motioned to the lounges.  'Can we sit?'

The Most Sincere nodded.

'A minor voting party will be enough,' said the Honch, easing into the comfortable chair.  'We just need a plan in case these puppetheads decide to take over the world or something.'  For now, Verden was unusually calm.  He knew the gravity of current events but being with his own fellows made him less concerned.

'And what about the fisherman, Ferran?' Nabbat asked.

'What about him?' Verden said.  'He can't remember very much.'

'Nevertheless, he has been associated with dangerous creature.  And how do you know that it's really your friend and not the puppethead?'

'I went through this last week,' said the Keeper in Yerz.  'As far as we know, puppetheads cannot extract information or memories from their victims involuntarily.  That's the only way we can tell.'

The Most Sincere looked away.  'Hmm.  I guess all that's left now is -'

'The brothers,' Verden said.  'If the Quandomen are coming back, we need to find our allies, and I don't think we will make it before the Overarchy until Monday.'

'Keeper in Yerz,' said the Most Sincere, 'It would behove you to bring your other countrymen here tomorrow.  We must all band together to defeat this.'

'Whatever you say.'

The Puppethead War #10: With Haste

< < Issue 9

Issue 11 > > 

By midday, the storm had reached more than a few miles inland.  Talon, the Honch, Leyh and Ferran took shelter on the leeward side of a grassy rise and waited.  Meanwhile to the north and west Ogard drove the hardy carriage with newly leased horses.

Though the trader was silent as always, his head filled with a jolly folk tune that he had learned to play long ago.  A man with lesser restraint may have started mouthing the ancient words to it, or humming to himself.  Ogard instead saved enough concentration for the landscape over which he travelled - this was why he urged the horses to speed up when the road passed into a grove thick with trees.

Rustling on either side put the trader ill at ease, his concern proved cogent as the grove began to thin.  A billowing shape darted between two bushes in the middle distance.  Ogard didn’t turn his head but scanned his field of view for any more hints.

These were probably Dirty Fighters, he thought, though hoping he was wrong.  Little was known about them other than their penchant for rippling clothes and quiet, surgical strikes.  Ogard knew there was next to nothing in the back that Dirty Fighters should care for; nonetheless he loosened the reigns and grabbed hold of his balalyre.  If the horses were worth their price they’d know what to do next.

A series of thumps behind the driver’s seat.  The trader gazed back along the left hand side in time to see one of the Dirty Fighters wrench the door open.

So, they were after something in the passenger cabin.  At least something that had been there.

Another noise close at hand.  Ogard turned around and was face to face with one of the attackers.  Iron knuckles glinted in the sunlight.  Scenery rolled on as the carriage rumbled through the countryside.  There was a disapproving growl from the man in the front cabin and a flock of birds squawked overhead.

‘Where are they, trader?’

Ogard said nothing, but he had the heavy end of the balalyre pointing at the man before he could even raise a fist.

***

The highway spiraled down to the outer reaches of the city, tending away from the rise of the eastern quarter until the land was more or less at sea level - not the incoming view that Talon had always imagined.  From this angle, the nearest buildings obstructed sight of the Overarchy dome and the taller, pillared Mucatedra of the Kept Sect.

This changed when the road banked left and took the travellers to a shiny and cobbled bridge.  At their end, hovels clumped together and a sharp incline bordered the valley.  On the eastern side of the river larger and more ornate buildings stretched as far as one could see.

Broken up by various snaking creeks, huge mansion-estates loomed over Carpol on the hills.  Closer and on the other side of the bridge, the road opened onto a bustling square.  Here the uptown scenery reminded Talon of Arten’s main street, only on a much grander scale.  As they crossed the river, he saw how the bay fanned out like a funnel, pouring the world’s tall ships and commerce into South Ryndia.  Another even shinier bridge extended over the bay in an arch from the docks to the rich seaside district.  There, finally, was the dome where lords and ladies from all over the country sat in Overarchy.  Also on the western bank was the pillared box shape of the Mucatedra, with a smaller pillared building nearby.  A high wall had been raised between it and the house of the Keepers.  The youth couldn’t resist a glance at the Honch as the horses were led into the plaza.

Hooves splashed in puddles left by the recent heavy rain and Leyh stopped hers and Talon’s ride in the shade of a wooden hotel.  As the Houch brought his own horse to a halt, the teacher behind him dismounted clumsily.  Ferran stared at the others, brushing trail dust from his green vest.

‘Not quite the same as a good old montiger.’

Leyh granted him a smirk and leapt to the ground.  She turned to help Talon climb down but the youth hesitated when he looked her in the eye.  There was that hint of shrewdness beyond her years, though the accompanying grin was absent.  Maybe, he thought, it would only come out at night around fizzy drinks.

The trader waved an outstretched hand.

‘Hello?  Hello Talon?’

‘Oh,’ he said.  ‘Right.’

He climbed down and saw the Honch beginning to unload their packs from the horses.  The first thing was the tall, pompous hat, which Talon had began to see in a new light.  His sect were want to wear masks when reading from histories or ministering.  Hidden identities protected Keepers in case of dangerous radicals.  For the same reason, Talon had withheld from the others the facts Verden had spoken while on the carriage.  When they had shaken Leyh, Talon would speak to his teacher about the Honch’s theories.

Verden might have noticed Talon’s continued study of the headgear and tossed him a bag.

‘We’ve got some business to attend to over the river,’ he said with as little interest as he could muster.  He focused on the trader.  ‘Thank you for your assistance.’

The young woman passed the reins of both horses into her left hand and rested the right on her hip.

‘You don’t think I’m just going to hang here,’ she said with a twang.  ‘You three paid to get here late this afternoon.  I intend on delivering that extra value.’

The trader winked at Talon again, somehow unnerving him beyond the sly face.

‘The least I can do is show you around the city.  Help you get to where you need to go.’

‘But, the coach...’ Talon began.

‘Still on his way.  Come on, I’ll take you to the bridge and you can explain this invasion to me.’

Verden’s defeat radiated in all directions.  ‘I told you I was joking.’

‘I thought you said that Talon was playing a game?’

The Honch tried and couldn't put a complete sentence together.

‘But you... and the fri- but I...’

Ferran rested one arm on the man’s shoulder and stroked his own ragged beard with the other.

‘The girl isn’t an idiot,’ he began.  ‘We owe her an explanation for all this.’

‘That doesn’t even make sense!’ the Honch said, but he realised that the teacher wasn’t joking either.

‘We should put our bags down and get to the dome.  Leyh can come with us if she wants to know but we have to make it quick.’

The Puppethead War #9: Up in the World (Part 2)

< < Issue 8

Issue 10 > >

A shorter post this week to finish Up in the World.


SATURDAY

Irena bid a reluctant farewell to her parents as they climbed into Osrum de Postrem’s extravagant coach.  Nairé, with whom Irena had stayed since early that morning, stood beside her, waving a dark-skinned hand out from under the umbrella.  

The rain eased off as the horses pulled away, leaving the noble daughter, her appointed custodian and old Captain Gelba the only ones in the courtyard.

‘I say it’s too chilly out here,’ the man said, though his modestly overweight frame made it difficult to believe.  ‘Care for tea, girls?’

The three of them wandered back to the house.  In the entrance hall the Captain waved to a servant before swerving towards the parlour.  Nairé left her umbrella by a marble pillar to help Irena remove her galoshes, looking out across the drive and the near gates.  Outside the grounds, commoners would be waking up soon.  The southerner could understand if Irena felt isolated.  The lives of the newly rich seemed so sparse and unreal compared to the rest of Carpol’s bustling metropolis.

‘Perhaps we should visit the gardens today,’ she said.  She patted her ward on the back. ‘I’m sorry that you weren’t invited.’

The rain redoubled its strength as if to put a kibosh on Nairé’s hopes and the girl gave a terse grin.

‘It’s okay.’

The southerner watched over Irena’s shoulder as the gates were drawn back again.  A lanky figure carrying a lantern rushed up the drive.  He arrived at the doors of the house dripping wet and the servant from before materialised nearby to help him out of his coat.

‘I would like to speak with Captain Gelba as soon as possible,’ he said, patting the rain out of his hair.  The man was dressed in a tight undercoat and smart pants and holding a folder in his off hand.  The servant, a man whom neither of the girls had learnt the name of yet, was much older and wore black and white.  He had an exasperated air about him, quite rightly too as he had probably seen more people at the house in the last twenty-four hours than in his entire life until that point.

The servant took the visitor’s lantern.  ‘Right this way.’

Irena, who had been silent throughout the proceedings, gave Nairé the kind of inquisitive, apprehensive glance that only children of her age could produce before stepping sideways to watch where the visitor was headed.  She followed the two men into the parlour with Nairé tagging along.  Somebody stood up and the Captain’s voice rang through the entrance hall.

‘Alright there, young miss?  I’m sure Wulmer would be happy to take some sweets upstairs.’

Nairé entered the room to see Captain Gelba guiding the visitor through another door.

‘Business as usual,’ the Captain said, winking to the southerner.  ‘If you could take Irena -’

The door slammed and the servant Wulmer shrugged.

‘If you’ll excuse me,’ he said.  ‘Lady, Miss de Postrem...’

He took a plate of breakfast items from the coffee table and left them alone.

‘Irena, I think that the Captain would prefer if we weren’t here.’

The girl put her finger to her lips and smiled.

‘Irena -’ Nairé began softly, but trailed away.  The girl tiptoed to the wall that joined the dining room with theirs.  Nairé’s frantic body movements trying to get her attention went on unnoticed as Irena pressed an ear to the wall.

‘I don’t understand,’ the Captain said, voice low and muffled.  ‘There should have been some indication.  You can’t be telling me that the whole expedition was for nothing.’

‘Well, Captain, there was the mountain of treasure...’

The Captain briefly raised his voice.  ‘I don’t care about treasure.  We need to secure the other caches.’

‘With respect Captain, we should speak more softly.  Besides, there’s always the one in Ceeyn.’

‘That infernal forest?  You and I both know it’s a bust.  If my granddaughter had shown any signs, maybe we could have tried it, but as far as I can tell Irena’s just a regular girl.  Besides, we should talk about this somewhere else.’

Captain Gelba, grandfather?  There was little time to digest the fact as the sound of a chair moving raised her heartbeat.  She motioned to Nairé, mouthing ‘Go, go!’  The southerner pointed upstairs and walked away.

‘One last thing, Captain,’ the visitor said.  ‘Just rumours and the like, but Keepers have been arriving in Carpol since last week, apparently for a meeting called by the Keeper in Yerz.’

There was a long pause.

‘It’s not of our concern,’ said the Captain.

'Yes,’ the visitor sighed.  ‘Probably nothing.’

The dining room doors opened and Captain Gelba showed the visitor out of the house.  In a corner of the parlour, Irena emerged from behind a large couch and hastily joined Nairé upstairs.  The girl’s custodian was already planning for their day together as Irena planned to sneak into Gelba’s study that night.