The Puppethead War #5

< < Issue 4

Issue 6 > >

FRIDAY

'Where's Sasket?' Daiv said. Roran kneeled near one of the dead bodies – the reek was unimaginable. He placed his hands together and closed his eyes, mumbling something, then lifted the crossbow from the man's cold hands.

'He went in amongst the buildings. As long as he's safe...'

'Roran.' Daiv stood away from the wall and spread his feet to balance on the rocking floor. 'I think that the teacher may have suspected Mr Sasket of being one of them.'

The boy pointed to the lake monster. Its motionless corpse was several times larger than the one that had attacked Ferran. Clearly more than a baby.

'Nonsense,' said the other rider. 'Darrin Sasket has been with the village since before I was born, since your teacher was barely as old as you.' The man's head wavered side to side. He weighed the crossbow in his hands, aiming through the building's doorway.

'He might have been taken even before that...'

Roran ignored Daiv's comment, though his eyes flicked about warily. 'Do you hear that?'

'There's nothing,' Daiv said.

Roran stood up. 'Right. If anyone was still fighting, we should have heard them as soon as we got here.'

'Shouldn't we keep going?' the boy said. His voice cracked. 'I mean, I'm not trying to –'

'Grab the other crossbow,' Roran said. Feeding his own bow, he tossed Daiv an unusual ten-bolt clip.  'Shouldn't take you too long to figure out.'

Throughout the known world, there had never been a single exponent of industry. Instead, various inventors and tinkerers had risen and sparked out, leaving behind a patchwork of ideas. Some of these were easier for blacksmiths and farmers to replicate a dozen times over – others, much like the Quandu technology they were based on, were one of a kind.

What Roran failed to mention was that setting a crossbow was hard. These weren't like the hunting bows they'd used in the forests around Yerz. Daiv could handle those. What ruined him was that Hem had made it look so easy on the boat.

'Get a move on!' Roran hissed. 'We'll make our way to the central plaza.'

Without warning, Daiv invented.

***

The one called Darrin Sasket passed between two larger buildings into a wide open space that was strewn with debris from a burnt-out battle. Several stalls in the village's plaza had exploded into wooden splinters and bits of people. The sheer physical energy expended here made him nostalgic. He swung the crossbow at his side.

Time was moving on, so he wandered across broken bodies of both species to a pontoon that had sunk slightly. The corner was dipping into the circle of water that formed the centrepiece of the plaza and a heavy breathing caught his attention.

In the central pool, the head of one of his soldiers' bodies was balanced on the pontoon's edge. A human was trying to push its neck back into the water but stopped when Sasket arrived.

'Hark... a rippling wa...' the human began.

'Summer flows,' Sasket replied. The human slumped beside the soldier, whose heavy drawl echoed around the buildings. With the rudimentary lungs they were granted, the one called Sasket thought, they were lucky to breathe at all in the low pressure air above the water. This one would not survive much longer if it couldn't submerge its gills.

'Soldier,' Sasket continued, 'what are you doing?'

The human took a deep breath, and the body behind him did likewise. Sasket knew the answer that the mindswapping soldier would give him.

'I need somewhere... to return...' the soldier said. 'Don't I?'

The one called Darrin Sasket realised that the soldier's new body was not in top condition, but Sasket had been around enough wounded humans to hedge his bets. He raised the crossbow and aimed at the weak spot between two cartilage plates on the soldier's original body, straight into the central nerve cluster. He fired once, lowered the bow and took the time to load another bolt. Then Mr Sasket fired again. The laboured breathing stopped.

The soldier stood up, clutching at his side.

'What have you done? I...' But the pain was too great and he fell again.

Sasket wrapped the man's arm around his shoulder and helped him up.

'I've freed you,' he said. 'The human is dead. This is your body now.'

***

Down an alley that rocked to some far off wave, Daiv and Roran circled each other back-to-back. They came across a darkened door hanging ajar.

'We can cut through here,' said Roran. 'Stay alert. Some of the invaders might still be here.'

The space was barely a shack, a low maintenance home that might have drifted its way to the centre of town from the poorer districts near the wharf – likely the Floating Village's form of social climbing. A bed was broken and dark fluids were sprayed on the walls. The battle had reached here. A scraping noise outside attracted Daiv's attention and he waved to Roran to follow him through the opposite door.

Daiv was not very knowledgeable in subtlety, especially not in dangerous situations such as this. He poked the end of his modified crossbow past the doorway and towards the scraping noise, then peaked around the corner.

There was a huge mass blocking the right end of the road outside the door, comprised mainly of matted seaweed, but Daiv recognised the shape as that of a puppethead. Without thinking, he leapt from the shack and fired a bolt into its back. The creature groaned but kept trying to drag itself away. Daiv levered the custom loader with his left hand and another bolt slotted into place.

A voice rang out from beyond the beleaguered creature. 'What are you doing now? Come to finish us off?'

A human boy, probably younger than Daiv, had scrambled on top of the heap that covered the puppethead's flesh.

'You can't steal me!' the boy said, dancing left and right with his hands flat beside his ears. 'March, they're coming, get to the water!'

'Stay where you are, or I shoot again,' Daiv said, aiming his next bolt at the boy.

Roran rested his arm on Daiv's shoulder.

'Easy there, I think we have to calm down.'

Daiv turned to face the other rider without lowering the weapon. 'I know what you're thinking, but these things will do anything to trick us.'

'I'm just saying we should stop yelling –'

Roran was interrupted by a scrabbling on the rooftop to their left. Before either rider could do anything, two men had jumped down to the street, one in front and one behind. Both carried multiple injuries, at least superficially.

'You are our prisoners. Come to the main plaza,' said the one behind them.

The boy down the street stamped his feet. 'Run! Get on your feet... legs... whatever!'

The puppethead beneath him struggled to move faster away from the group outside the shack, but the man in front of Roran and Daiv was on top of it in three quick strides.

'I think I understand.'

'Quiet!' the man behind them flipped a knife into his hand and pointed it at Roran. He continued regardless.

'They start a battle to bring out the strongest warriors.  Strong bodies to steal.'

'I said be QUIET!'

Daiv and Roran turned for a better view of their apparent captor. They hadn't made a move when, like lightening, he snapped their heads together, knocking them both out.

The Puppethead War #4

< < Issue 3

Issue 5 > >

THURSDAY

Ferran came upstairs later that night, allowing Talon to vent his frustrations at the Honch's attitude. Verden, as was his name, was a man whose brain chemistry might be a little out of sorts.

'So you're saying I can't blame him for ridiculing me like a child?' Talon said, though he was aware his fourteen-year-old self was on shaky ground with this argument.

Ferran closed the door to the small room. 'I don't want you getting in his way. You should already know that he's prone to mood swings.'

'But I didn't do anything wrong!'

'Listen.' Ferran sat on the bed, next to the youth. 'It might actually be a good idea to keep the puppethead problem to ourselves on the way to the capital.'

Talon ventured a quizzical look, but in this state he simply seemed rebellious.

The teacher tried again. 'The Honch was concerned that we might alarm the coachmen, but I think there may be a more tactical reason. We're still unsure of how many people have been taken by the puppetheads.'

His fingers twiddled aimlessly, hesitantly, seeming unsure if he wanted to continue.

'When I...' he paused, 'wasn't myself – it's all so hazy now – the other captives mentioned that they had been taken when fishing on or near the lake. Some had been there for a long time.'

'What is it?' Talon asked, again giving the wrong impression, this time of impatience.

'Let me finish,' Ferran said. 'It's possible that people outside of Yerz have been replaced, or commandeered, or whatever you want to call it. Maybe it's paranoia, but if I were planning an invasion I would have agents as far and wide as I could.'

'That makes sense,' the youth agreed. 'You don't have to talk about it though. I know you don't like remembering all that stuff.'

'I just wanted to say be careful.' Ferran stood up and went to leave. 'Verden's contained the situation downstairs. We have to leave early tomorrow, you should get some rest.'

FRIDAY

Between his being roused in a half-sleepy torpor and the feeling of the stagecoach bumping along, Talon remembered little. When the sun eventually showed itself, he opened his eyes to take in the cramped cabin and realised that the coach wasn't moving.

Though there wasn't enough space to stretch out either forward or along the padded bench seats, Talon imagined that, sitting straight, six people could be passengers on this leg of the Train. Maybe four, if they were all as big as Ogard. Currently Talon was its sole occupant.

The youth wiped the sleep from his eyes and stumbled out the door. They had stopped on a section of the highway that meandered lazily over the rise to the south. These were the dregs of the same mountains that the sun was only just rising above – an undulating, wild land that was sparsely populated by woods and even less so by humans.

Something on the other side of the carriage caught his attention. Ogard, Leyh and the Honch had grouped together, staring into the bushes. From the sound of it, Ferran was being sick. Talon saw the teacher stand up and wave back at him, confirming his suspicions.

'Lightening the load for the horses!' he called out. Talon approached the others.

'Seasick on land?' he asked. Leyh turned around slowly. Talon thought this was to show she wasn't concerned with very much this morning. She was eating a large apple.

'A lake fisherman would know all about seasickness, wouldn't he? It seems your friend hasn't travelled anywhere for very long... at least not by coach.' Leyh took another big crunch.

Talon paid the horses at the front of the travelling-contrivance a cursory glance. 'Montigers are better anyway.' The girl ignored the comment and returned to patiently waiting for Ferran.

The youth was still trying to pretend the Honch wasn't standing at his right when the teacher rejoined them several minutes later.

'Well, I think it's best that we allow the traders to continue on. Good morning sleepyhead,' he nodded to Talon. Then Ferran locked eyes with the Big Honch, regarding him with something like condescension, though Talon was unsure. 'Verden, I would like to take your seat up front. I'll do better to be in the fresh air.'

Surprisingly, the sudden flash across the Honch's face was not anger or frustration, but fear. He looked at Talon and back to Ferran.

'But – there's only enough space up the front for three.'

'It's my turn on the reins,' Leyh muttered. 'And Oge here doesn't like being cooped up.'

The big man shrugged non-committally and walked back to the front of carriage. Ferran grabbed the other two by the shoulders.

'Play nice.'

***

Not for two hours after the motion sickness adventure did the Honch or Talon speak. Wedged hard into opposite corners of the passenger cabin, they passed the time with arms folded, periodically glaring at each other.

Finally, after a bumpy stretch of road caused them to wobble about, Talon was fed up.

'What did you mean the other day?'

The Honch looked confused and then sighed. 'What are you talking about?'

Talon massaged his temples, perhaps the motion sickness was getting to him too.

'When you said that you should have seen all of this coming.'

Verden rolled his eyes. 'It's a long story, shouldn't we –'

The youth looked through the window at the passing countryside. Soon they'd be on the wide plains, dotted with the huge estates and agriculture plantations that had boomed since the collapse of Old Ryndia. Dotted with highwaymen, a darker, thrill-seeking part of his mind told him.

'We won't reach Gaimswick for seven hours or more,' Talon said. 'I think we've got time. You need to convince me that you aren't one of them.'

The Honch appeared to be weighing his options and didn't speak again, so Talon tried a different tact.

'If we're going to beat this thing together, we need to trust each other,' he said, annoyed at himself for acknowledging it. 'Can I trust you?'

Verden moved to the back seat and spoke in a hush. 'Just keep this to yourself.'

Talon shook his head. 'We're all in the same boat.'

The Honch clenched his hands in response, but Talon could sense he was close to breaking point.

'You've probably heard of the Keepers,' the Honch said. 'Shouldn't surprise you to hear that I'm one of them.'

Like a load had come off his back, Verden rambled on. He told Talon about the annals from before the Quandomen disappeared, about how the Keepers weren't just humans from Ryndia and Brooksland but also guannas and tirans from the other side of the Ash Straits.

'Most importantly,' he said, 'there was always a possibility that the Quandomen would return. The Keepers were told to be on the lookout for three signs, the first is “when a man is not himself.”'

'Whoa,' Talon said, though the Honch continued without stopping.

'My master always thought that the signs were literal. You can't get more obvious than when the puppetheads start stealing minds.'

Talon leant forward to grab the Honch's attention. 'So you're saying that the puppetheads might be the Quandomen?'

The Big Honch stopped and held his hands in front of his face. They writhed about and pushed away at Talon. 'I don't know! Leave me alone!'

With that, Verden was once again cold. He sat back on the other bench and Talon remained speechless for the rest of the morning.

Search for Dastardly Part 6

And now for those who have been waiting for the "conclusion"... here's a part almost long enough to be split in two ;P  

In all seriousness though, the main scene worked better as a whole, and the epilogue should answer a few questions about other characters' motivations.

Previously on Search for Dastardly:

Renda, Waory and Nuff have discovered that there are remnants of the freelancer wandering around, remnants that Krotar will likely seek out if he wants to get his revenge.  Meanwhile, Sir Adrian has been captured by what appears to be a familiar face...

Adrian currently hoped that he could stall the crazy man long enough to figure a way out. The ropes binding his arms and legs were tight and not very thick, but it would be painful to rub the fibres together if he wanted to weaken them.

The room around him seemed to be a deserted publican, complete with barstools covered by white sheets and cobwebs lining the roof. The only possible weapon Adrian could think of was the old broom that rested against the wall.

There were two entrances: saloon doors to the knight's right and a pair of wooden doors behind the bar. Neither were close enough to reach before “Dastardly” or his accomplice could stop him.

'If you really are him,' he asked, 'then what is your real name?'

“Dastardly” hesitated before stuttering the line he had said three or four times since Adrian became conscious.

'...b...b...bai'm called Dastardly,' he said, his voice straining against something.

'What happened to that friend of yours, the one you told me about that time in Sponge Country?'

'Friend? I work alone, Sir Adrian. Anyone who I call friend just hasn't outlived their usefulness.'

'Yes, about that Dastardly,' said the dirty man with the raspy voice, 'what are we –'

'Silence! Listen to me when I'm being important.'

'Look, “Dastardly”,' the knight said. 'It should be obvious that I'm not very convinced. If there's nothing else I can help you with, I'd rather just be on my way.'

'Fred, there's someone outside. Can't you hear them yelling?'

The false Dastardly turned around and begun, 'For the last time, I'm not...' before the back doors burst open. Sitting astride Sal as she replaced her hoof was a knight.

'What the..?'

As the dust of the smashed wood settled, Nuff leapt into the room and fired a crossbow-like weapon at the ratty man. Out of the end came a small net that swung around the target's head, causing him to fall over. Nuff waved to the horse-rider and called out, 'yep, he's in here!'

“Dastardly” dived for the front doors but was too late as the armoured knight – wearing Adrian's armour! – dismounted the horse and threw the broom like a spear at the man's head. The false Dastardly went down and the knight approached Adrian. The figure removed it's helmet, revealing itself to be Renda.

'Aren't you a little...' Adrian continued despite his better judgement, '...shapely to fit that armour?'

'Aren't you a little tied up right now?' Renda replied drolly, though a friendly smile flashed across her face like lightening. She went to untie Adrian while Nuff thumped “Dastardly” with the butt of his shooting device. In the other corner of the room, the ratty man struggled to his feet, took one look at the man he had called Fred and ran out the back door.

'Leave him,' Adrian said. He brought his arms forward and massaged the wrists. 'Good job, by the way,' he nodded to the gnome. 'Clever little net-sling-thing you've got there.' The knight stood up and winked at Renda. 'And the broom? That was genius. How did you know where I was?'

Renda and Nuff exchanged guilty glances.

'Well there was your horse...'

'And gnomes have a good sense of direction...'

The mercenary sighed. 'You mean you didn't hear that?'

Adrian appeared puzzled. 'The ratty guy said he heard shouting.'

'We tried two other buildings on our way over here,' Renda grinned and ventured a shrug. 'So maybe people were a bit surprised.'

A heavy silence hung over the room, broken by the false Dastardly groaning.

'Did you find out what happened to Dastardly?'

Nuff gave the man on the floor another casual bump on the head. 'More or less.'

'What does that mean?'

Renda knelt down and grabbed the unconscious body's legs.

'Give me a hand?'

Adrian obligingly lifted the head and together they walked out the back door.

'The Book says that when the Regent poisoned Medieval, he left behind some remnants, separated from his body. I guess you've already met his face.' They swung the limp man over the horse's back.

The knight simply raised an eyebrow.

'Don't expect me to tell you how,' Renda said harshly. 'One remnant is the façade that he put up, including what he looks like and that silly name; the other – his soul – is in the Troll Underworld, whatever that could be.'

'What do we do next then?' said Adrian, poking his head back into the building. He then turned left to see Nuff waving to somebody. Waory rounded the corner of the alley and shook a large key at the others.

'The librarian told me where we can go to find out – hi Sir Adrian, glad to see you're alright – the place the book mentioned.'

'Slow down,' the mercenary said, removing Adrian's gauntlets from her smaller but certainly not dainty hands. 'What is that key?'

Waory stopped shaking it. 'This? Mr Parch said that we should take the key with us, as long as we're on our way to Skim. The Illuman book is safely locked away for now.'

'We're going to the river town?' Adrian was taken aback. 'What the heck for?'

'Mr Parch said that if we really want to find Dastardly, the real Dastardly, we need to go to the Liquid Library.' The advisor clearly didn't quite understand what that meant, but continued anyway. 'The easiest passage to the mountains over there is north of the river delta.'

'You can't be serious,' Adrian groaned. 'This is a quest you're talking about. Just when I thought this stuff was over...'

Renda shook her head. 'Don't you get it? Whatever happened to Medieval can't be normal. And we've got to keep one step ahead of Krotar! Let's get moving!'

Nuff sidled a little closer to Adrian.

'I don't think the knight's so stupid. Listen lady, you've been a big help since I met you, but we don't even know what this Krotar is after – all we have is your word that he wants the freelancer.'

Scowling, Renda threw the remaining armour pieces on the ground.

'I'll find him alone if I must. You three had better be ready for when Nius catches up on your trail.'

Waory jumped in front of her as she stormed up the alley.

'Hey wait, I need to –'

'Out of my way.'

'Hey, hey, hey people!' Adrian manoeuvred a shoulder between them and eyeballed the mercenary. 'None of us have a good reason just to turn on each other.'

'Oh yeah? Then why are you so reluctant to get going?'

Nuff switched tact. 'Do I sense a hint of softness for Mr Medieval?'

'It's not that at all.' The knight's face hardened. 'Renda always wanted to be an adventurer, that's why she joined the mercs. This is just an excuse to go gallivanting around the countryside after ideals and treasure.'

The woman opened her mouth like she was about to say something, but nothing came out.

'I knew I was right. This isn't about rescuing anybody. Nuff – was it her idea to burst through the door like a knight in shining armour?'

The gnome offered no rebuttal, and Renda's eyes stared, empty, into the middle distance while Adrian continued. 

'You want a reason to quest across the land and defy fate – right, Miss Rogue? You want to laugh in the face of Death. Let me tell you, Renda, I've seen Death, and she's the one thing you don't make light of.'

Waory backed away as the mercenary slumped to the ground.

'Wow,' she said. 'You certainly know how to wind a girl.'

From her kneeling position, Renda looked up into Adrian's stern eyes. They appeared to soften a fraction. Then, she thrust her fist between his legs.

The knight squeaked and toppled backward, hands covering his crotch.

'That was low,' he said, in a voice that was anything but. The mercenary stood up.

'Thank you for wrapping up everything I am into one neat package.' She spat on the ground beside the knight. 'Bet you wished you kept your armour on now, right?'

When Adrian had finished making the sounds of a dying mouse, she offered a hand to help him up.

'We're going to Skim, Sir Knight, and on the way you can tell me all about my adventurous aspirations.' Renda glanced at Waory, who had managed to hide behind the far wall of the building without apparently moving.

'Regent's advisor, would you care to show us the way out of the city?'

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Epilogue

Mr Parch the librarian choked, his eyes rolling towards the ground. Nius, whose hair and beard ringed his face like a lion's mane, released his grasp on the librarian's neck but remained holding the knife blade to his throat.

'The Land-Regent knew everything about what was going on in the north,' said Krotar calmly. 'We simply wanted to do his job so we could get close enough to steal the Book.  Not only did that fool Medieval beat me to Hox, now the Regent's in prison and the Book is back here. My friend doesn't like that. He needs the Book, and I need Dastardly gone. Give us the whereabouts of both and you'll live to see another dry, musty, indoors day.'

'I can't give it to you,' Mr Parch said, still whispering, though much more frantically. 'The other librarians are the only ones who can unlock the quarantine vault...'

'Then give us your key,' Krotar said. 'We'll leave you alive at least until we come back.'

Nius grinned like a carnivore before pouncing. He opened his mouth to release a sound that shall not be described here, but it was a sound that shook the librarian's psyche to the core.

'I can't.'  Mr Parch tried to smile for his small success. 'It's out of the city by now.'

'Don't worry,' Krotar sneered. 'We already know who you gave it to.'

With that, Nius sniffed the air and directed the enthralled mercenary out of the library. They were on the trail – on the hunt for prey.

To be continued in the Ongoing Adventures.

The Puppethead War #3

< < Issue 2

Issue 4 > >

Welcome, readers, to instalment number 3, in which we witness Mitch's attempts at action and suspense; and where for the first time we will focus only on Daiv.  Next time, the focus will be on Talon.

THURSDAY

Hints of winter's chill nipped at the riders' goat-hair coats, but there were weeks of autumn left in these mountains. Daiv was the last to join the group on the ridge, where a clearing offered view of the boatman's alcove.

'Isn't there supposed to –' he began, but another rider shook his head. The man was called Roran, and Roran lifted lightly on his mount's reins to turn back. The fourth, Hemroj, followed him, leaving the boy alone with Mr Sasket.

No one would have expected to see darkness behind the hut's windows, or the solitary boat that slouched on the pebbled beach. The boatmen, from what Daiv had heard, were of a courteous and inviting nature. Whoever drew the night shift kept a fire lit to assist travellers, whether they approached via the beaten path or took a shortcut like the montiger riders had. There were also supposed to be more boats tied up to the little pier in case of emergency.

Daiv looked to the old man at his left. Mr Sasket glanced back to the boy before taking the same route down to the shore. The riders congregated outside the empty building and Daiv soon joined them as Roran spoke in a hushed tone.

'Something is going on,' he began, 'but don't make any assumptions.'

Darrin Sasket nodded. 'I think we should sleep here for the night and take the boat in the morning.'

'I'll keep an eye out for anything from the east,' Roran continued. 'Hem can take the second watch. For all we know, they could've just been held up.'

FRIDAY

This was the next morning and Daiv stood quickly, bleary eyes and fuzzy memories, to the sound of the door creaking. Within a second everything returned: yet again he was behind the others.

I'm just a lazy teenage boy.

Daiv emerged into a streaming multicoloured light as the sun eked over the slopes behind him. The three adults were down by the water, having already floated the boat.

'Oh good, you're up,' said Hemroj. He waved for Daiv to join them, then began to speak, probably repeating himself for the boy's sake.

'Neither of us heard or saw activity from the direction of the village,' he said. He pointed to the east. 'I think it's best that we all go in the boat. If we move slowly enough...'

'How will we defend ourselves if the puppetheads attack?'

Hem appeared to be insulted. He pointed behind Mr Sasket and behind the boat, where – Daiv took a quick glance – three crossbows were piled together.

'We take the crossbows from the hut and fire at anything that moves.'

This did not stop Daiv's uncertainty for the venture.

'The last time I went on the lake was when Ferran was taken.'

Darrin butted in. 'From what I was told, you three weren't being very careful.'

The boy picked up a crossbow and pointed it at the ocean, trying to get a feel for how to aim it, but Hem snatched the weapon from his hands.

'We'll take turns, you can row first.'

Together the group climbed aboard. As it was essentially a wooden dinghy, Daiv didn't have too much trouble getting them away from the beach, but by the time the village itself came into view, he registered a sinking feeling in his gut. The feeling had also reached Hem and Roran – their eyes darted between the water and each other almost constantly.

This was the first time Daiv had seen the village on the lake, but he was fairly sure that the buildings – bumping together lazily on leather and wood pontoons – shouldn't have been smouldering.

Hem hissed through gritted teeth. 'Get us over there now.'

'I'm going as fast as I can!'

Hem took his eyes off the water and leant backward, passing the crossbow to the boy. Daiv grabbed it and moved forward so the man could take the oars.

A wailing cry rang out across the water, startling everyone but Darrin.  A crow flew straight past the boat and continued away from the wreck. Darrin pressed on the end of Daiv's crossbow; he had whipped it up to aim at the bird.

'Keep steady and focus on the water.'

Hem's rowing had taken them in closer. Not all of what they could see was burnt, but the expected hubbub generally associated with a population centre was replaced by eerie silence. They approached a small pier.

Darrin spoke first. 'Stay here, I've got to look around.'

The old man climbed out and the others quickly realigned to stop boat from tipping. In the shuffle Daiv dropped his crossbow and the weapon bounced off the side into the water, making a deep splash. He turned to the others and grinned stiffly.

'Sorry.'

Roran shushed him and sidled closer to the bow. He pointed out past Daiv's left ear to the source of his concern, a wave lapping at the side of a building not far away.

There was a shift in the air, like something had changed.

Suddenly a cephalopod arm the size of a tree erupted from the water and a parrot-like screech made those in the boat cover their ears. Before they could move, the arm came down on the boat, wrenching the two halves apart like a saw. Hemroj was thrown from the back of the boat, still clutching onto one of the oars, while Daiv flew forward and hit his head.

Amongst the remnants of their craft Roran swam towards Daiv's dazed body. He managed to negotiate the boy around one of the struts that held the pontoons. Heart beating wildly, Roran climbed onto the pier and went for Daiv's arms.

'Wha... huh...' The boy came to, both riders dripping water and slime onto the wood. As one they looked back to the water but Hem hadn't made it any closer.

Daiv yelled to him. Beneath the water the dark shape of the monster changed course.

It seemed that Hem was fast enough, swimming several lengths of the now sunken boat in an instant, but when he was less than a metre from the outstretched arms of his fellow riders, he disappeared.

Once more there was calm, but this time it was broken by four more arms of the monster springing from the water.

'Run!' said Roran. Daiv and the older man bolted down the wooden slats. They reached the larger wharf just as the creature smashed the pier. Roran grabbed the boy's collar to steer him away from the heaving mass of splinters as they dived into a large building.

Inside they could still feel the slight rocking of the pontoons caused by the disturbance. They each took a side of the doorway, glancing out at the ruined water. The creature had retreated beneath the surface, but, Daiv thought, it would only be a matter of time until something tried to attack them up here.

Roran breathed deeply.  'I take it that was a puppethead?'

'No doubt.' Daiv sniffed the air. 'What is this place for?'

'Man oh man,' Roran said, eyes widening as he turned to look behind them.

The reek was coming from the back of the room. Resting on the wall was the massive bulk of one of the monsters, now lying still. To either side were limp human bodies, each holding a crossbow of their own.

'That's a big one,' said Daiv, shaking from either the cold or fright.

'We're late to the party.' Roran waved a hand to clear the air and coughed.

'Maybe some villagers are still alive,' Daiv said.

'What do you mean?'

Daiv looked back out at the lake. 'For the sake of Hem, I'm hoping they still take prisoners.'

The Puppethead War #2

< < Issue 1

Issue 3 > >

@J. A. Platt, thanks for the feedback :)

Everyone else, I know there isn't a lot of action in this part but, trust me, there will be some later.

Ferran and Talon were to meet with their travelling party at an inn on the outskirts of Arten. The town sat at the feet of the mountains and on the whole was not much bigger than Yerz, however, Arten appeared to be much more important to travellers between North and South. Even at sundown that day, the two messengers found the sloping main street pulsing with activity, whether the people were locals cleaning up their market stalls or rowdy groups of traders in search of a drink.

As they passed through the central square, lined by buildings up to three stories high, Talon spotted the Tanslan brothers. Though they were several years older than him, Talon had been friends with them when they'd learnt arithmetic from the Niatese teacher Garth. Names like Garth and Mithy had always seemed alien to Talon – now that he was setting off the farthest he'd ever been before, he associated those names with imagined foreign lands. Conversely, catching the Tanslans as they headed home would be a fitting touchstone before everything lost its familiarity.

'Hey Tean, Yoh!' he shouted across the cobbled space. Yoh lifted his head from the tray of fish that he was packing carefully into an icebox.

'Talon! What are you and the old man doing here?'

As the youth made his way towards their stall, Ferran frowned. The fisherman didn't need to be reminded that his half-century was only three years away, however young he felt.

'We've got to warn Carpol about the puppetheads,' Talon said. 'You guys won't be overwhelmed if a few come up while we're gone?'

Tean ruffled Talon's hair. 'Ha. We could handle this little invasion all by ourselves! Wish I'd been there for the first one,' he made jabbing motions with his right hand. 'Woulda skewered it and we'd have monster calamari barbecue.'

'Yeah right,' Yoh stood up beside him and raised his fists theatrically. 'More like, you getting taken over while I go hand to hand with it in your body.'

The two brothers devolved into trading harmless insults and Ferran grabbed Talon's right shoulder.

'We have to keep going,' he said. 'They'll be waiting for us.'

The youth sighed and they said their goodbyes before continuing down the road.

***

The montigers appeared to be getting restless. Before long, the humans gathered their things and prepared to move on again. Daiv adjusted Durga's saddle before bringing up the very rear of the group, racing through the rugged paths that took them around the expansive western lake.

His mount was a sufficiently intelligent animal, not to mention fast, but the rider was still learning to control its sheer power and cat-like arrogance. 'No, I assure you it's this way,' the montiger sometimes seemed to say, steering with its own objective and only occasionally lenient to Daiv sitting helplessly on its back.

To make matters worse, he'd had these many hours to think about what to say to the boatmen near the Floating Village, with nothing particularly useful coming to mind. We bring grave news that you're sitting on an enemy stronghold? We're not sure when but the monsters under the lake might attack?

All too late, he thought. Shortly they would be rounding the cliffs that went down to the boatman's hut on the shore.

We'll be there very soon.

***

Hanging above the door to the entirely wooden, A-shaped inn was a sign declaring for itself “Bedbug's Bunk”, with happily sleeping insect included. Talon opened the door slowly and they tramped in, the door slamming hard in a sudden gust of wind. From here on the villagers were satisfied not to be in the storm that battered the little inn on the hill.

Inside was a typical central dining room, bereft of clientele apart from a couple in the corner who looked on edge and three wildly varying figures at one end, being tended to by a smartly dressed bartender. Talon ignored the nervous glance from the man in the corner, instead following Ferran to the bar.

'Do we look intimidating?' he asked quietly, but the fisherman was too concerned with the trio before them. Immediately Talon recognised on the left the light brown coat and pompous hat that the Big Honch was wont to be seen in, but he couldn't pick the the others who faced away from them.

'Ah, you've arrived,' the Honch said jovially. For this Talon immediately assumed that he was partially inebriated. 'Allow me to introduce you to our gracious transporters, Leyh and Ogard.'

The youth turned to the others. Leyh must not have been much older than him, a woman with long, dark red hair and – for some reason – carrying a short bow on her back. She grinned with just a hint of power as he offered his hand.

'Do you speak?' she said. 'Has a griphion got your tongue?'

'Talon,' he said, trying not to make eye contact.

'Looks like we've got a mumbler here, Oge.' She nudged her companion.

The man was very tall and heavily built, wearing brown-green overalls. Opposed to Leyh, Ogard carried a round lute-like instrument. His grin was amiable enough to outshine the woman's sharpness and Talon's entire body went up and down with the goodwill of his handshake.

'Oge doesn't say much either,' Leyh said, 'but don't get cocky and try to stop the train; that balalyre isn't just for show.'

Ogard shrugged and Ferran introduced himself, likewise shaking with the musician's large-handed hello.

'So you're traders?' the fisherman asked. 'What's “the train”?'

'That's what you call the three-limbed trade route from north of here, Niamyt and down to Carpol,' Leyh said without a pause. 'Most of the central Old Ryndians don't like selling to what they call rebel separatists, so we go the long way round, and then back over the mountains.'

'They've offered to take us down through the country,' said the Honch. He began to feel the heat of Talon's gaze. 'What's your problem?'

'You need to start telling us what you know about this invasion.'

The intake of breath to their right was just audible.

'What invasion?' Leyh said.

The Big Honch grabbed Talon by his ear and led him away from the bar.

'You have to know when to keep your mouth shut. Get upstairs and take the third room. Stay there until I or Ferran comes to get you.'

'You're not my father,' the youth growled. 'I don't have to do what you say.'

Ferran's face appeared beside the Honch.

'Talon, you'd best get out of here.'

He nodded and the Honch let go of his ear. Turning back to the bar, the man said, 'silly boy. Don't know why he'd say something like that.'

The Puppethead War #1

Issue 2 > >

This series follows on from First Encounter, which you can access from the Puppethead Saga hub page.  Please enjoy and feel free to comment or criticise.

Amongst the charity buildings in the city's western quarter, Irena de Postrem awoke gasping for air. She called to her parents who arrived instantly at her side.

'I had the dream again,' she said. Around her, other sleeping figures groaned or growled at the family for waking them.

Irena's mother spoke softly. 'Did you do what the apothecary said? The herbs to help you sleep?'

'They don't do anything,' her father said, seeing Irena's expression in the dark and frowning. He hugged his daughter, rocking slowly as she sobbed into his woollen coat.

'Why won't it go away?' the girl said, coughing weakly.

'I can't fight them for you,' her father said. She stopped coughing and he held her out by the shoulders. 'You do know that it isn't real, don't you?'

Irena shook her head and tears scattered to both sides. Her father hugged her again.

'There is no such thing as this “underwater city”.' He forced a chuckle. 'And there aren't any lake monsters.'

***

Meanwhile, under the waters of the mountain lake, a man swum into a great submerged city. The place appeared to be writhing as various tentacular shapes glided through glowing doorways in the truly three-dimensional space, each following its own agenda.

Wearing an ancient buoyancy vest, mask and breather pilfered from the village of Yerz, the man approached a gigantic building engulfed by shadow. One of the startling shapes detached itself from the wall and lowered its head towards the nonplussed human, who then began to make noises that were only just audible in the watery gloom.

'Go ahead, look at me like that,' he said. 'Your little mistake nearly cost us the whole operation. The village folk are preparing themselves!'

The figure above him, still half obscured by a massive shadow, bent down in supplication.

'The child was too strong and too dumb for its own good. You know that it could have been worse. If a human escaped with one of us... well, they would certainly stand out on the landscape more.'

'The First didn't seem to mind, and he didn't even research his role, much like our recent dead failure,' said the man. Even in the muffled depths his tone of disappointment was apparent. 'I also went up of my own accord.'

The hidden figure sounded shocked. 'Not everyone is willing to do what you did.'

'Regardless,' snapped the man, 'we must stop using youths as our vanguard. Phase two begins now.'

***

'I was thrown from the boat,' Ferran stopped for dramatic effect. 'I could feel something pulling me down into the dark depths of the lake, when suddenly I woke up in chains, and a body that was not my own.'

The younger children on the floor of the town hall gasped.

'There were others nearby and the same had happened to them,' Ferran continued, 'but the nasty puppetheads had miscalculated. I knew I had to return to warn everyone, so I used all the strength I could and the shackles broke like paper!'

This time they exhaled together. As Ferran pretended to swim through the air, Talon entered the back doors and leaned on the wall. He seemed taller than Ferran recalled, perhaps because since turning fourteen he had been standing straighter.

'I reached the surface, but I couldn't enter the village in case there were other monsters...' the fishing teacher trailed off. 'That's all for today, kids!'

The children sighed despondently and began to disperse, while Ferran stood from his chair and walked towards Talon. The youth had noticed, over the week since their first encounter with the puppethead, that his teacher was moving generally slower than before. Maybe as a side effect of having been refused control over his body, the man was calculating every action carefully.

'Come to report on the voluntary screenings?' he said.

The young fisherman was surprised. 'You don't remember that Daiv's heading off with the riders today?'

Ferran looked puzzled for a moment and then a metaphorical light switched on. 'Yes, of course, the Floating Village.'

Talon's concern was palpable. 'Alright then,' he said. 'As long as you're feeling okay, we'll get out there and see them off.'

'Don't talk nonsense, boy,' Ferran said. 'Man, I mean. Just a brain snap.'

The two of them walked into the sunlight and towards the montiger kennels.

'So how are the screenings going?' said Ferran.

'Slowly. Everyone wants to get quizzed at once, but there are families who haven't come back from the markets yet.'

'You don't have any suspicions?'

'Well the Honch hasn't seen me since the incident.' The youth shrugged. 'From what he said it sounds like he knows something, but why would he bother to save us if he was working for the puppetheads?'

'This is a tangled mess, Talon,' Ferran said. 'We can only hope that the report from the Floating Village will be good news. One last thing; do you remember who it was that found my body that night?'

'Yes,' Talon said. 'It was Darrin. I think that maybe we should –'

Before he could finish speaking, they had come to the marshalling ground beside the kennel building. Four montiger riders including Daiv were packing up trail supplies for the trip around to the Floating Village.

'Almost ready to go,' Daiv said when he saw them approach. 'I wish you guys could come, it's going to be a boring ride.'

The two of the other riders looked at him with barely hidden disdain. The third was Darrin Sasket, who was old enough to remember when Ryndia had been a single country, and didn't pay the others any attention at all.

'These guys don't think I should go,' Daiv said in response to their glares. 'Apparently the Big Honch insisted that I join, since I was there when we got that puppethead out of you.'

'You know I would go with you in an instant,' Talon said, 'but someone needs to warn the Overarchy and we're the only ones with first hand evidence.'

Ferran lowered his voice. 'Do us a favour and keep an eye on Mr Sasket.' His tone of voice was deadly serious.

'Will do,' Daiv said without question. He swung himself into the saddle. 'See you guys in a week.'

The riding party departed, their mounts bounding effortlessly towards the north reaching road.

'I really want this feeling to be wrong,' said Talon.

Ferran raised the corner of his mouth. 'Ignore it for now and pack your things. We need to get going ourselves if we want to reach Arten tonight.'

Search for Dastardly Part 5

Adrian refrained from commenting on the unusual brass hat that his horse was wearing when they left the palace, allowing the gnome to remove it while appearing incredibly guilty. As the others descended the steps, the knight began to strip down.

'What is that?' Renda gasped.

Nuff winced. 'I don't know if it's legal.'

'What?' Adrian said. 'Haven't you seen a guy in casual clothes before?'

Gone was the bulky armour that Renda had become accustomed to seeing. Underneath, the knight wore puffy brown pants and a striped tunic – and that wasn't even the biggest crime. Small ruffs encircled Adrian's neck and sleeves, throwing his sensibly groomed hair into sharp relief.

'Are you supposed to be from the middle ages or something?'

Adrian produced a strained grin. 'Look who's talking, Ms Rogue.'

Renda absent-mindedly brushed the front of her leather one-piece and straightened her greaves. Adrian strapped the armour onto the side of Sal's saddle.

'We need to keep moving, people,' Waory said. He failed to avoid Renda's harsh gaze.

***

Not far from the markets, the streets of the city were eerily quiet. Cobbled spaces echoed every step of the motley group's passage on their way to the library, and Adrian's horse became uneasy.

'Where are all the citizens?' said Renda.

'We've already lost a ruler in the past year,' Waory said, without answering much. 'There's concern and even fear.' They approached the library's columned entrance. 'It sounds ridiculous, but I think a storm is brewing.'

At this the other humans involuntarily looked upwards into the clear sky. A seagull streaked past.

'He's being metaphorical,' said Nuff. The group stopped under the shadow of the tall building, all marble and sand colours.

'You go in with the others,' the knight told Renda. Sal had stopped short of getting too close to the library. 'I need to sort something out and I'll be up in a second.'

Renda nodded and followed Waory through a private gate. After she was out of sight, the knight walked into a side alley that they had passed on the way.

'Who is it?' he shouted. He might have heard a thump before everything else went dark.

***

Inside the maze of shelves that made the first floor of the library, nothing but the sound of a solitary beetle scuttling across the ground reached the ears of Renda, Nuff and Waory. Eventually they found their way to the main librarian's desk on a wall of the huge space, but even Nuff, whose people were used to navigating twisted tunnels underground, could not quite remember in which direction the doors were.

As Renda reached out for the bell on the counter, the advisor shook his head knowingly. Before her hand had come within an inch of it, a tall, gaunt man appeared behind the desk – so quickly he might have risen out of the ground. He put his hand to his lips and hissed, 'shhh.'

'Mr Parch?' Waory said softly. 'We need to look at a special book...'

Nuff jumped up and heaved himself onto the counter. 'The Illuman book. Probably has a creepy eye on the front.'

Mr Parch proceeded to shush the gnome.

'Speak quietly,' whispered Waory. 'There are enough big words in here for everyone without you adding to them.'

Mr Parch tipped his head to the advisor and began to speak. His mouth seemed more to hint at the words than produce them, as if he were projecting his thoughts calmly and precisely to the visitors' ears without vibrating the air in between.

'We called it the Book of Too Much Knowledge.'

Renda, on the other hand, whispered louder than how most men spoke on a regular basis.

'We must use its knowledge.'

Before Mr Parch raised his arm a third time, Waory nodded and waved behind them. 'I'll come with you.'

Waory and the librarian marched around a row of shelves to the group's left without glancing back.

'Where'd our shining knight get off to?' Nuff asked.

'He said that he would follow us in,' Renda said. 'I wouldn't blame him for getting lost in here.'

***

Adrian was woken by a bucket-full of water being dumped on his head. From the feeling in his nose and cheek, he had been flat on the ground for a while. Now his arms were tied around the back of a chair and his legs strapped to the floor.

'This is original,' he muttered.

'Quit yappin',' a high pitched, raspy voice said. Its owner ventured into the knight's vision, and was – rather appropriately – a rat faced man. This one though, as opposed to a recent nuisance in Adrian's past, was not a kobom, just a dirty human.

'What now, Fred?' said Adrian's dust-coloured kidnapper.

'I told you, I'm not Fred,' said another voice, deeper and in some way familiar to the knight.

'Who are you? What do you want?' Adrian said.

The dirty man opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by the other stranger who chuckled mirthlessly.

'Don't you recognise me?'

A second man, bigger than the first but not overly so, made his way into Adrian's field of view. The face took a moment to register with the knight because some elements were simply wrong. Overall however, it resembled an odd acquaintance of his, recently deceased.

'I'm called Dastardly, and you're going to tell me why.'

The knight spluttered for a moment, dumbfounded. 'Who are you really? Dastardly is dead, and this is a loco prank.'

The man walked closer to Adrian, who felt the need to punch the not-quite-right visage square between the eyes. 'You are Sir Adrian of the Clockwork City. I am somehow involved with you, commercially, I think...'

'You're insane.'

'Maybe not that far, but certainly a few sticks short.' The man smiled at Adrian. 'I only started remembering all this the other night.'

'Mr Dastardly...' the dirty man said.

“Dastardly” turned back suddenly. 'Just Dastardly,' he said. He continued his unhinged spiel. 'This chump I don't know. Or at least, I don't think I have any ongoing contracts with him...'

***

'You are aware,' the librarian insinuated as the group looked at the twisted script in the Book of Too Much Knowledge, 'that there are parts to a person that aren't physical?'

The others nodded passively as he continued.

'First of all, the book says that someone is hunting this man.'

'We already know that,' said Renda. 'Krotar is mad.'

'But,' Mr Parch intoned, 'to find him, this Krotar will have to get both remnants.'

The halls of the library were silent while the visitors tried to understand.

'Remnants?' said Nuff. 'What remnants?'

'Your friend's face and soul have been separated from his body.'

Renda once again failed at whispering. 'You've lost me. Are you saying that there is more than one part of Dastardly out there?'

'That's what the book says. One part is very close, whereas the other resides in –'

'The Troll Underworld,' Waory read out. The woman and the gnome glanced at him.

'Um,' he said, 'the Land-Regent mentioned the Troll Underworld just before he poisoned Mr Medieval, but there isn't one iota of information about it here in the library.'

'What about in this book?' the gnome said.

Mr Parch closed the Book of Too Much Knowledge without ceremony.

'This book is to be burned,' he susurrated. 'We do not call it The Book of Ooh, Come and Read as Much as You Want.'

'Right now?' Waory said. 'But we need to find where the freelancer went!'

Renda grasped the librarian's arm in a firm, not entirely threatening way.

'If we can't get to Dastardly first, Krotar will turn this land upside down in search of him.'

'I hate to be devil's advocate here, but we haven't even seen this “Krotar”,' said Nuff.

The mercenary turned her head askew, still holding on to Mr Parch.

'Just a minute...' she said. 'One part of Dastardly is close, and Adrian hasn't returned yet.'