Draconic Shennanigans Episode 10

Chapter 10: Riotous Riverside Rodeo 

 Ulrich watched Jeremiah at dinner that evening but there didn't seem to be a convenient time to have a word with Kaelin about whether she would consider distancing herself from the disgraced priest but she seemed to be distancing herself from him any way.

"Well my dear, I must say that your information about that painting was most fortuitous," Jeremiah oozed charm again at the dinner table.

"Oh," Kaelin said with disinterest, eyes on her plate.

"Oh yes," Jeremiah smiled, "It was most interesting and I do believe we may gain another ally out of it."

"Humph," Kaelin grunted, "If you are our ambassador to this ally then I doubt we will survive it."

That had given Ulrich a little hope that Kaelin wasn't selling herself as short as he had feared.

*

 The sunlight was streaming through the gaps round the curtains when Thorian woke up the following morning. He really wished that it wasn't. Last time it had been a miniature giant space dwarf trying to mine its way out through the top of his head. This time it was a full sized giant dragon trying to stomp its way in through the top of his head. With a deep and heart felt groan he rolled over and buried his face in the pillow. Maybe if he pushed his head in deep enough it would stop feeling like it was going to go bang.  It didn't work, instead his stomach felt like it was going to turn itself inside out.

"Argh!" Thorian rolled over and slowly managed to peel his gummed up eyelids apart.

On the bedside cabinet a large tankard stood, foaming slightly, with steam raising from its top. A piece of paper tucked under the rim had a simple stitch figure drawn on it, apparently chugging the contents of the tankard. Thorian stared blurry at it while the giant invisible dragon stomped up and down his spine a couple more times. It was so hard to make the cogs in his head turn while it was doing that. So very hard. Hard thinking didn't help. Hard thinking always made his head ache and his nose feel stuffed up.

"Drink.... me," yeah that could be the meaning of it. That could be it. Thorian glared balefully at the tankard.

The clang it made when it bounced off the wall would have felt good, if he hadn't got an invisible giant dragon stomping up and down on his head. The splosh of the drink slopping on to the floor also made his stomach roll over.

Thorian groaned and slid out of bed, trying to make his stomach remember that it was supposed to go down, not up. He was so done with accepting drinks from people. It wasn't worth it. It so wasn't worth it.

The stone floor was cool on his forehead, cool and it made the invisible, giant space dragon stomp less hard.

"Gargh," Thorian forced himself away from the floor but there was only so high he could go before the dragon stomped down again and made the world spin round. With a lot of moaning, groaning and noises of pain, Thorian managed to drag himself into the room  with the super big bowl in it. That was the best thing he'd ever seen, a super big bowl just for washing yourself in. One of the funny metal things also made hot water fall into it. That was something else. Hot water to wash in. Back home it had been the sheep pond, which was always so darn cold when you had to bash the top of it in 'cause it had gone all hard and white. That and it was a bit off putting to hear the sheep trying to spit after yah'd had a wash.

Right now however....

After a lot of fumbling around, Thorian managed to make the taps make just cold water.

 He gasped when it hit him on the back of the neck, then he was coughing and choking as he couldn't seem to be able to decide whether to drink the water falling over the back of his head and down on to his face or breath it in.

Slowly, by degrees, the invisible, giant space dragon gave up stomping up and down on his head and shuffled off to find some fun else where. Only when he was fully, fully sure that his stomach wasn't going to turn flip flops at the slightest movement, did Thorian climb out of the bath, shivering and shaking, his wet shirt clinging to him. Walking back into the bedroom, he carefully opened a curtain. His eyes did not fully like him for this move but at least the invisible, giant space dragon didn't come back for another round. Just how were you supposed to fight something invisible?

Thorian cracked his neck a couple of times, making it loosen up. His head still felt like one great big bruise but at least now his stomach remember that it was hungry, not sick.

Carefully, Thorian opened the door and made his way down to the dining room, taking care to not jar his head as he made it down the stairs. The others had obviously already had their breakfasts and gone but at least they had left a fair spread out for him to pick over, Thorian wasn't sure what the thick, grainy stuff in the hot pot was supposed to be. It looked like mush, it smelt like mush and his stomach told him that it did not want mush for its breakfast today thank you very much. He took the ham and wandered out into the garden to find a tree he could sit under and nurse his head until it had recovered.

*

Kaelin found Elisha discussing tactics with Cyril Crowface on the outer curtain wall. From what she over hear as she was climbing the steps up to the battlements, they were seriously considering bringing in the harvest as quickly as possible and then pulling everyone back within the walls and to weather out the Ash Elf storm that way. She coughed a couple of times to announce her presence.

"Good morning Lady Kaelin," Elisha said as he turned, "What may I do for you this fine morning?"

"I think I have something that may help out with the trouble of getting messages through to the King," she said carefully.

"If you have found something in your exploration of the Tower I would be most glad to hear it," Elisha inclined his head to her, polite as always. Part of Kaelin wondered why it made her uncomfortable.

"Like a useless scrap of fur like you deserves it," her grandfather's voice snarling in her head. She closed her eyes a moment as she banished him back into the shadows.

"Where you aware that some of the paintings in the Tower are more than just paintings?" she pushed on before Elisha could remark upon her hesitation.

"I did notice after I moved in that some of the paintings were want to change," Elisha admitted, "I have to admit that as our work here to repair the town and bring the land back to health has grown I have not paid it the sort of time that it truly deserves. I am hopeful that once the applicants have served their apprenticeships with the people known as the dwarfs that some of them may wish to come here and continue their studies here in the Tower. I confess that my own area of expertise is too narrow a field to truly be able to bring the tower back to its former glory."

"What do you mean by the paintings changing?" Kaelin asked with a frown.

"The figures appear to change their position within the canvas," Elisha described, "Sometimes standing large at the front of the picture, sometimes sat far away, sometimes vanishing from the canvas all together, only to return as few days later. Sometimes bringing their friends with them."

"But you don't know how they change?" Kaelin pressed the point.

"I have never had the honor of witnessing the moment of the change," Elisha admitted, "Most likely due to my own fault in these last years. There has not been much time for studies that do not pertain directly to our efforts to rehabilitate this land and erase the damage done by its last master."

"Just a moment if you would please?" Kaelin turned away and walked a short way down the battlements before taking the locket out from under her shirt and flicking it open.

"What do you think?" Kaelin asked the image inside it.

"I think it is a fantastic idea," Charlotte's eyes were sparkling, "If the magic link can stretch that far and the only way to find that out is if we try it."

"Well if you are sure you want the secret out of the bag," Kaelin hesitated.

"Of course I'm sure," Charlotte rolled her eyes, "I spent the whole of what life I was given training to be a Lord's wife, to facilitate the strength of the family behind the scenes and I never had the chance to use that training. Being able to visit the King's Palace, to actually use that training to better the whole nation rather than just one family? You don't know how much I want to try! There is nothing like spending several decades hanging around on the wall to make you feel useless."

Kaelin's eye twitched as Charlotte unknowingly echoed the words of Kaelin's grandfather but her expression was neutral as she turned back to Elisha. She held out the open locket as she walked up to him and Elisha stared at the picture within.

"Master Smith Elisha," Charlotte performed a Court worthy curtsy. Elisha didn't gape, to his credit and after a frozen moment, he pressed his palms together and bowed to the painted lady.

"It is an honor to meet you," he said, "Though you have the advantage over me."

Charlotte tisked, "Kaelin."

"What?" Kaelin asked after a moment.

"Are you not going to introduce us?" Charlotte asked.

"Oh, I... um," Kaelin racked her brains. She had heard something about it in a story a wandering performer had been telling. "Master Smith Elisha, would you like to meet Lady Charlotte Darling, please?"

"It is a pleasure to do so," Elisha bowed again.

"Like wise," Charlotte lowered her eyes a moment, "My portrait carrier is a little rough at the social niceties but I think she will improve with time."

"If we are granted time by the Great Good then it our duty to improve at everything we do," Elisha agreed.

"You are quite the philosopher, Master Elisha," Charlotte smiled.

"I wish to improve on all that I do, including how I think," Elisha smiled back but then sobered, "However, I have many pressing concerns and one of them is how to warn his Majesty of our difficulties and our need."

"It is our thought that we maybe able to supply you with your answer," Charlotte smiled brightly, "If you can guarantee delivering one of our canvases to the Palace."

"Do you think that the magic that enables you to travel between the canvases may stretch that far?" Elisha inquired.

"I think that it is certainly plausible," Charlotte reassured, "Kaelin did some experimenting with moving our canvas' around not long after she arrived at the Tower and the sensation was disconcerting but did not seem to engender any harm to us. We have discussed it among ourselves and the majority are willing to attempt the experiment."

"Then I will endeavor to discover some means did which we can safely deliver a canvas to the Palace," Elisha reassured, one hand rubbing his chin, "I think I may know a way we could manage it with the greatest amount of safety and she would also be able to visit with her sister and ask about certain abilities we wish to explore. Yes, there is one that I will speak to about moving the canvas for you."

"Thank you noble Sir," Charlotte curtsied again.

"Speaking of moving," Elisha looked up at Kaelin, "The repairs on the lanterns are nearly finished. Therefore I would advise you to prepare to leave soon."

"How soon?" Kaelin asked.

"Before sunset," Elisha admitted, "Our enemies press ever closer so if you do not leave soon I will not be able to provide you with an escort to ensure your safe passage off my lands."

"It's that bad?"

"It could become so soon," Elisha admitted, "We are hopeful that we will be able to bring in the harvest within two weeks and I am already having the store rooms checked and itemized for the rationing we will have to commence if it comes to that but it would be best if you and your companions where away before then as it is my belief that the success of your quest will have effects on our own situation and perhaps further afield than that."

"Perhaps you are right then," Kaelin admitted after a moment, nodding her head, "I'll go and pack up."

"As you wish," Elisha inclined his head as she turned to leave.

Up in her room, Kaelin laid her belongings out on the bed. There wasn't many but she wanted the chance to get rid of anything that would weigh her down, particularly as Haggis wasn't the lightest thing to carry. However, she wasn't going to get ride of her wonderful new toy, ever. A smile tried to tug at her mouth as she remembered that thrice damned whistle of Ulrich's. Now if she could mimic something like that with her wonderful new friend then Grandfather could come for his little chat any time he liked. It would be worth seeing the old cur again just to see the look on his face when she laid his pack low without having to use the wolf. Being able to wipe that belief in the 'natural order' all over the floor would be so worth it.

"Who's the weak one now?" Kaelin snarled under her breath at her grandfather's memory.

She reached for her pack and it jumped out of the way. Kaelin stopped and looked at it, slowly breathing in, tracking the scent.

"Are we running out of new ideas?" she turned and looked at the chest of draws, "Cause this is awfully similar to the jumping boot Thorian dealt with. I have to admit that these pathetic games are becoming more that a little boring. I'd rather leave on something at least half way inventive."

There was a pop.

"You going some where nice?" the white and red chest weasel rolled her mismatched eyes in opposite directions.

"Depends what you mean by nice?" Kaelin said carefully, mindful that if she made it sound too interesting then the nasty little creature was likely to try and tag along to irritate them every step of the way.

"Lots of people, lots of things, lots of shiny," Felicity grinned, displaying a worrying spread of needle like teeth.

"Possibly," Kaelin hazarded and then, despite her every inclination she felt herself grin, "I'm almost tempted to take you along just in case we meant my old Grandpa."

"Your Grandpa?" Felicity tilted her head this way and that, her eyes apparently rattling in her skull, her long thin tail twitching behind her, "Who's your grandpa?"

"Someone who definitely deserves to meet you," Kaelin wrapped one arm round her chest and rubbed her chin with her other hand, "There again perhaps I ought to keep you around.... as a test subject."

"A test subject?" Felicity reared on to her back legs, eyes focusing together in suspicion, "Wot's a test subject?"

"Someone I can annoy," Kaelin turned slightly and picked up Haggis.

"You annoy me?" Felicity snorted, "That would be a laugh! You annoy me? Like that's ever...."

Haggis burst into full swing, droning and scurling, as Kaelin picked out the tune over and under the base line noise.

Felicity froze, every strand of fur standing up on end until she resembled an enraged bottle brush that had just suffered a massive electric shock! With a POP that echoed in the tiny room, she jumped out of existence.

"Well I'm going to have to remember that one," Kaelin smiled, stroking Haggis as he slowly quietened.

Parp Haggis agreed.

"Well done," Kaelin patted him and then set back to work with organizing what possessions she had.

*

Elisha found Ulrich in the Tower gardens, his hand on his lizard's neck, talking softly to it as it plucked snails off of the citrus trees and crunched them.

"Friend Ulrich," he greeted quietly.

"Friend Elisha," Ulrich smiled back, "I don't suppose that you have any idea where Kaelin is?"

"I believe that she has gone to make ready to leave," Elisha said, running a hand over the lizard's scales, "It is such a shame that he won't listen to my offers, this work really is a miracle. Not many could have repaired it so and put the original soul back where it came from."

"I thought that all your damned souls came from Hell," Ulrich noted.

"They do," Elisha replied, "But I have never managed to return a soul to its original vessel. There always seems to be a time limit to how short a time they must spend in Hell before they can be returned to Hestia. This however is fine work." His hand moved gently over the scales again. "So strange considering the poor quality of work on Thorian's companion. I would swear..." His hand stilled.

"Swear what?" Ulrich asked.

"That it has a heart beat," Elisha admitted, "And despite all my training, I think it does. My teachers would never believe such a thing is possible but this one is truly alive. How does he settle for the limited mockeries of life when he can do this?"

"I believe Jeremiah never meant for this one to be like this," Ulrich admitted, "I think he was aiming for his usual monstrosities but the process took on a mind of its own."

"Then the Great Good wished for this to be so," Elisha observed, "I wonder what for. Maybe your travels will reveal its purpose."

"I take it that the lanterns are almost repaired then?" Ulrich asked.

"Indeed this is so," Elisha noted in his quiet voice, "Hence why Kaelin is preparing to leave. I thank you for you revelations about the weaknesses of our defenses but I do not think that it would benefit anyone if you are trapped inside them once we close the gates."

"You think that it will become a siege?" Ulrich asked.

"I believe it will," Elisha admitted, "I intend to withdraw everyone back inside the walls once the harvest is brought in and I think these elves will try for at least a while to breach our defenses. If anything I intend them to. Then perhaps we will truly know our foe and be able to bring them to bare. If they come to us then perhaps we will be more formidable then they expect."

"Then I will wish you well before I make my own preparations," Ulrich held out his hand to Elisha.

"And I will ask the Great Good for your safe passage," Elisha took it in a firm grip, "May your quest settle these matters once and for all."

Ulrich turned and walked round to the front door of the Tower but instead of heading to his room at once he cut off into the Tower's interior. Well Elisha had said many times that he had not had a chance to explore all of the Tower's store rooms so surely he could need all of the stuff that was stuffing the tower up. That and if the instruments had been so good then surely there were other treats hidden here and there.  Finding himself in a room stacked high with dusty boxes he started opening them and having a root through them. After a while he was drawing the conclusion that either the previous owners of the tower were incurable hoarders of junk or the stuff they had been hoarding had lost its properties after so long in storage.

He turned his head, frowning. There was something else in the room with him. He turned back to the box he was emptying out and heard it again, a quiet scuffling noise, like little claws on the thin wooden boards of a box. He turned and scanned the room, zeroing in on a box that looked no different from any of the others in the room. Bounding across the room, he wrenched the lid off to find... another box.

Frowning still, Ulrich lifted the smaller box out and opened it to find... another box. Frowning harder, he lifted it out and opened it to find... another box. After several minutes it occurred to him that the boxes looked as if they should be getting smaller but unless his eyes were deceiving him or he was starting to run mad, the boxes were not getting any smaller. Frowning a frown fit for Jeremiah he glowered at the still closed box in front of him. It giggled. It was a muffled, snorting giggle but a giggle none the less.

Ulrich threw up his hands and turned away.

"Do'yah give up?" a high pitched voice asked, "Do yah? Do yah? Do yah? Do yah give up?"

Ulrich swung back to the box with a face of thunder, wrenching lid after lid off and tossing boxes aside as if they weighed nothing at all.

"Listen to me, rodent!" Ulrich snapped as he tore his way through boxes until he wasn't sure how many had passed before his eyes, "I. Do. Not. Give. Up! Not ever! Not in a million years! I am not giving up at the first hurdle and I'm not giving up because of an undersized, fang faced, splotchy scrap of fae like you!"

Eventually he had to slow to a stop and take a moment to get his breath back. He wasn't entirely sure that he wasn't going to regret this out burst tomorrow because his arms were burning with the exercise but it wouldn't be the first time he'd regretted an outburst the following day. He doubted it would be the last.

He pulled the lid off of the next box and stopped to stare. He reached in and slowly lifted out the saddle. It was a beautiful piece of leather work, not gem encrusted, which would have been tasteless as well as uncomfortable to ride but the stitch work was of the finest quality. Each stitch was small and even and worked in brightly colored threads that glowed with a dye makers finest work. Looking at it more closely he realized that it hadn't been designed with a horse in mind but for something with a differently shaped chest entirely. Taken as a whole it was a wonder and then Ulrich realized why his brain was insisting that it wasn't real - it didn't weigh enough. He should have struggled to lift it with two hands but it felt more like a shirt or maybe a thick coat.

"I suppose I should thank you for this," he said at last, once he'd finished checking over every buckle and stirrup.

"Don't thank me yet," Felicity sounded entirely too pleased with herself.

"Why not?" Ulrich narrowed his eyes, wondering why he still couldn't see her.

"Turn around," she advised. Ulrich closed his eyes with a groan, knowing that she had done something that was going to further make this day a long hard slog, then he swiveled round to see what else he had to deal with.

He didn't quite drop the saddle, not quite.

It wasn't Felicity who had added to this day being a long hard slog, it was himself. In his outburst of determination to prove that there wasn't a challenge he could not over come he had flung empty boxes left and right... and blocked himself in while doing so.

Drawing in the long suffering sigh of one whom the joker Gods of chance had taken entirely too much interest in, Ulrich carefully set down the saddle and started moving boxes around, stacking up the empties where he could and making a mental note to tell either Elisha or Cyril that there was an abundant supply of fire wood up in this room.

In trying to find a door out, he went to lift a box and realized that it weighed a lot more than he would expect it to. Removing the lid his shoulders drooped. It was just a pile load of camping gear. After a moment he shrugged. They were probably going to be doing a lot of camping again in the near future so some equipment would probably useful. He lifted out the kettle and stopped, head jerking round to stare at the item in his hand. Carefully he swung it slowly back and forth. It sloshed.

Eyes wide, Ulrich tipped it over until it was horizontal but no water came out of the spout but he could still here the fluid moving about inside it. He turned back to the box and hastily rooted around inside it until he found a tin cup. He tipped the kettle over the cup and the water poured out clear and sweet. When he stopped pouring the weight of the kettle had not decreased any and fluid still sloshed around inside it. Ulrich grinned. Well, maybe not all the hoarded junk was junk.

Setting the kettle aside, he rooted in the box again. After a moment, he lifted out a tin and pried the lid off of it. A distinctive smell rose as he pushed his fingers into the crumbling leaves inside of it. Ulrich closed his eyes and let a smile play across his face. That had been one of the few comforts of his father's house - the long cups of hot, sweet tea he had drunk with Old Ted the groundsman in the potting shed. He'd had to leave the beverage behind when he'd left home, the taverns he'd traveled through since didn't seem to even know what tea was, let alone be able to brew a decent cuppa. A sudden thought crossed his mind and on that impulse he tipped about half of the tin out. Leveling the tin back up he discovered that it was still as full as it had ever been. His smile stretched even wider and just on the off chance he reached into the chest again, pulling out the last box that perched on top of the stacks of tin plates.

This one was a long tube, sealed at one end and capped at the other by an ingenious hinge and clip design built into the lid. He flipped it open after a couple of minutes of working out how it was supposed to work and extracted one of the small, round but thick biscuit things inside. It was still sweet with crusted sugar and tasted like it had been baked only that morning. It wasn't quite a biscuit he realized but he didn't know what to call it. He smiled through the crumbs when he saw that the tin was still full. Munching the other half of the one he'd bitten, he closed the tin and gathered up his treasures.  Realizing that they were something of an armful, he sat back on his heels and set to work on loading out his saddle. Once everything was tied on where he thought it would be the most convenient he picked up his saddle and smiled even wider as it weighed no more than it did before he's loaded it up. Sometimes the joker Gods made up for using him as the butt of their jokes. Now he just had to find the door out of the room.

*

  Elisha found Thorian sat under an apple tree with his eyes closed, looking for all the world as if he was dozing.

"Friend Thorian?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah?" Thorian murmured.

"Forgive me for disturbing you," Elisha said softly as he bowed, "But the lanterns you helped discover should be repaired before sunset, hopefully by lunch time and I think it would be best if you set out on your journeys again not long after that."

"Want to be rid of me that badly," Thorian cracked open one eye but the look was not angry, just a weary resignation. No it was worse than that, Elisha realized, it was expectation. Thorian expected to be asked to leave. He had been battered down to the point where he expected that no where would be home forever, that he'd always be told to leave eventually.

"No, dear friend," Elisha shook his head, "No I do not want you to leave, if anything your loyalty would ease my heart if it was by my side in this coming war but I cannot divide you from your team." Thorian frowned with suspicion at that. Elisha sighed and then sat down beside Thorian and leaned back against the wide spreading bole of the ancient walnut tree. For a long while they sat in silence, watching the world turn for a time.

"I don't remember my parents," Elisha admitted after a while, "I doubt I ever knew them. What I remember being bought and sold as a thing, less than a horse or a dog, for a horse or a dog would have been kenneled and fed better than I was. Eventually I was bought by a Master Smith. I was his boy, I fetched and I carried, I swept and I cleaned. I baked and I cooked, I was even allowed to go to the market to buy food for us, though I always ate last of my master's scraps. I was grateful for them. I thought him a kindly master, one whom deserved my love. He was not, heaven help me but he was not. I still loved him though, for what little care he showed me. I loved him, believing that I must settle for what little kindness he threw to me like a crust to a dog, believing that I was worth nothing more. No matter how much he would hurt me, I would be loyal, I would love him and I would earn his love. Then one day that was no longer enough."

Thorian grunted but it sounded curious.

"He was forging a new tool for the craft, this tool in fact," Elisha drew his knife and allowed the light to play up and down its length, "I do not know why, everything I have read since states that unless his tool is lost or broken, then a Master Smith cannot make another. Maybe he just wished to test the theory or maybe he was planning to use it to increase his power some how, either way he could not make it work. No matter how he tweaked the design, the power just wouldn't last in the blade, flaring and dying as quick as flame in the forge. His frustration knew no bounds and I, in my innocence, believed that if I could help him then he would finally love me. I started snatching moments, trying to teach myself how to read. I managed, in a fashion, I managed and I learnt. Then one day when he was out I tried to repeat the ritual, the way I had read and how I had seen him do it. It was beginning to work when he came back."

Elisha hunched his shoulders and then brought his knees up, wrapping his arms around his legs, tapping the hilt of the knife against his arm.

"So angry," it was the voice of a little boy, lost in the dark, "So, so angry. I had thought I had seen him angry before but that was nothing compared to this. I thought he was going to kill me and at that moment, I thought he was right to. I cried out that all I wanted to do was help him, that I loved him, that I just wanted to help. He said that no one would ever love a worthless thing like me, that I was less than an animal, less than filth. That no one would ever be loyal to me because proper human beings did not feel loyalty to lowly vermin like me. I was a thing and I would always be a thing, a thing worth no loyalty at all. That he had betrayed better dogs than a thing like me."

Elisha fell silent. After a moment Thorian reached out a hand and laid it on Elisha's shoulder. Elisha flinched but didn't brush away the touch.

"Dogs are loyal," Elisha continued, "They are loyal to their masters. Even when their masters are angry and brutal, dogs are loyal. I had seen dogs that had nothing left to give, give it anyway for love of their masters. A dog gives loyalty and asks only for loyalty in return. Dogs are loyal. In that moment, I knew that dogs were better than men, dogs were more worthy than men, that dogs should live and men, men should die!"

After a moment, the tension began to drain out of him.

"My master was the first man I killed and the first one I turned into a damn soul," Elisha admitted, "A black jackal like thing it was and he was loyal. Loyal and strong and fierce. I mourned him much when he finally fell, defending me and I have always wondered if he had earned his place in heaven."

"Why was he loyal when he wasn't loyal the first time round?" Thorian asked.

Elisha looked at him and then smiled.

"It was not my master's soul that was used to create the damned soul that I transformed his body into," he explained, "There always seems to be a... time between the body dying and its soul becoming ready to be smithed. No the soul that I smithed into my master's body was older than he, much older and had once been a warrior, I think, of a high and noble calling. Why he had been cast into Hell I do not know but perhaps that is why there is always time between the soul's step into the next world and it being able to be called back to this one - it needs to be judged and condemned before my power can touch it. Perhaps, I don't know."

He leaned back and stretched his legs out in front of him again.

"I meant what I said about my lands being open to your people if you have need of a home," Elisha said after they had been silent for a time, "You have shown me that your people have a huge amount of loyal, of love. If you have ever felt the need to prove your worth then you have proved it, to me at least. I know that I cannot make up for the rest of the world but I hope that I can balance the scales just a little. I do not wish for you to leave Friend Thorian, to have you at my side when we have to close the gates and wait for the monsters to come would ease the burden my soul carries when I think about what may be in the days to come but I cannot ask you to leave your team."

 Thorian grunted, not understanding what Elisha was getting at.

"How many times have you stood up as their main defender?" Elisha asked, "How many times have your strength, your loyalty been the only thing that has saved them from their enemies? I cannot in good conscience ask you to leave your team, your family and leave them without that protection. They need your Thorian, they need you. Especially Kaelin."

"Kaelin's good in a fight," Thorian spoke up for his friend, "She fights good and she's fast. She could get on in mah old village, I t'ink. She could out run the wolves in the winter. She'd be wizard at that game."

"Maybe," Elisha smiled, "But Kaelin has not had many people in her life who has been loyal to her. You expect to always be told that you are no longer welcome in a place, that you should leave; Kaelin always expects friends to leave her, for family to leave her, that no one cares enough to watch out for her and guard her back against the blow she didn't see coming. Do you see what I mean?"

"I... I don't know," Thorian admitted.

"Kaelin doesn't think she can trust you to always be by her side when she needs protecting," Elisha tried to explain, "She thinks that she will always turn round and find that her family has left her behind. She needs you to be the family that doesn't run off and leave her to face the mob on her own, Thorian. And I need you to find what has driven the Ash Elves to attack my lands in such large numbers. As much as I want your loyalty by my side simply standing still and letting them dash themselves to pieces on my home will not solve the problem. Someone wants us top people at war with those that live under ground and that makes me fear, Thorian, that makes me fear much but I cannot go hunting the problem now myself."

"Why not?" Thorian frowned still deeper, "I'd have thought that your creatures would be the best at hunting these Ash Elves."

"And if the clan chief went wandering off every time he wanted to, would he stay chief for very long?" Elisha asked, "If the rest of the clan think that he is looking out for himself more than for the clan, would they let him stay chief for very long?"

"Ah," Thorian nodded as realization struck, "Now I see. You think that if you go wandering off the one of the boys will think they can be chief. I could break their heads if you know which ones it is."

Elisha smiled at Thorian's straight forward answer to the problem.

"Unfortunately I am not sure which one it is," Elisha said, "And it would make me sorry to kill them if they did try to challenge me. I like them all and it is not good to kill within the clan."

"Aye that's true," Thorian agreed, "Killing within the clan means other clans can claim the land. It is best to not let it get that far but there are always some who won't learn their place."

"Indeed," Elisha agreed, "That and the King expects me to guard this land for him. If I go chasing Ash Elves and something else attacks this land and claims it while I am away then I'll be the one who is in trouble with my chief."

"Alright I think I see that," Thorian nodded, "But you aren't pulling mah leg about coming home here? You is ab-so-lute-ly sure I can come home here?"

"Friend Thorian, I would be honored if you called my land home," Elisha smiled, "And I hope that you time with the King's Special will not be long."

"I don't know," Thorian beamed, "I quite like the traveling. It's just good to know that there is some where that I can come home to."

"Then, when your traveling is done, I'll look forward to seeing you again," Elisha clasped Thorian's hand then rose, "Now to find the last of your... companions."

"Why did you..." Thorian worked it out, "Oh, Jeffers. Well I wouldn't be upset if he didn't come along."

"That I think we agree on but it is probably safer if he has something to do then if he is left here to keep raiding my library," Elisha observed, "Besides, he has not yet served out his time as a King's Special and if he doesn't learn to stop spreading misery then perhaps he never will."

"Yeah well, Great Sess to him!" Thorian leaned back against the tree and closed his eyes.

"Indeed," Elisha agreed and then turned to go looking for the disgraced priest.

*

Jeremiah took the news that they were should ready themselves to move on with a smile and the usual platitudes, silently glad that Elisha did not once again offer him a different path to walk. It seemed the young upstart could learn that his advice was not wanted or needed. As he heading up the stairs Jeremiah slipped a hand into his pocket and touched the cover of one of his new books. There was so much learning to do, not to mention he needed to find a proper recipient to Michael's magnum opus. He didn't have much of a grasp of score reading but he'd run an eye over the songs and the rhymes certainly had a ebb and flow that made them stick in the mind. Granted he didn't think much of the story. The idea of a great wizard building up a theater of illusions after making a pact with a creature from the Abyss, garnering the adoration of the masses and becoming their de-facto ruler only to lose it all when his creations became their own people and rebelled against him was just too ridiculous. Any wizard of a great caliber would have made sure that he burned his illusions when ever they showed any sign of becoming self willed. After all they were just creations and any creation that wasn't worth its creator's time deserved to be burnt.

Turning up the stairs he decided to go have one last look through the store rooms of the Tower. After all, there had been so many delightful things hidden here that they had discovered already, surely there was more that could be uncovered and this time he wouldn't have to share. It would be just for him.

Smiling with glee he started burrowing through a room full of boxes, their wooden sides dusty and promising all sorts of delights. The first few proved to be full of nothing more than whole reams of cloth, literally whole reams of cloth. If Jeremiah had been slightly more curious and had brushed some of the dust off the bolts of cloth he would have seen that the colors were just as bright as the day that they had been woven and that they seemed to be of a material that was both soft as silk and as hard wearing as wool. A few even glistened with threads of magic, hinting at extra powers buried within the weave but Jeremiah was not a curious man when it came to magics that would take more effort to craft and weave and that would not directly benefit him.

The next crate bit back, burying a long splinter into Jeremiah's hand, in the web between thumb and forefinger. Jeremiah spat a word that sizzled and crackled in the air, before tugging the offending piece of wood out with his teeth. Muttering a prayer of healing to his darksome god, Jeremiah turned and spotted the rolled up carpet that lay across his path before he tripped over it. He narrowed his eyes, straining his ears for a hint of a giggle. There was none but he spotted in the corner a large and ornate wardrobe with a very fancy lock. He stepped towards, keeping his eyes open for any further little tricks.

He was just reaching for the door handle when a flash of white and red dropped down in front of his vision.

"Boo!" it shouted as he jumped back, "Boo. Boo. Boo. Boo! Did I get you that time?"

Felicity the chest weasel hanged upside down by her tail and held her feet in her hands, grinning as her eyes rolled in their sockets.

Jeremiah spat a stream of words that scorched through the air as a trail of embers and ash. With a squeak of surprise Felicity rolled herself up like a window blind just in time as the spell blistered the varnish off of the wardrobe and blackened the brass of the lock.

"There's no need to be like that," she exclaimed from the top of the wardrobe, her long, thin red and white banded tail switching to and fro.

"There again," she mused, "Does this mean I got yah this time? Did I? Did I?" She peered through the ornate carvings at the top of the wardrobe, eye framed by a curled wooden leaf.

Jeremiah grinned back at her for a second and then shot forward the hand he'd had hidden behind his back. The spell blistered through the air, this time as a snarling stream of fire. Felicity screamed once but if she managed to pop out of existence before it consumed her Jeremiah could not hear above the vicious, curdling roar of the power. Jeremiah let the spell fade out before it could catch properly in the wood of the wardrobe, after all there was no need to run the risk of setting a fire that could potential spread further than he wanted it to.

He swung open the wardrobe doors but there was nothing inside it that was worth a mention, a flock of coat hangers that seemed to have a bad case of woodworm and that was it. As he turned away from the disappointing piece of furniture, he suddenly felt as if there was someone watching him. Someone who did not like him one little bit. Someone who judged him and found him to be thoroughly unpalatable.In short, someone who thoroughly agreed with that judgemental, metal stick insect. Jeremiah twitched his robes into a more comfortable alignment and strode out of the store room. However, the feeling did not decrease at all and there was absolutely nothing of value to be found in the whole of the Tower, or so it seemed. When the whispering from the portraits started he was thoroughly put out by the whole thing and turned towards the outside dining terrace. Honestly, what was the world coming to when even a building was sitting in judgement of him? It obviously didn't recognize a better owner than that young upstart.

Elisha treated the companions to a full cooked dinner before they left and had ordered packs of supplies prepared for them. He was quite interested to hear about the items Ulrich had discovered and admired the saddle that Felicity had provided for his lizard. He gave Ulrich his blessing on keeping the ever lasting tea caddy, the unending kettle and ever full biscuit tin, adding to them a enameled tin tea pot in which to brew the tea, saying that he would have benefited much from having such items when he had transversed deserts of his home country. He had also prepared the lanterns in sturdy boxes for transportation, a pack of two for Thorian to carry and a Ulrich to tie to his saddle, while Kaelin and Jeremiah had one each. Having instructed all of them in the activation of the lanterns and how far the moving parts could be turned, Elisha declared that he would provide them with an escort to the edge of his lands.

"And who will provide this noble escort?" Jeremiah smiled.

"For those of us who are here," Thorian snapped, one hand squeezing at the point of pain that still existed at the back of his neck.

"I beg your pardon, Thorian," Jeremiah's smile continued, "I don't think I know what you mean."

"Calypso isn't here, is he?" Thorian's flat look of dislike should have warned Jeremiah to shut his face at once.

"Calypso? I'm afraid I don't recall..." Jeremiah was not one to take warnings.

"Ma dog!" Thorian snapped, "Ma dog Calypso! The one you made and that you said I could keep as ma dog!"

"What about him?" Jeremiah still didn't stop smiling.

"He's dead!" Thorian snapped.

"I'm sorry," Jeremiah's smile finally started to fade, "I thought you realized that Calypso was dead. Not many things can survive a blow to the chest like that..."

"No!" Thorian snapped, "He's dead again! I came home from saving your backside from those drake things, one of which you have there!" He jabbed a finger at the impassive drake, who merely blinked at him. "To find he was all cold and blue and stiff! He was all curled up and dead and its all your fault!"

"Oh dear," Jeremiah tried to look apologetic but it didn't really work, "I didn't realize that there was a time limit on how long Calypso would last. I haven't ever used that spell before Scuttlebutt and he was torn to pieces before something like that could happened. I am sorry."

"Humph!" Thorian snorted and turned his back on the disgraced priest.

"Oh dear," Jeremiah said again but Thorian didn't relent. Trying to smooth over the incident Jeremiah turned back to Elisha, who kept a carefully neutral expression.

"I'll ask again," Jeremiah managed a self deprecating expression, "Who will be providing this honorable escort?"

"I for one, my darling," Amelia flapped down to perch on the battlements, wall flowers springing to life in the cracks between the stones, "I wouldn't see a hair on your head harmed."

Jeremiah closed his eyes for a moment and then turned to bow to her.

"I am sure that your presence will safe guard us against any danger, me dear," he said smoothly.

Amelia beamed and wriggled like a happy kitten, the wall flowers round her feet bursting into bloom before she turned and swept into the sky, arching over the town to land at the road side just beyond the gates, the grass surging tall under her shadow, wide flowers bursting into being round her. A vine buckled the soil up from underneath and coiled across the ground, the squash at its end swelling into ripeness as Amelia waited for the companions to walk through the town with their escort of damned souls ranked either side of them so that she didn't buckle up the road surface of the square. The damned souls stepped out but not with anything that could be called good time step but seeing as they all had different numbers of legs and some had no legs at all, that was hardly surprising. At Elisha's side the damned soul he had been repairing the day they met him hopped along on her three legs, her one wing flapping to counter balance her gait. She was beginning to build up a good speed and was developing little movements to help keep her balance.

"Out of interest," Jeremiah observed as they set out along the road in the sunshine, "Where is our noble guardian, the renowned King's Sword?"

"He has set out already," Elisha said, "He does not do well on boats as his weight means there is a chance of him cracking a foot through the hull and as he does not wish to be responsible for sinking your ship out from underneath you, he will meet up with you at Nether Wallop."

"Aye, even I would be in two minds about carrying him," Amelia admitted, "Not his fault of course but steel does weigh so much more than organic beings and there is so little of the organic left in him."

"So he does have organic parts still?" Jeremiah queried as if it meant nothing at all to him.

"I find that doubtful," Ulrich frowned down from where he rode on his lizard's back, "He confessed to me that he does not even breath. I don't think anything organic can survive like that."

"Oh its not like that," Amelia trilled a laugh, "The organic is his power source. It's rather a neat arrangement in a way, seeing as you little ones will keep throwing up some really strange ones."

"My dear, do forgive me for my ignorance," Jeremiah smiled, "I am after all just a little one but I rather fail to understand."

"Those that are too dangerous even for a King's Special," Elisha explained, "Such ones are gifted to Hartseer so he can remove the part he needs from them."

"I still fail..." Jeremiah trailed off as he realized that he did indeed understand exactly what they meant.

"You may know me as Hartseer and if you harm the innocent again your HEART is exactly what I'll take!" Hartseer's voice from the first time they had met and Jeremiah swallowed, suddenly cold in the full knowledge of what that phrase had actually meant.

"Do you remember the last one that he was gifted?" Amelia asked Elisha, unaware of the turmoil her favorite was in as he jumped forward to make up the steps he'd missed in the frozen moment of realization. Ulrich and Kaelin looked at each other and Ulrich raised his eyebrows, wondering what was troubling their unpleasant companion.

"How could I forget?" Elisha admitted, "There are some I sincerely hope will not be allowed back to Hestia through my smithing. I know that it is not my place to judge the will of the Great Good but there are some where I wonder why they are made the way they are."

"You are forgetting that all thinking beings have free will," Amelia pointed out, "I maybe young but I have seen that some become a greater light through their suffering, a case in point I might add," her head swung over on the end of her long neck and she gently touched the end of her nose to the top of Elisha's head, "Others, unfortunately become the monsters they once feared, though I have to say that he rather struck me as one who had just been born wrong."

"Which supports my point that there are some where you just have to wonder why they have been created the way they are," Elisha replied.

"Ceded," Amelia tipped her head, "But perhaps they are supposed to prove their worth by resisting their worse impulses or channeling them into more productive activities, again like yourself."

Kaelin had been watching the pale faced Jeremiah with interest, fascinated by the way he could squirm without overtly showing it but he was getting it under control so she decided to stir the waters some more.

"Forgive a lowly member of the current King's Special," she spoke up, keeping up her easy swinging pace, "But what could possibly be that bad that it was too atrocious for even a King's Special? After all, I can personally testify that some of us are some what... unquestionable in their methods, means and motives."

Elisha looked a if he'd tasted something vile while a shudder ran from the tip of Amelia's nose to the end of her tail, the wild flowers springing beneath her feet wilting for a second as if even they were trying to lean away from the horror.

"It started when he cut down his dog in the street," Elisha admitted.

"I, for one, would have been quite happy if he'd been  sentenced for the dog's sake," Amelia interrupted, "You just don't treat things that way, even if you plan to turn it into a dinner later on."

"I think Elisha would agree with you on that point," Thorian spoke up in support of his friend, "But what happened after he'd hurt his dog?"

"Killed," Elisha corrected quietly, "Killed his dog. King Tatsuya called the chief of the guard in for a meeting and, the way it was told to me, told her 'that a man who is willing to do that in public is a man whom the law should pay most strident attention, search his property at once'. The man faced Hartseer a week later, not for the dog's sake, though if it had been for the dog I would have been most glad, but for what was discovered in his cellar, the details of which I will not distress you with."

"It was the fact he had kept the shoes that bothered me," Amelia admitted, "All those little shoes." She shuddered again.

"Er," Thorian said after a moment, "I don't think I want to know what was in his cellar." Even for someone who was green skinned he looked like he was struggling with more than a little nausea.

"They kept having to put the trial into recession because the jury kept having to be sick," Amelia shuddered again.

"Sounds like he would have got on with my grandfather," Kaelin stated.

Amelia swung her head round so fast that she forgot to stop walking and promptly knocked into a tree hard enough to leave a mark on her bright orange scales. Elisha had also stopped in his tracks, looking back at her, shock stamped across his dusky features.

"You cannot be serious," Amelia said flatly.

"Trust me," Kaelin said equally flatly, "They would have got on like a house on fire. There would probably have been no survivors."

After a moment, Amelia's eyes softened.

"Oh you poor dear." Kaelin found herself enveloped in a huge dragon hug. She hanged there in Amelia's arms, too stunned to do anything, the warmth from Amelia's hide heating her through, the dragon's heartbeat sounding like the hush and rush of the sea, even as the locket dug into her collar bones. After a moment, Kaelin felt her eyes fill with water for no apparent reason.

"You are worth so much more," Amelia's blunt nose nuzzled the top of Kaelin's head, her voice a husky whisper, "You are worth the whole damn world, no matter whatever he told you. And if I ever meet your grandfather, I'll stamp on him!"

Kaelin snorted a sound that was half way between a laugh and a sob.

"I'd like to see that," she admitted, dashing the water from her eyes before Amelia could open her wings and let the rest of their companions see how badly Kaelin had fared. It was ridiculous, it was just a hug.

"I'll hold you to that you know," Amelia stated before looking up a Jeremiah, "You look after her, you hear me, my dear? You look after her good. If any harm comes to this girl I'll squash you." 

"My dear, you can rest assured that Lady Kaelin will be safer than houses with me," he bowed to her, apparently having regained his composure back that much that he could try and charm his way out of a dragon's threat.

"I mean it sweet heart," Amelia did not seem aware of the contradiction between her words and her tone, "You let any harm come to this girl and I will squish you like a bug. She needs protecting and caring for so you keep her safe or you'll wish that you never met me. Understand that?"

"You are clear than crystal and twice as captivating my dear," Jeremiah's composure faulted a moment as he realized that the big dragon was not being metaphorical and he obviously pictured a very big foot in his future if he wasn't careful.

Elisha and Ulrich exchanged a careful glance. The stipulation Amelia had just laid down did rather make their wish to distance Kaelin from Jeremiah that much more difficult but at the same time... Watching Jeremiah nervously step up beside Kaelin under Amelia's watchful gaze did make Ulrich think that just perhaps Amelia had actually solved their problem in a much more effective fashion. After all, if Jeremiah tried something Kaelin didn't like then all she'd have to do would be to send word to Amelia though how she's get news through...

"Lady Kaelin," Elisha called back quietly.

"I'm not a lady," Kaelin corrected with a roll of her eyes. Elisha let that slide.

"Do you still have access to that method of communication we discussed this morning?" he asked, one hand going to the collar of his robes.

"As far as we know it goes out to the edge of your land at least," Kaelin's hand echoed his motion, "How much further after that is anyone's guess."

"Don't worry," Amelia beamed, "I'm going to be taking a canvas to the capital city once we've seen you safely on your way so we'll soon know."

"Cool," Kaelin laid her hand on the dragon's neck with something close to a smile. Elisha looked at Ulrich again and nodded once. Ulrich wasn't sure what the Master Smith was getting at but Elisha had shared his concerns so if Elisha was content with that little exchange... Ulrich shrugged and tapped his heels to his lizard's sides to set it walking again. The lizard looked at Amelia again and flicked its tongue slowly before it obeyed.  Amelia looked at it with a puzzled frowned.

"Don't get any funny ideas," she warned it. It flicked its tongue again. Amelia sniffed and lifted her snout in the air, stepping out a head of the lizard. It seemed to be more willing to follow her than the instructions from its rider.

"This is becoming ridiculous," Ulrich muttered under his breath.

At the edge between the farmland and the forest Elisha halted and shook all their hands again.

"Until we have the good fortune to meet again, may the Great Good protect you from harm and guide your way," he pressed his palms together and bowed to them.

"We will endeavor to make sure that is so," Jeremiah smiled back, moving his fingers in the motion of blessing.

"It has been a pleasure," Ulrich's smile was much more sincere.

"I'll be back one day," Thorian grinned, "It's nice to have ah home to come back to."

"Yeah," Kaelin said slowly, "I just might come back this way. See how things go."

"Until then," Elisha inclined his head and watched them step into the forest, surrounded by Cyril Crowface's damned souls and Amelia's massive bulk. He waited a moment more and then turned back towards the Tower, a couple of damned souls flanking him as a body guard and the little three legged one racing ahead, testing her speed.

Whether the Ash elves and their allies where else where in the swamp that day or they had finally learnt some caution of the damned souls, Kaelin wasn't sure but she was sure that having Amelia pacing along beside them certainly helped. The bright orange dragon certainly wasn't hard to notice and the trail of green she left behind her would have also warned away any thinking creature from following them. Kaelin suppressed a smile when she realized that even Jeremiah wasn't complaining and carrying on as he had done. Either walking just about every day was finally toughening him up or he just was too unsure about antagonizing Amelia to risk wittering on as he had done when he was first 'recruited' to the King's Special. All in all, it was quite a pleasant walk, even if the smell of the dead parts of the Dead Swamp was still an awful stench of burning rubber and decomposing sea food. She was well glad when they were shot of that area, though she doubted that she was going to be able to smell properly for the next week.

The sun was setting by the time they were clear of the destroyed ground and the first stars were out on a beautiful navy blue sky when the smells of the river rose to meet them. It was then that they finally realized their next problem.

"Just how are we supposed to get a cross?" Kaelin said, standing on the river bank, looking across a mile of open water to the walls of Lotton.

"I have to admit I hadn't thought of that," Ulrich admitted, "The captain didn't say if he was going to come and check whether we made it back, did he?"

"Guards won't let me through the gates," Thorian sniffed, "Not at night, no way. Get away with it during the day, not at night. Aye know that for certain."

"Amelia, dearest lady of the sky and brightest gem of the heavens," Jeremiah said, bowing so low Hat clattered in an effort to make sure his miter didn't fall off, "Would you be so very kind as to carry us over the walls one at a time?"

Amelia turned her face away for a moment and her scales rippled with a flush of brighter color.

"For you sweet heart, anything," she dipped a shoulder to him and with a little effort, Jeremiah climbed aboard. Amelia stepped back a couple of paces and that bounded forward and as she leapt out over the water her wings clapped down in a booming down beat that lifted her high. Turning away from the town she quartered back and forth, lifting higher with every switch back. Jeremiah loved it as the land fell away and the town spread out below him. This was were he belonged, above every other living soul in the world, looking down on everything he had power over. One day he would have this forever and that metal stitch insect.... He'd have him set in a block of stone so he could watch everything and do nothing at all with his judgemental Will. Yes, have him set in a block of stone, no crystal, so he could be immersed entirely but still see. That would shut the freak up.

"Where do you want me to set you down?" Amelia asked as she curved through one last switch back. Jeremiah looked down at the sleeping city and pondered. The glow from the rich quarter seemed to be brighter than what he had expected and more noisy.

"Seems to be some sort of fuss down there," Amelia echoed his musing, which made him decide that the main square might not be the best place after all but in the future, well in the future landing a dragon in the main square of the Capital sounded just fine.

"Maybe the roof of the Cathedral would be best, my dear," he replied to her original question.

"Are you sure?" she asked, "It is awfully high up. I wouldn't want you to fall."

"There should be a platform built into it near the back of the spire towers," Jeremiah told her, "If you would be so kind as to let me get off there then I am sure that I will be able to discover the door that will lead down to the ground without any danger."

"Ah that will be just fine," Amelia pointed her nose slightly down and trimmed her wings, arching round to swing in other the cathedral. As they slowed in over the cathedral she mumbled something and then her wings were flaring into the break and her claws and talons were scrapping over the lead sheets as she came to rest, legs braced either side of the apex.

"Sorry sweetheart, not my best landing ever but the space turned out smaller than I expected," she apologized. Jeremiah frown and looked before nodding in understanding. The repair platform was far too small for a dragon Amelia's size to land on so she had come to a halt just beyond and was now trying to adjust her stance so that he could step smoothly from her back on to the platform. Once she settled, Jeremiah gingerly climbed down from his perch on to the workman's place. If he put a foot wrong and slid down the leads and off the edge of the roof.... It didn't bare thinking about.

"Thank you, my dear, you truly are the queen of the skies and lady of the air," he complimented outrageously but Amelia almost giggled at it and gave a happy wiggle, claws squeaking on the leads.

"Oh stop it you flatterer," her scales glowed brighter than ever.

"Would you be so kind as to go and collect my friends?" Jeremiah asked.

"As I said, for you anything," she nuzzled him, almost knocking him off of his feet, before carefully pacing round and unfolding her wings. The thump she made along the apex made Jeremiah wince but then she was lifting effortlessly off before she reached the roof of the chancel roof and was winging her way out across the warehouse district of the city. Jeremiah looked round himself and found a corner he could make himself comfortable in and take the weight off his feet.

Amelia winged back to the others much faster than she had left, coming down into a long glide that let her feet ski over the water's surface leaving a long wake like that of a swan, until her wind speed stalled and she sank into the water, until it came up her sides but no higher, her flight buoyancy making her a natural swimmer. She paddled over to the others and stepped out on to the bank.

"Who's next?" she asked brightly.

"Can I have a go?" Thorian asked, his eyes so bright they seemed to have stars in them.

"Go ahead," Kaelin muttered, not at all sure about this idea of her feet leaving the ground. For far too long her feet leaving the ground had been a bad thing, the noose being an ever present danger in her adult life and before that it had been her grandfather's rages. She shivered and rubbed her arms. Damn and blast that werewolf, she had not needed that reminder of her past.

Thorian climbed up on Amelia's back with some struggle, obviously not use to riding anything.

"Careful, that tickles," Amelia smiled, "Now settle your bum back in that hallow over my shoulders, I don't want any wriggling once we're air born, distractions when you are flying are not a good idea. Now lean forward, take hold of the spines I have on the back of my neck and if you feel yourself slipping, grip with your knees, you'll not hurt me. Now ready?"

"Yeah," Thorian was beaming that hard his face looked ready to crack.

"Then off we go," Amelia backed a little and then bounded forward. With one great whip crack she was air bound and rising.

Thorian gaped, his face an amazed grin as they switched back and forth, eyes streaming in the wind of their passage. As they lifted over the walls of the town and the lights spread out below them, Thorian threw back his head and whooped. Amelia smiled back and took the next switch back a little tighter. Thorian laughed all the more, dizzy with the joy of the speed of it. Amelia switched back and back again, taking them higher than she had done with Jeremiah and then curving into a long, wide loop of the city, taking them on a downward spiral that took in the whole of the city's outer wall, Thorian laughing all the way.

"I know, grand isn't it?" she smiled back over her shoulder as she locked her wings in place for the gliding decent, "Sometimes I like to go up high just to feel the freedom of it."

"Freedom," Thorian smiled, looking round at the shining stars as their speed started to slow, "Freedom. So this is freedom." He gazed some more, hands relaxed on Amelia's spines. "I like it."

"It is wonderful," Amelia agreed, "But best a little quiet now, there seems to be some sort of disturbance down there and we don't want you mixed up in it." She slowed even further into the last stretch of the approach to the cathedral's roof and then back winged for the break, talons coming down first and then her claws in a much neater landing than the first time. Still smiling she extended a leg and Thorian stepped down on to the workman's platform.

"That was amazing," Thorian's eyes still shone with stars, "Can we do it again?"

"When you get back," Amelia nudged his chest with her nose, "I'll take you all the way up to the top of the Tower on a night flight, I promise."

"That would be awesome!!!" Thorian looked like he was never going to stop smiling ever. Amelia grinned back and then turned and took wing again.

As Amelia splashed down in the river again, Kaelin sighed and unfolded her arms.

"Well here I go," she muttered as she climbed on board.

"Nervous flier?" Amelia asked.

"No idea," Kaelin admitted, "First time I've done this." She didn't admit that it was also the first time she had ever ridden anything, seeing as most horses took one sniff of her and bolted.

"Don't worry about coming back for me," Ulrich spoke up as Kaelin settled herself on to Amelia's shoulders with a grimace.

"Are you trying to leave the team?" Amelia narrowed her eyes at him.

"Not at all," Ulrich smiled reassuringly at her, "Elisha did want me to look out for a certain party member as well, you know." Amelia kept her eyes narrowed at him but then glanced over her shoulder at Kaelin.

"No I didn't know but if that is true I thank you for it," she said after a moment, "But if you are not leaving the team then why do you not want a lift to were they are?"

"I have this one," Ulrich patted his lizard's neck and it flicked its tongue slowly at Amelia, "As much as I admire your strength and air borne skill I do not wish to over burden them by asking you to try and carry it in to the city."

"You have a point," Amelia conceded, "After all, I think it would be difficult to get it down from the roof of the cathedral but that does leave the question of how you are going to make it into the city to meet up with them."

"Do not lizards swim?" Ulrich asked, "And are there walls on the dock side of the town? I was thinking of swimming him round. It will be an interesting race to see who reaches the Armored Dragon first."

"In that case," Amelia grinned a scaly grin, "On your marks, get set, go!" 

"Wait what?" Kaelin yelled and then Amelia was bounding forward. They were air borne before the last of Kaelin's yell trailed away.

Kaelin swore.... and swore.... and swore.

"Such language," Amelia muttered but Kaelin was running out of steam, her breath stolen by the wind of their passage and she gradually quietened and relaxed her death grip on the spines in front of her. After a while she looked round as Amelia turned in slow loops to gain height.

"Alright," se admitted as they turned slowly over the walls of the city, "This isn't so bad."

"Thought you'd get used to it eventually," Amelia said gently, "But I'll keep it gentle. There really is some bother going on down there."

Kaelin looked over Amelia's shoulder and instinctively jerked back, ducking back into her defensive huddle on the dragon's back but her sharp ears caught some of the sounds coming up from below. Angry voices, frightened voices, wailing voices and a word.

"Werewolves!"

"Oh squit!" she whispered into the dragon's hide.

"What was that?" Amelia asked.

"Nothing," Kaelin reassured, "Nothing to worry about, I hope." She made herself sit up on Amelia's back an watch as the cathedral loomed towards them. Amelia touched down with a mastery of grace, a grace Kaelin did not match but she'd had worse tumbles.

"Your friend Ulrich delivers a challenge," Amelia informed Jeremiah with a grin.

"Oh," Jeremiah raised his eyebrows, "And what challenge does friend Ulrich lay before us, oh bounteous queen of the skies?"

"He challenges you to make it to the Armored Dragon before he manages to swim his lizard to it," Amelia still grinned as she laid it down.

"Ah, I had forgotten about that detail," Jeremiah admitted.

"So do you accept the challenge," Amelia leaned her head in as she turned it side ways so Jeremiah could see his reflection in her shining eye.

"I do believe that we do," Jeremiah smiled back.

"Oh goody," Amelia did her happy wriggle, "You'll have to tell me all about it when you come back, my dear. See you soon I hope." She nuzzled him one last time and then turned to take wing one last time from the cathedral room. She flew out over then lake and as she turned one last time for home at the Tower she let out a high long call that whooped over the water and caused sailors on the dock front to turn and stare out over the water.

"She's great," Thorian smiled.

"Yes, she is," Jeremiah beamed, "Now, anyone have an idea of how we are going to get down from here?"

"Let's see," Kaelin turned to the edge of the platform, pulling on the climbing gloves that Felicity had give her. She flexed her fingers, rolled her shoulders and then stepped over the edge of the platform. She skied down the leads, jumped and skidded down the guttering of the flying buttress, leaned side ways and caught herself as she flew passed the spire of the pier. For a second she hanged over empty space and then she was going down the carved sides of the pier. Hand over hand, so fast that she didn't have time to think only react, the looping feeling in her stomach singing of flight. This was freedom, this was flight, this was her own body and mind over the material, this was power. This was something her grandfather had never had. By the time her feet hit the flag stones, her mind was buzzing and her breath was coming short. Panting she leaned back against the wall of the cathedral and grinned until her face hurt. Grandpa wasn't going to find her such an easy mark any more if the stupid mongrel hadn't had the good sense to stay dead. She grinned in the dark and then frowned as the locket thumped against her chest.

*

Up on the roof, Jeremiah looked at Thorian  and Thorian looked back.

"She took the only lock picks," Jeremiah observed wryly.

"Ah don't be silly," Thorian smiled and turned towards the door, "Can't be that hard." He tried the handle but it was locked.

"I'm afraid that it could be the easiest lock in the world," Jeremiah corrected, "But without some lock picks we can't reach inside the tumblers to move them."

"Who said I was going to try and pick open the lock?" Thorian asked, "Its time you saw some orc magic."

"I didn't know you were a magic user," Jeremiah was stunned, "To that matter, I wasn't aware that orcs had any mag..."

Thorian raised his foot and booted the door open.

"You see? Orc magic!" he beamed.

After a moment Jeremiah was able to shut his mouth and follow Thorian down into the cathedral. The stairway was spiraling and narrow, making Jeremiah feel for the steps with his feet as he couldn't see them. Abruptly Thorian stopped and held up a fist. Jeremiah wobbled on the steps but managed to hold his balance. Thorian crouched and then darted out into the open sided loft space they had found. He scurried up to the railing at the edge of the loft and peered through the balusters. After a moment he beckoned for Jeremiah to join him, gesturing for the priest to stay low.

With a sigh and a grumble Jeremiah got down on his knees and shuffled over to Thorian's side.

They were in the cathedral's main body, some where above the rose window because they had a clear view down the nave to the alter where a curate was arguing with a senior.

"I am sorry, Sir," the curate was saying with forced calm, "But you also heard the scrapping on the roof  and the noise I heard was not breaking glass but of breaking wood."

"Do you really expect me to believe such nonsense when anyone with eyes in the front of their head can see that the doors of the west portal are completely unharmed?" his superior looked down his nose at the young man.

"With all due respect I did not say that it was the main doors that had been damaged," the curate spoke levelly with an obvious force of will, "I said I'd heard a door being damaged and considering the attack..."

"Not another word," the senior snapped, "I am not accustomed to being dragged out of bed to deal with the vapors of a lowly apprentice at this time of night. If you do not learn to control those hysterics of yours then I would not expect to EVER graduate if I were you. Do I make myself clear?"

The curate lowered his lamp but did not lower his gaze.

"Inescapably Sir," he said politely, "I apologize for being concerned with the safety of the bishop and the security of the cathedral. If you will excuse me?" He turned just before his superior had given his permission and walked down the length of the nave and in the loft Thorian and Jeremiah could see his expression. Jeremiah raised his eyebrows. There was one very angry young man.

As Amelia flew away with the swearing, cursing Kaelin on her back, Ulrich turned to the silent Cyril Crowface.

"Well, my unusual friend, I guess that we now must part," he held out his hand.

"That we must," Cyril nodded as he took the offered hand in his own. He had a firm grip, "Such is the way of warriors, this life becomes a way of meetings and partings but I will hope that this is not the last meeting that we are allowed to have in this life, though I must say that if you became one of us then I believe that you will do well."

"I... will take that as a compliment," Ulrich said after a moments thought.

"Fare thee well, Friend Ulrich," Cyril nodded his big beak and then, dropping Ulrich's hand, stepped back and saluted him. Ulrich saluted back and then turned to the impassive, blue eyed drake.

"Well, if you are coming, come. If you are not stand there until you turn to stone," he told it not completely unkindly and then nudge his lizard in the ribs. Flicking its long tongue, the lizard stepped down the river bank and splashed into the river. Ulrich winced as his boots filled up with water but the lizard struck out strongly into the current, heading up towards the lake. Behind them there was a splash as the drake walked unflinching into the water. The motion of the lizard swimming did take some getting used to but it appeared to be a strong swimmer and they made go progress towards the lake. Then out in the dark Ulrich heard the splash of an oar.

"Hello," he said out loud, meaning it to be a rhetorical  statement but he hadn't realized how far noise carries over water at night.

"Who's there?" a fearful voice cried out.

"No one's there yah dummy," another answered, "And keep it down, do yah want to bring the Guard down on us?"

Ulrich was completely intrigued and turned his lizard's head towards where he judged the sound to be coming from. After a moment of tasting the water with its tongue as it swam the lizard course corrected itself and paddled on more strongly, ignoring the drake that was beginning to struggle behind it. Ahead a splash sounded out and there was another grating of oars in row locks.

"Keep it down," a familiar accent spoke quietly, "And help me with this."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," the nervous voice said, "It is just I was so sure I heard someone else out here."

"Oh come on, my old china," the familiar accent said, "Who but us would be out on a night like this?"

"Maybe someone who is now really curious about what you are up to," Ulrich said quietly as he started to see the outline of a boat in the gloom.

"Oh lorks," the voice exclaimed while the nervous one let out a little scream that was quickly muffled. There was a quiet scuffle and Ulrich heard a chain rattle over a railing. Someone cursed and grabbed it.

"I'm not the Guard," Ulrich reassured, "Just really curious as to what is going on."

The figures in the boat froze and then the accented voice said, "I think I know that voice." A lantern with a sliding door was lifted and a narrow beam of light shone across the water.

"Well I'll be jiggered," Dippler grinned, "It's one of the King's Special. Wot you doing here? And with that fancy ride."

"Trying to get back into the city," Ulrich admitted as he encouraged his lizard to swim up to the side of the flat bottomed boat that was big enough for two passengers and a small cargo, "So what are you doing here?"

"Get into the city?" Dippler shook his head, "Good luck with that, mah old china. Something has well and truly stirred up the old draw handles tonight and the Guard are buzzing like wasps in a jam bottle."

"So how do you expect to get back into the city then?" Ulrich smiled, "I take it that what you are doing might just upset some people."

For a second Dippler's face clouded and then it cleared.

"Tell yah, wot mah old china," he said with a grin, "If you help us out then we'll show you the way in, seeing as your pet there is struggling."

"What," Ulrich looked round to see the drake's head drop below the surface for a moment and then it surfaced again with an effort.

"Alright," Ulrich turned back in time to see Dippler pull the oar out of Sweetie's hands. "I'll help in return for the favor. So what do you need?" He continued after the altercation had been resolved.

"Give us a moment," Dippler thrust the lantern into Sweetie's hands and picked up a hook on the end of a long pole. He fished over the side of the boat for a moment and then hooked something. He pulled up a loop of chain that had a cork float attached to it. He looked at the float for a moment and the dropped it back into the water.

"Wrong one," he explained at Ulrich's puzzled frown and fished in the dark water again, this time at the other end of the boat. This time he nodded when he saw the color of the float attached to the loop of chain. He started pulling the chain into the boat.

"Help me out here," he hissed at Sweetie, who tore his terrified gaze away from Ulrich, shook himself like a dog coming out of water and then reached forward to help pull the chain up.

"Here, let me help," Ulrich reached out and started lending a hand. It was a lot heavier than he expected.

"What are we pulling up here?" he asked after a minute, "Rocks?"

"Not exactly," Dippler admitted. For several more minutes they pulled up loops and loops of chain and then finally a white mass rose up through the water. Ulrich's lizard immediately grabbed hold of the mass of canvas and started shaking it.

"Oy enough of that," Ulrich snapped and had a frantic few minutes to convince his lizard to help put the mass in the boat and not rip it open there in the water. It was only after the mass was in the boat that Ulrich realized what it looked like.

"Are you fishing up bodies?" he demanded in shock.

"Depends what sort of bodies you are talking about," Dippler grinned, "Here, I'll show you." He pulled out a sharp knife and before Ulrich could cry out, he sliced through the ropes round one end of the massive bundle. He flipped back the canvas... and the long nose of a horse thumped quietly on the boards of the boat.

"What?" Ulrich asked.

"Well now you know the secret to mah pies," Dippler grinned, "We wrap them tight and sink them down there in the dark and the cold for six months. By the end of that time the meat is as soft as anything and tastes like nothing else on this world. So mah, old china, do you want to know how to get into the city."

"I guess I must do," Ulrich said, as behind him the drake struggled again.

"This way then," Dippler turned to seize an oar. After a moment, he smacked Sweetie on the arm, jerking him back to reality and they set to work on the oars. Paddling a short way out into the lake, they turned south, passed the moored ships.

"What has all the nobles in a tizzy," Ulrich asked as they made their way down the shore front, keeping just out of where the reflections of the lights from the various shops and taverns glowed on the water.

"They were meant to be having some big old shin dig tonight," Dippler whispered, "But it seems someone decided to gate crash the whole thing. Someone with big teeth and bad attitude and far too much hair to be stylish."

"That doesn't sound like fun time," Ulrich observed, keeping to himself that he might have an idea of who was leading up the gate crashing party. Kaelin was not going to be happy about this.

When they were about have way down the water front Dippler and Sweetie turned the boat towards the shore and headed under one of the wooden piers, the ripples of their oars fracturing the reflections of the water front lights. Part way down the length of the pier it became stone work and in the water front face there was an arch of stone. Dippler and Sweetie guided their boat through the arch. Inside there was a small chamber with a walk away down one side that Dippler and Sweetie guided their boat alongside and tide it up. At the bottom of the stairs a pair of sailors holding torches glared as Ulrich rode his lizard in through the arch.

"Hold yah horses," Dippler grinned up at them, "He's with us."

"He looks like a toff," one of the sailors grunted.

"He's a King's Special," Dippler rolled his eyes, "He's hardly going to peach on us when he's... Here mah old china, I near did ask what yah did to wind up on a King's Special?"

"Apparently I'm too good at cards," Ulrich admitted, "After I'd cleared out the third card den in town, someone decided that I had to be cheating and well, here we are." He shrugged with a self deprecating grin.

"Yah gouged the draw handles?" Dippler exclaimed with a crow, "I knew you were one of us! There you are mah chums, he's one of us, now help us with this lump." After a moment, the sailors stepped forward and helped Dippler and Sweetie man handle the horse's body into a hand cart that Dippler and Sweetie heaved up the steps.

Then sailors turned scowling faces to Ulrich, obviously looking for a fight. Ulrich smiled at them with raised eyebrows as his lizard hauled itself and him up on the walkway. They stepped forward with belligerence written all over them, then their faces went pale as the blue eyed drake pulled itself up and out of the water. They backed up rapidly.

"I'm sorry your honor," the talker touched his forehead, "We didn't understand the situation."

"That's quite alright old boy," Ulrich smiled, "Little mistakes can be made and no harm done." He nudged the lizard forward and as it stepped between the sailors he suddenly touched the reigns.

"Here," he said, pulling a small purse out and handing it to the talker, "Go and buy you and your friend a drink with that."

"Thank you, Sir, thank you very much!" the sailor didn't seem to be able to believe his luck.

"No problem," Ulrich touched his forehead as well and then clapped his heels to the sides of his lizard and rod up into the water front.

Draconic Shennanigans Episode 9

Chapter 9: Shadows and Phantoms

 Elisha looked at the drake with glowing eyes as Jeremiah patted its head fondly.

"You walk a very dangerous road," he said at last, "But that is your choice. If, however, you ever find that your darksome god has no farther use for you and you wish for a different method of holding power then please bare in mind that I am willing for you to learn my road."

"As much as that is a generous offer of you," Jeremiah smiled, "I think I'd find your road too gentle on others for my taste."

To Kaelin's surprise Elisha laughed. It was the first time she'd heard him laugh. He smiled easily enough but laughter seemed more difficult and it was still quiet and soft toned.

"You think that I am a gentle man?" Elisha asked, "Please forgive me but you have not read the whole book. The world cruel and I have been a cruel man but revenge is good, monsters need to pay. I just found a different way to make them balance the scales. Death after all, is done in a moment."

"That is a different way of looking at things," Ulrich observed as he cleaned his swords.

"To die when you want to live is a choice made but once, in a single moment," Elisha walked towards the body of the drake that Thorian had stabbed through the eye, "To live when you want to die is a decision  made with every heartbeat of every second of every minute. Hours and days and weeks and years of making that decision over and over again, until all you long for is the quiet released of the grave and you pray that you will be allowed to lay on the desert of black sand, unnoticed by the gods so that no more may be asked of you."

Kaelin and Ulrich looked at each other, a wonder and a worry in their eyes.

"You have been to this place?" Ulrich asked, "You have made that decision?"

"No but a friend of mine had to face it," Elisha crouched and ran his hands over the scales of the drake, "He was born marked, marked by great power and by great violence. He was held at a distance by all and when one took pity... The family of that one killed him rather than allow him to love my friend."

"Ohhhhh!" Ulrich flinched, "I bet that didn't go down well."

"It didn't," Elisha was looking at something no other could see, "The first one to see me as a human worthy of life... wasn't human. What reason had I to care if the human race continued? If a race has to sacrifice its children to survive does it deserve to survive?"

"No it doesn't," Kaelin's face was flinty hard, "Those that harm children have no right to live." Elisha looked at her and after a long moment he nodded.

"I have learned though, that you cannot punish all," Elisha stood, "If all of human cruelty was wiped away so would all of human kindness. No more laughter, no more sharing, no more unexpected help. My friend died... of his grief and rage and betrayal but he died knowing there were ones who would take up his mantel against the monsters who wear human faces. And now I make the monsters live so that they may spend their punishment in more useful methods than languishing in hell."

He lifted his dagger and scarlet light twisted through the surface of its form. Elisha position the point just behind the hinge of the jaw and then drove it home with a smack of the heel of his right hand. Scarlet lightning arched from ground to heaven and the body bucked. The skull stretched out into the thin look of a snake, the bulk of the body falling away as the limbs stretched out, thick digits becoming thin, stiletto tipped, spiderish hands. Lanky and sinuous it rose as wings burst from its shoulders, wings of long, pale opalescent feathers. It opened its jaws and flicked a long, thin forked tongue over its now feathered muzzled. It blinked pale red eyes at its Master.

"You are to go with Crowface," Elisha said, "Obey him as you would obey me." It sucked in a long breath and then its wings flicked open. It rose into the air, a serpent twisting through the air, its limbs pressed so tight to its sides that they could not be seen.  Elisha turned to the great lion headed damned soul.

"You are to take the pieces of that one to the terrace," he instructed and after a moment it bent and picked up the headless body and slung it over a shoulder. Bending it grasped one of the drake's horns and lifted the head in one hand. Without a murmur it turned to the tower and began trudging up the road, Elisha walking at its side. Thorian followed them and therefore did not see Jeremiah sidle up to Ulrich.

"Ulrich my dear friend," Jeremiah smiled his most oily and ingratiating smile, "I'm rather afraid that something went a little wrong with creating this one." His hand gestured to the blue eyed drake.

"Oh really," Ulrich smiled but the sarcasm was still there, "Did it crack a claw or something?" He made a show of checking it over.

"That wasn't what I meant at all," Jeremiah's voice became a little strained, as if he was fighting not to speak through gritted teeth, "Raising this one, pulled too much power and I'm rather afraid that it may have damaged Calypso."

 "Who?" Ulrich looked up from where he was examining the drake's claws.

"Thorian's dog," Jeremiah's smile was becoming more and more fixed, "I think I had to pull too much power and it may have damaged Thorian's dog. Now considering how he reacted to you nearly being char-grilled do you really think that he will take finding his dog hurt all that well?"

"Ah, I see what you mean," Ulrich straightened, "I think I do see what you mean. It could be come quite fraught, yes?"

"Exactly my good friend," Jeremiah's face relaxed out of its rictus grin, "I think it would be best if such a thing didn't happen, right?"

"Right," Ulrich nodded.

"And if you manage to discretely manage to dispose of the evidence then I'm sure I can find you a reward," Jeremiah smiled more normally and laid a hand on the head of the drake.

"I'll see to it," Ulrich turned, whistled up his giant lizard and swinging up into its saddle, headed up the road after Thorian, whistling a jaunty tune. As Kaelin turned to follow him as well, she found Jeremiah suddenly at her elbow.

"Kaelin my dear," he oozed, "I was wondering if I could press upon your forbearance."

"How much?" Kaelin stated.

"I beg your pardon my dear?" Jeremiah frowned.

"How much are you willing to pay?" Kaelin's gaze was flat.

"Why would you believe that I need you to do something that needs monetary reimbursement?" Jeremiah smiled his most ingratiating smile.

"You're sweating, you're rubbing your hands and you smell of stress," Kaelin set a pace that Jeremiah struggled to keep up with, "Despite your needling at Hartseer, something has happened that you are not completely sure you can get away with so how much are you going to pay me to be your beard?"

Ulrich looked over his shoulder before he caught up with Thorian and frowned as he saw Kaelin and Jeremiah leaning towards each other and coins exchanging hands. Jeremiah was looking like a very fat cat who had just got into the dairy and Kaelin looking more resigned to something, willing to go through with it for the pay but still resigned to Jeremiah's attentions.

"What do you suppose our fat friend could be paying our toothsome girl for do you suppose?" he asked Thorian as a way to get the conversation started.

"I have no idea," Thorian glanced up at him and shrugged, "The last time it was for getting us into the habbey."

"The habbey you say?" Ulrich queried.

"Yeah you weren't with us then," Thorian grinned, "It was the night before you joined us. We had to call  by the habbey that Jerrers was kicked out of. Great big place it was, not that I had the chance to see much, I was busy making myself a chair to sit in. Kaelin  and Jerrers must of wandered off alone, 'cause next thing Kaelin was running out of it, yelling we needed to leave fast and Jerrers weren't there. I don't really know what happened after that, I tried a new drink at the inn after we got back and it all goes a little hazy after that." He scratched his head, his horny nails making a dry rasp over his scalp.

"I see," Ulrich murmured, "Has Kaelin ever said what they were up to there?"

"Not that I can recall," Thorian shrugged, "Just why do you ask?"

"Its just Jeremiah seems to be buttering Kaelin up," Ulrich muttered, "And quite frankly she could do so much better."

Thorian looked back, pulling his face into something that was half pout, half frown.

"Doesn't look like he's put any butter in her hair," he said as he turned away, " 'Sides, don't think that Kaelin would let him mess up her hair that way."

Ulrich opened his mouth and then shut it and shook his head. "Still think she could do so much better."

Behind them Jeremiah took Kaelin's elbow, making her hang back so that Thorian and Ulrich step out ahead. Kaelin looked at him with a flat, unfriendly stare but Jeremiah ignored the treat to his fingers until he was sure that the others were far enough ahead that they wouldn't be over heard.

"So my dear," he smiled oily, "Do you suppose that there are any more trinkets we could convince our great Master Smith to part with?"

Kaelin pointedly pulled her arm free of his grip and was about to snarl in his face when she thought of something better.

"Well I don't think that it would amount to much," she rubbed the back of her neck.

"Oh?" Jeremiah picked up on her tone at once, or at least he picked up on the tone she wanted him to, "What delicious bit of rumor have you hear my dear Kaelin?"

"Well it could be nothing," she admitted, "It was just something I overheard being mentioned that's all."

"My dear Kaelin you have my full and undivided attention," Jeremiah exuded charm the way a voodoo lily exuded stink.

"Well from what I heard not all the portraits in that tower are just paint on canvas," well that part was true,  "And there is one that has a golden harp in it."

"And what is so gloriously special about this depicted musical instrument?" Jeremiah could even wobble charmingly if he put his mind to it.

"Well..." Kaelin hedged, "I would hate to send you on a wild goose chase."

"My dearest Kaelin," Jeremiah smiled, reassurance dripping from every word, "I am sure that even if we cannot track down this singular painting in this extraordinary domicile, an afternoon spent in your wonderful company will be beneficial to us both."

"Well if you are absolutely sure you want to know," Kaelin hesitated a moment longer, then finally dropped the other shoe, "I over heard that behind that particular painting there is a hidden library but it can be difficult to track down. From what I heard the special paintings don't always remain where they were, or it could be that the inside of the tower changes."

"I'm sure that between us we can track down this most interesting of canvas doorways," Jeremiah's fingers flexed in anticipation, "Shall we share the bounty of this knowledge with our friends or shall we keep it just between us?"

"Do you want to be around the others when the trouble you have hovering over you comes calling?" Kaelin asked.

"Good point," Jeremiah conceded and gestured her forward, "Lead on my dearest to this wonderful hidden treasure for just us two." Despite her misgivings, Kaelin did actually step in front of Jeremiah but simple so he didn't see her roll her eyes. Upon entering the tower she cut right and led them up a set of stairs, winding deep into the tower. Once they came to a long gallery she paused and started looking at the pictures on the walls.

Huffing and puffing like a ragged set of blacksmith's bellows Jeremiah wobbled up the last of the steps to find Kaelin peering closely at the canvases.

"Surely..." he bent over for a moment, gasped and couple of breaths and then tried again, "Surely a golden harp would be quite noticeable?"

"Didn't say that it was in the front of the picture," Kaelin muttered, "Could be a detail in the scenery, you know, one of those little details that most people over look for the 'big picture'."

"Yes," Jeremiah put a hand on his side, rubbing ineffectively at a stitch, "Yes I suppose that makes sense if it is supposed to be a hidden library. Well if you are going to take that side of the room." He waddled over to the wall that had windows interspersed with the paintings.

Downstairs Thorian wandered into the dining room while Ulrich settled his lizard in the garden, where it seemed quite happy to stick its tongue down rabbit holes like some vast and scaly anteater.

"Well Kay-ip-so," Thorian called, "We kicked their butts again, now who wants to play fetch?" Calypso lay curled round in a circle, legs in the air, a very odd kink in his neck.

"Hey Kay-ip, what's up boy?" Thorian asked as he walked across the room.

Ulrich stepped through the glass doors between the garden and the dining room just as Thorian crouched down by the goblin dog's side. Ulrich froze as he realized just how badly 'damaged' Jeremiah had been talking about. Glancing about the room he hurried down to where a dusty cabinet stood looking unused. Thankfully the doors swung open at his touch, revealing the treasure trove of greying bottles within but he still flinched at Thorian's sudden bellow of wordless pain. Grabbing the two nearest bottles, Ulrich hurried down the room to where Thorian sat in a rocking, sobbing heap, cradling the stiff body of Calypso in his lap. The goblin dog's eyes were already shriveling in their sockets and Thorian just howled inconsolably.

Plopping one bottle down, Ulrich worked the cork loose on the other and then laid a hand on Thorian's shoulder. The big orc-crossbreed looked up with eyes filled with water and snot streaming from his nose.

"Here," Ulrich said sympathetically, "It helps, not much, but it helps."

Thorian wiped his nose of the shoulder of his jerkin and took the bottle. Ulrich suppressed a flinch as a very good vintage disappeared down Thorian's throat.

"He was ma dog," Thorain mumbled with a slight slur to his words, beginning to sway, "He was ma dog. Never... Never had a dog... before. Just wanted someone... who.... who didn't think I was stew-pid all the time. Know... know I'm not bright but... just wanted a friend who... who didn't think I was thick... thick and worthless. Too smart for home... too thick for every.... hic... every where else." Thorian sniffed, repeatedly, eyes welling up again.

Ulrich paused for a moment as he wrestled the second cork out. He was going to have words with that gor-ram priest, words about use and unkindness and just damn well being one of the most lousy human beings that he'd ever had the miss fortune to encounter. Just about everything he hated about his father's family seemed to be rolled up and condensed into one being in that dough ball of an abbot. He was also going to have words with Kaelin about her arrangement with the lard bucket. He didn't know the details and he really didn't want to know the details, his imagination was trying to work over time on the imagines and he was mentally slapping white wash over the canvas as fast as it worked but she really need to rethink her life choices. Being the child, or grandchild, or both, of a werewolf was tough, he got that but there was no need to demean yourself below that. Even if that had been her profession in her past, which he doubted considering her skill at fighting, there were standards that she ought to be allowed to hold herself to. Jeremiah was definitely not up to those standards.

The second cork came out with a pop. Thorian flinched and looked up. This time Ulrich didn't need to give any encouragement as Thorian held his hand out for the bottle. Ulrich laid a hand on his shoulder as the orc-crossbreed downed the bottle, noticing the incorrigible fact that Thorian still had cobwebs draped over one ear despite everything, then he was struggling to lower Thorian's massive dead weight to the floor without cracking the poor orc-crossbreed's head on the marble flooring. The poor guy was going to have a big enough headache without a bump on the noggin added to it.

Elisha came in as the bottle rolled away across the floor.

"Was there any particular reason our green friend decided to raid my cupboards?" he asked as he stepped over, "Or did he think it was a particularly note worth fight? I know that some people celebrate such things by drinking that which the prophets forbid my people. Granted, having witnessed the day after such events, I think that is an eminently sensible taboo for us."

"Calypso died," Ulrich explained, wiping away the cobwebs off of Thorian's ear and straightening.

"Calypso?" Elisha frowned.

"Thorian's dog," Ulrich flicked his fingers, trying to get the cobweb off, "And from what he was just telling me probably his first friend as well."

"I am sorry," Elisha bowed his head, "If he had told me the dog was sick I would have had one of the animal healers look at it."

"It wasn't sick," Ulrich wiped his hands against each other but the cobweb clung on like a common cold, "It was dead."

Elisha's frown deepened.

"I am sorry, I do not understand..."

"Calypso was killed when we had a run in with a bunch of goblins not too far into the swamp," Ulrich sighed in defeat and wiped his hands on his coat, "Jeremiah raised it as... well, whatever it is he raises them as, named it Calypso and gave him to Thorian to be his pet. Thorian took it straight to heart, only when we got back here we found Calypso well, like that." He gestured helplessly at the twisted up corpse of the lifeless dog. "Thorian was pretty cut up about it."

Elisha strode across the room and knelt down by Calypso's rapidly desiccating body. Murmuring quietly, he laid his hands on the dog's withering form. After a moment, he sat back on his heels and sighed.

"It seems your friend is not as good at what he does as he thinks," Elisha reported, "This was poorly done, a puky child just beginning his training as a Master Smith would be ashamed of so flawed a working. Either he does not see that there are better ways of gaining the power he seeks or..." A dark look crossed Elisha's eyes.

"Or what?" Ulrich's hands went still and his gaze locked on the Master Smith.

"Or his is more delusional than I first believed," Elisha's eyes were grim as he looked to Ulrich, "And if that is true then I fear. I fear what he could unleash upon this world. Watch him, watch him carefully but don't confront him, not yet."

"You think he could be a danger to our team?" Ulrich felt the same grim expression touch his face.

"I fear that it maybe so," Elisha said, "But acting on nothing but fears can lead to them being true. Many a prophecy only became true because people acted upon them. Such is the way most dark wizards are brought down, they hear of a prophesied one chosen by the Gods to bring them down and in fighting against that prophecy they create that tool for the hands of the Gods."

"So we don't move until we are absolutely sure there is no going back?" Ulrich queried but was already nodding his agreement to it.

"I think that would be sensible," Elisha inclined his head and then gathered up Calypso's mortal remains before standing.

"I'm still going to have a word with Kaelin," Ulrich muttered, "That girl needs to set her standards higher."

Elisha looked at him in puzzlement.

"Kaelin's been spending a lot of time in Jeremiah's company," Ulrich's mouth twisted on the words, "Now I don't think she's the sort who could be forced by main strength into something she doesn't want but I'm worried that... that she's setting her standards for companionship too low."

Elisha pursed his mouth in thought.

"Then I guess it is up to you to provide her with better alternatives," he advised.

"Me?" Ulrich blinked.

"Who else is there?" Elisha asked, "She will have to go on with the team when you leave here, I cannot come and Thorian, though he has loyalty unlimited and a stout heart, does not have the mind to be able to protect her from such machinations that such a one as he could come up with."

"Oh," Ulrich felt a little winded for a moment, "Oh, well I... guess you're right." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Well I'll be blowed. Good job we are already getting on. Alright, I'll try and stay close to her."

"And I will see what I can do with this," Elisha hefted Calypso's remains as Hartseer stepped through the doors, "Ah my friend, we could do with your help."

The big statue-armor tilted his head slightly.

"Thorian has suffered a bereavement and Ulrich has given him the sweet relief of dreamless sleep," Elisha explained, "But I do not think it would be good for Thorian's bruises if he sleeps upon an unheated stone floor. Could you help Sar Ulrich to take him up to his room?"

Hartseer looked from Thorian's spread eagled form to Ulrich's sorrowful expression to the curled form of Calypso in Elisha's arms.

"I suspected," he said levelly, "That one will spread sorrow where ever he goes." As his words were an echo of what they had just been discussing, either Ulrich or Elisha had any doubt as to whom Hartseer referred.

"But this damage at least I can do something about," Hartseer strode forward and bestrode Thorian's limp form. He crouched and with some shifting about managed to lever Thorian forward and up on to his shoulder in a fireman's lift, straightening with a strain of metallic joints.

"Lead on Sir Ulrich," there was a hint of irony in his tone as he turned to Ulrich.

"You know that I don't have that title," Ulrich tasted the sour bile again.

"And you think that you don't deserve the title?" Hartseer asked, adjusting Thorian's bulk as he hanged snoring over his shoulder.

"I didn't say that," Ulrich turned to the door, surprised by his level of bitterness. He'd thought he'd grown out of that.

"No you didn't," Hartseer agreed mildly, "But it is what you fear isn't it? Or is it that you know you would wear the title better than others and that is why you left?"

"Became fed up of trying to earn a respect that I wasn't ever going to receive," Ulrich admitted as he lead the way up the stairs, "When I'd finally had all I could swallow I decided that I'd strike out on my own."

"And yet you keep coming back to the nobility like a bird to its nest," Hartseer observed.

"More like a fly to the ointment," Ulrich managed a smile, "After all, that's what had me put on a King's Special, isn't it?"

"You of all people should have known that when it comes to squeezing nobility, it is the peasant who feels the pinch," Hartseer paused, shifted Thorian to the other shoulder and split his arm, grasping the handrail with both hands on that side.

"Can you blame a guy for trying to even up the scales?" Ulrich shrugged.

"There are better ways of doing it," Hartseer noted, "The Corps are..."

"Full of the Old Boy club my unlamented sire is part of," Ulrich cut across him, "I'd have been more likely to have been sent on a suicide mission to get me out of the way than to receive a commission, especially as I would have been coming up from the ranks. Had enough of that from my childhood, didn't want any more, thank you very much!"

Hartseer said nothing for a while, metal feet clacking against the treads as they climbing the stairs.

"Say, do you fancy a cup of tea out on the dining terrace after all this?" Ulrich offered as they made it to the corridor that branched off the stairs to the guest bedrooms.

"I do not eat," Hartseer shifted Thorian's bulk again, "I do not drink, I do not sleep and I do not even breath. Just how do you think I will be able to 'take tea' with you?"

"Well I fancy a cup of tea and I wondered if you would like a chat as we have nothing else to do for a while," Ulrich swung the door to Thorian's room open, "I don't know if you can feel warmth through those metal fingers of yours but sometimes I find just the heat from a cup of tea in the hand is a comfort."

"You have a point," Hartseer steered Thorian's bulk though the door, "You have a point."

*

When Jeremiah heard Thorian's wails of anguish echoing down the corridors, he frowned, realizing as he did so that the books in his pockets seemed to be just a little bit warmer. As much as his god's approval was gratifying, it was an irritant to have such unreliable companions.

"Guess I won't be letting Ulrich have my drake then," he muttered, then glanced round to make sure that Kaelin hadn't heard what he'd said. She was no where to be seen. "Oh that is just peachy." Jeremiah snarked to himself, waddling over to the doorway to see if she'd just continued her search in the next room. Kaelin was not in there either but there were several extravagantly large paintings on the wall. Even while a nasty, suspicious part of his mind was beginning to turn over the idea that Kaelin had been lying through her teeth to him, Jeremiah wandered over to have a look at them. One of them was the usual triumphant battle scene, painted to glorify some noble houses' past deeds, most of them totally fictitious, the other was more... interesting.

A beautiful city stood tottering on the edge of a storm wracked sea, while above it dragons of many different hues soared and dived, belching streams of fire and acid or channeling bolts of lightning and flurries of ice into the now cracking buildings below. At the collapsing gates hordes of orcs and dwarfs charged... only they weren't fighting each other. Shoulder to shoulder they charged into the streets of the city, axes and picks sweeping flurries of a strange colored blood into the air. Jeremiah looked closer at the main building at the top of the hill. Elves sent shivering sheets of arrows into the defenders, while humans in crude armor scrambled and clambered up the steps, some apparently attacking the reeling defenders with their bare hands. And the defenders... the defenders weren't human.

Strange, elongated heads flushed with strange blotches of red or green, some even colored blue, long hands with odd, moon curved nails and faces.... Faces like something out of a fisherman's nightmares. Bulging eyes too far apart with unnerving letter box pupils, no noses and no discernible mouths, siphons blowing where the hinge of the jaw should be and chins made of writhing nests of tendrils.

On the top most step of the... Temple, Jeremiah decided that it had to be a temple, that or a palace but temple just seemed more true. Either way, on the top most step of the temple, a grey skinned figure with an even longer, broader cranium than the others, a skull ridged down its central line and surmounted by what looked like bony plates of black, dressed in a billowing robe the other defenders lacked, lifted an archaic looking staff to the sky, either crying to the gods over the end of his rule or cursing the dragons that hovered above, extra long face tendrils lashing the air with torment. There was something about the stance of the figure that didn't seem to be defiant anger but rather anguished betrayal, as if he'd never expected it to come to this.

Leaning closer, Jeremiah noticed that there was something written in the darkest corner, where the artist signature would usually have gone.

"In a single day and night of misfortune, the city of Locutus disappeared into the depths of the sea, never to rise again."

It was certainly an interesting piece but not what he was looking for. He turned away.

As he walked down the room, something made Hat turn itself towards the wall, the shift in weight disturbing the miter upon Jeremiah's brow.

"Do you mind," Jeremiah grated, hands going up to steady his head gear, "I worked too damn hard to get this for a bug like you to upset..."

He turned his head. There was something there, down a side narrow side corridor paneled in the same rich woods that the main room was, a corridor he hadn't noticed at first. Something was there, a vibration in the air like the lingering note of a deep rich instrument, or the expectant silence in an auditorium before the opening bar. Something shivered in the air, calling to him. Narrowing his eyes, he stepped into the corridor. He didn't like the narrow space, the feeling of being hemmed in and he was just about to turn back when he saw on the wall, further down, the edge of a picture frame. He waddled towards it, the change in angle gradually revealing the image to be a beautifully wrought golden high harp, stood alone in the middle of a stage, crimson drapes edging the image, gaslights shining, making it difficult to see the auditorium beyond the edge of the stage but there was enough details to see the rising seats and the grand boxes that lined the walls.

Jeremiah rubbed his hands together. Well Kaelin might have thought she was selling him a whole length of cloth but it turned out that there was some truth behind every lie. Now to just discover this darling art piece's secrets.

He ran his hands over the edge of the frame, fingering every curl and swirl of the design, tracing the ornate gold leaf, testing where the edge met the wall and then where it met the canvas. His eyes narrowed. There was nothing to say that this painting had anything special hidden behind it but there again neither did he seem to be able to pull the painting away from the wall to check behind it. There was nothing to say that it wasn't a perfectly ordinary painting, except that there appeared to be absolutely no gap between the painting and the wall at all.

Jeremiah tugged and turned at the frame, pressed it and pushed it, Hat swaying about on the top of his miter as his efforts increased. He checked over the wall around the frame, running increasingly sweaty fingers over the rich dark wood and golden inlays. Even as his brows furrowed darkly, part of his mind was able to recognize that this part of the tower didn't have the dust that plagued the rest of the building. And still that sound hovered on the edge of his hearing, tantalizingly close but still too far to tell what it was.

In the end he stepped back from the canvas and looked round. Kaelin hadn't come back to check on him for which he was thankful because he wasn't willing for any of the team to know just how far along his studies had come. That and if they let it slip to that metal stick insect he could find himself in more trouble than he already was. There was always a chance that after this business with the King's Special he might be able to get free and go some where he could start rebuilding his authority. It would be an undoubted pain to have to start over from the beginning but at least there would be a chance. However, if that judgemental stack of bolts knew he could speak the language of the Abyss...

He drew himself up to his full height and mentally prepared the tongue twisting syllables.

"Reveal your secrets," he commanded, the words making his teeth ache and his tonsils bleed.

The painting remained stubbornly, stupidly unchanged.

Jeremiah drew himself up, the words to the spell of blasting on the tip of his tongue, dark energies beginning to writhe around his fingers.

"You could have knocked."

Jeremiah choked on the swallowed syllables, acid swirling in his stomach as he fought back the ravening energies. He peered closer at the painting.

There, there in the second front box up on the far left something moved. Jeremiah leaned closer, peering passed the edge of the harp. A figure moved at the railing of the box, black on black, face the merest suggestion of white in the shadows. There was something about its shape that was subtly off but...

"And what, oh wise and learned man, brings you to the edge of my humble abode?" the figure asked, head moving as the shadows twined around it.

"A wise man walks with his head bowed," Jeremiah replied, "And always seeks to become wiser."

"Ah," the figure's face seemed to slide in and out of focus, "And your wisdom is so very great compared to others who limit themselves only to what is considered safe and tame."

"Yes," Jeremiah said, slightly cautiously, realizing that the figure was referring to the fact that he could speak Abyssal.

"So again," the figure moved with the grace of a practiced performer, "That begs the question as to what has brought you to the edge of my humble abode, oh grand seeker of deeper truths." There was as a ring to the figure's voice, that of someone used to projecting their voice into a large space and the lilt and timbre had the polished edge of a singer, used to perfection being demanded at every performance.

"I was informed that in this tower of mysteries and power there was a most fascinating painting done by the masters of old," well Jeremiah could play at turning a well honed phrase as well, "It was revealed to me that behind this most wonderful depiction of a master's harp there lay power uncounted and knowledge unclaimed." There not quite as good as he would have like but not bad for something he was having to spin off his cuff on a moment's notice.

"And you have come seeking this font of knowledge and dominion," the figure bowed its head to him, the suggestion of a smile haunting the shadows.

"I have come hither to that effect, par take in what hidden store can be uncovered and what mysteries can be made clear," Jeremiah felt that phrase had come out better. It was always best to warm up to any exercise.

"Then enter dear fellow traveler," the figure proclaimed, "Enter and be satisfied." It lifted a hand and there was a loud click. Jeremiah startled as the frame moved under his right hand and he stared in amazement as the entire picture, frame and all, now swung freely out from the wall it had seemed so deeply embedded in, at his lightest touch. The frame swung out and out, forcing him to step round it as it filled the whole hallway like a strange door that had lost its bottom third. Left hand supporting the frames weight he looked into the space beyond. Beyond the edge of the cavity left by the painting a set of rich but narrow stairs stretched up into the darkness, steep but with sturdy handrails set into the walls by well polished brass handles.

At least Jeremiah supposed they were well polished. The light in the stairwell was flickering, or so it seemed, the rich gleam of oily metal shining out one minute and the next falling into shadow. It seemed to have the same effect on the view ahead as well. Jeremiah couldn't decide whether a ceiling waited at the top of the stairs or a wind driven sky of scolding cloud. On his miter the edges of Hat's wings buzzed as if being tugged at by a rising wind.

Jeremiah frowned, a thought of caution urging him to turn back but then his ear caught what he had been trying to hear ever since he had come down this side corridor - the deep and resonant tones of a single instrument, hauntingly playing in the shadows, seeming to call to him with the promise of mysteries never fully explained.

Jeremiah reached forward and grasped the hand rails, pulling himself up on to the bottom most step. Taking a moment to regain his balance he began to climb.

*

Kaelin turned her head. Somewhere deep in the tower she heard a deep voice bellowing in anguish. Part of her wondered just what Jeremiah had set off and decided that she was well shot of the creep. If he spent the rest of the day wandering in hopeless circles trying to find that non-existent painting then so much the better. What would be even better would be if the creep never surfaced at all. There was something about him that was making her skin crawl more and more. Weirdly it was not the wolf within that was responding to him. She wasn't sure how ill it boded that it was all her human side that was finding Jeremiah increasingly repulsive. She was beginning to wonder if it was the fact that the way he could turn his words to mean something other than what they appeared to be on the surface reminded her too strongly of her grandfather. He'd possessed a glib tongue as well and the will to use it on fools. Like the wolves would ever be able to over run the humans... She shivered and rubbed her arms, remembering the werewolves in the swamp, particularly the one who's got away.

"Grandpa wants words with you, young 'un."

That could not be true, she was absolutely bound and determined about that. Grandpa was a soggy mound of grave meat and the world was a cleaner place without him. She was sure of it, after all she'd opened the doors herself and let the hunters in. She was sure of it.

She shivered and rubbed her arms again.

Enough of that, she needed to meet up with someone in the here and now. She wandered upstairs and down, looking at the portraits, some evidently looking back at her. Eventually she spotted Charlotte walking through the paintings towards her.

"Good afternoon," Charlotte greeted with a lot more friendliness than had been her wont the last time they had crossed paths, "I see you have come wandering again. Looking for something else? I heard all about your new toy. Can't say I think much of the name but from what the others who were down near the hall are saying you definitely have the family gift."

"The family gift?" that took Kaelin aback.

"Absolutely," Charlotte smiled, "Our family were always known for being great musicians. Granted the instrument is a little uncouth..."

Parp! Haggis objected.

"But I don't suppose we can help that all things considered," Charlotte ignored the interruption.

"Meaning what exactly?" Kaelin raised an eyebrow, suspecting what was coming.

"Well," Charlotte dithered for a moment, "Well, there isn't really any way you could be connected to us directly but you certainly must be carrying some of the blood from some where to have such a raw musical talent just blossom out of no where. That and our similarities really do make it possible that you come from a, how should I put this? A lateral branch of the family, shall we say?"

"Wrong side of the blanket is what you are saying," Kaelin said it as bluntly as she could without cussing. For some reason she didn't want to prove what this stiff little girl thought about 'those of lower stations' right but she still wanted to see her wince when she had to face her suspicions with all the fancy wrapping taken off.

Charlotte did not disappoint, noticeably flinching at the phrasing.

"Such a low way of putting it," she muttered.

"I'm a low kinda gal," Kaelin admitted, "So I guess I'm dragging the family through the mud."

"Maybe," Charlotte admitted, "My grandfather apparently spent more time on the estate than in the city. From what some said when I was little, he was usually in muddy boots with his sleeves rolled up, either tinkering with a plow or helping helping with the lambing season." She frowned prettily, "I can sort of remember a big gentleman with lots of wrinkles and brown skin, telling my father that he should remember that he came from muck and he'd go back to muck in the end."

"Sounds like I'd would have liked to swoop places, as long as I had the chance to spend more time with him than you got to," Kaelin actually had to fight to keep down a smile.

"He said something else as well," Charlotte frowned some more, "Something about my father having to sit down to 'go chunder' like everybody else?"

Kaelin actually snorted at that, much to Charlotte's disapproval.

"Any way," Charlotte said, obviously changing the subject, "Why did you come looking for me?"

"Your cousin," Kaelin stated and noticed a guarded expression flicker in Charlotte's eyes.

"What about him?" she asked carefully.

"I need a few more details if I am to track down any link to him," Kaelin admitted, "Cousin to Charlotte Susan Darling is a little too vague to be useful so something like a name would be a useful place to start."

"You have a good point," Charlotte admitted, settling herself on the chair in the painting, "Don van Ranchiff, that was my cousin's name, related to me via my Aunt, a nervous women as I remember her, easy to frighten. A her son seemed to frighten her most of all."

"Your cousin frightened his mother?" Kaelin raised her eyebrows.

"My father always said his sister was delicate," Charlotte said, "And I believe I told you the other day that my cousin was a cruel boy, the sort to enjoy sticking live insects on to pins."

"Charming I'm sure," Kaelin agreed, "Did he also pull the wings off of butterflies to see them limp round in circles until they died?"

"That or their legs to see them unable to get off the ground," Charlotte looked like she was chewing on something repellent, "There were other unpleasant incidences as he was growing up and some very nasty accidents, though nothing that his father could ever find enough evidence for to make it stick."

"His own father disliked him?" Kaelin noted with surprise.

"As I said, there were some very nasty incidences with some of the servant children," Charlotte admitted, "There were also some strange rumors floating about after my other cousin, his sister, went to live with my aunt by marriage. Strangely enough she disappeared after my brother died. The wizard who placed me among the paintings came to apologize about that. Said she'd been kidnapped but there wasn't ever a ransom note."

"So let me get this straight," Kaelin said, "Your cousin, Don van Ranchiff, was the sort of boy who frightened even his own parents? His sister, your other cousin, is sent to live with another relative, you die of the spotting sickness, your brother is murdered and your other cousin is kidnapped but whoever took her didn't even ask for a ransom?"

"Didn't even contact the family to let them know who had taken her or why, it was like she just vanished off the face of the earth," Charlotte agreed, "And you are forgetting that Don van was savaged by some sort of animal. It seemed to make him even stranger than before, least, that is according to my brother on the last time he visited. Apparently he kept going on about the natural order of things and the ascendancy of the wild and the primal doctrine and... why are you going a funny color?"

Kaelin remembered that she had to breath sometime this century.

"When was he savaged?" she managed to ask but she wasn't sure if she'd kept her voice level. Her hearing seemed to be playing up, as if the distance between her and Charlotte was bending and stretching in vertigo inducing ways.

"If I remember the time frame properly and that is a strain because things like that always become a little odd to hold on to for a while after you have made the transfer to the canvas," Charlotte looked up and wrinkled her nose to the left in the same way Kaelin did when she was having a good think, "If I am remembering correctly and that is a big if, if I am remembering rightly it was about a month before my brother was murdered, maybe slightly less."

"Twenty eight," Kaelin muttered under her breath.

"Pardon?" Charlotte asked.

"Nothing, just doing some calculations," Kaelin brushes the query aside but it did nothing for the rolling in her stomach. Great Good damn it, it was too close, just too damn close. The timings, the rants, the personality type, even the timid sister who was sent away and then disappeared. Her grandfather had always like his women submissive, submissive or broken.

"Well it certainly gives me more to work on," she managed to say, hoping that she was disguising just how badly she wanted to run away and scream, "But before I go, have you ever heard of a place called Greely Creek?"

"Yeessssss," Charlotte said after a little while, "I think it was one of the more major logging camps to the east of the family estates, maybe a little south, up in the foot hills of the Tarjarna Mountains. Father was discussing buy a stake in it as there had been some gold discovered in the area and he wanted in on the rush if there was to be one but he wasn't sure that it wasn't going to turn out to be nothing but a flash in the pan."

"I see," Kaelin suppressed the urge to shiver and then changed the subject. "So you've been hanging around on these walls for quite a while now, have you?"

"Too long," Charlotte sighed, "I have no idea why anyone would want eternal life. I would have liked a little more time myself but for the most part I have for these last few decades to be unutterably boring."

"So nothing worth gossiping about happens here?" Kaelin asked.

"The last really gossip worthy thing that happened here was when the original cabal of wizard's upped and left," Charlotte said, "We all wondered about that but we figured it had to be the usual, duty calls sort of stuff. After that we had the dust for company for several years and then the last master of the tower moved in. That wasn't so gossip worth as nerve wracking."

"Not much in the way of company?" Kaelin asked.

"More what he used to do to the company," Charlotte shuddered, "We were actually all glad when people stopped coming to visit, it stopped being so outright horrible, even if we had to live with the fear that without that outlet he would eventually notice us out of sheer boredom."

"I take it that visitors were not encouraged?" Kaelin questioned, "Or was it a case of visitors being out right eaten?"

"More that visitors became residents until they stopped screaming," Charlotte replied, "He'd usually lose interest at that point."

"Charming fellow then," Kaelin muttered, "But what about the new fellow? Elisha the Master Smith?"

"He is a little more interesting," Charlotte admitted, "But he is so rarely indoors, he's always busy, busy, busy and yet so alone at the same time. I swear I've never seen such a quiet man. Granted his damned souls are certainly worth watching but again they are usually out of doors so much of the time."

"So you can't see out of doors?" Kaelin asked.

"Canvases are notoriously delicate when it comes to water," Charlotte pointed out, "As much as I am rather tired of seeing nothing new, either do I want to spend what will possibly be eternity as a shapeless blob of paint from the first time it rains."

"So none of the paintings are out of doors," Kaelin nodded as she took that on board, "It is just that if we could move one of these paintings to the Capital in, say the King's Palace, then you'd have much more to watch and if Elisha needs to send a message to the King, or the other way round for that matter, then there wouldn't be a chance of the messager being intercepted now would there?"

Charlotte sat up straighter in her painted chair.

"By Jove, I think you have it!" she exclaimed, rising to her feet and rushing to the edge of the frame. Kaelin blinked in surprise and then saw Charlotte appear several frames up.

"Come on, come on," she called.

"Come where?" Kaelin asked, a little nonplussed at the reaction she had caused, even as she started to follow at a jog.

"One of the wizard's was a lady," Charlotte told her as she hurried through painting after painting, sometimes having to mutter a quick apology as the owners of the canvases started up in surprise as she hurried through them, "And I am fairly sure that no one has cleared out her room since she left. If that is so then I have an idea that might just work."

"What sort of plan?" Kaelin huffed as she realized she was struggling to keep up.

"No time no time," Charlotte chided as she hurried through canvas after canvas. Kaelin huffed again and actually broke into a run to keep up. Finally, after what felt like a mad chase upstairs and down side corridors, Charlotte stopped and let Kaelin catch her breath.

"There is a gap in the canvases here," Charlotte explained, "So I'm not going to be able to lead you but the suite of rooms you want is up this corridor here, second on the left, first on the right. Remember that?"

"Got it," Kaelin nodded sharply.

"See you there then," Charlotte smiled and stepped out of the frame.

Kaelin waited a few more moments to fully still her breath and make sure her color was back to normal before walking casually up the corridor. She was glad she had done so, for as she stepped round the corner into the corridor Charlotte had indicated one of the damned souls came padding down the corridor. Kaelin stepped to one side to let the cat faced, goat horned thing to pass. It nodded to her and passed, and passed... and passed some more. Kaelin watching in amazement as its impossible long tail seemed to snake on forever but eventually it was gone. Still watching the corner it had turned down, Kaelin reached out a hand and laid it on the door knob of the room on the first right. To her surprise it turned easily under her hand. Looking round casually she quietly pushed the door open  and slipped in. She shut the door equally quietly. Something about this whole thing was suggesting to her that Charlotte didn't want any more else to know about it. Once she was sure the latch was secure she turned round.

The room was darker than her own guest room but more lavish, rich red wood paneling and furniture laid out ready for a new owner. Charlotte was beaming from the picture above the bed.

"The lockets," she said, "There should be some still there." She pointed to a vanity table set before the window. Kaelin crossed the room and carefully opened draws. The was a rich jumble of jewelry contained within but she suppressed the urge to plunder for a moment. Instead she picked out a sturdy looking locket and after fumbling for a moment, managed to open it.

"Here I go," Charlotte called but Kaelin only caught a glimpse of her stepping out of the frame as she turned round.

"Oh yes," the triumphant but suppressed exclamation echoed up from her hands and Kaelin looked down to see Charlotte's face beaming up from the locket in her hand.

"Now this opens up all sorts of possibilities," Charlotte's painted eyes held a spark of mischief that Kaelin remembered once possessing, "Shall we test it out?"

"How so?" Kaelin asked.

"How far can I go from the tower before the connection is severed of course," Charlotte didn't stop beaming, "Would you like to go for a walk in the grounds?"

"I don't see why not," Kaelin shrugged with one shoulder, "If you give me just a moment, I don't think I want to share this with anyone else, do you?" Charlotte beamed conspiratorially. Nearly smiling herself, Kaelin closed the locket and turning to the vanity table hung it round her neck. For a moment she paused. Gold on black, the locket really did rather suit her, then she tucked it out of sight inside her jerkin. Eyes falling on the still open draws of jewelry, she let herself outright smile.

Moments later, she slipped out of the door and closed it softly behind her, pockets a little heavier than they had been that morning and several flat but wide banded gold rings hidden under the fingers of her gloves. This trip was shaping up really rather well.

*

Jeremiah pulled himself up the narrow stairs, puffing slightly. It wasn't just the stairs, there was something in the air. Though his robes hung still his breathing acted as if he was fighting his way through a howling gale. On his miter Hat fluttered and jittered, clinging on against a storm that should not exist as they were most definitely inside a building. Jeremiah straightened and looked round at the ornate paneling and painting. His boots sank into thick carpet and the colors, well the colors would have be glorious if they would hold still. Ribbons of color seemed to stream through his surroundings, flickering and whipping through the surfaces, like aurora lights in a arctic sky, breaking up the dull shades of grey and sepia but never holding still for long, always moving on, driven by a wind that was and wasn't there at once. And thrumming through the air was the deep resonant tones of the instrument, notes slowly stepping up and down the scale, layering themselves upon the echoes of the previous, building a sound that vibrated deep in the bones.

Jeremiah started walking towards the music without his mind being fully conscious of that decision. Round him decant wealth was on show. Whenever the colors cared to whipped the right way so he could see properly it was clear it was white marble, dark woods, blood red carpet, gold and silver fittings and intricate art pieces. But it did not have the feeling of a house. There was something about the width of the halls and the placement of the pieces that gave the feel that the space excepted many people to travel through it but not to stay.

He made his way up a staircase, the music ever pulling him onward as its deep and resonating voice softly called to him, and found that his suspicions was correct. Doors, lots of doors, far to close together to be rooms, even in a grand inn or a mansion. Palms tingling with excitement Jeremiah stepped up to the first set of double doors and lay his hands on the door knobs. The music swelled within. The doors swung open.

Jeremiah stepped into the front box, barely glancing at the number five in the small plaque above the doors.

The auditorium was empty but round him he had the feeling that invisibly, unknowingly, a crowd filled the space. There were the little shifts in the air, little sighs of breath that rose above the unending, unfelt but seen wind and the steady thrum of the music.

On the stage, the musician sat, illuminated by the gaslights but perhaps illuminated was the wrong word. Certainly the figure sat in the glare of the foot lights and his shadow stretched long up behind him on the stage flats but his form did not seem to be light. Or maybe it absorbed the lights and gave nothing back, nothing save the long slow measured swing of the bow over the strings as the cello purred deep and low, its music a haunting measured call that caught in the mind and stayed there as a background sound to the thoughts.

The bow lifted from the strings and the last notes shivered into a silence that was not silent. The musician rose.

"My lords, ladies and gentle men, may I give you the patron of this days performance? The redoubtable Jeremiah Maat!" the voice that proclaimed it was certainly used to performance but there was something off about the tone. It was almost as if two voices fought to come from the same throat, one a rich smooth resilient tenor, the other a rumbling baritone bass that growled through gravel but at his words an applause rippled through the air, unseen hands coming together in celebration of such an esteemed guest.

Pride rushing through him, Jeremiah smiled and bowed to his impalpable audience.

"As much as I am truly gratified by such a welcome," he smiled broadly as he straightened, "I confess myself a little confused as to what I have done to warrant such adulation."

"Ah but my most worthy patron, great benefactor of the arts," the musician could have been smiling, Jeremiah could no be sure, the man's face did not seem to be coming into focus, "Has not the most blessed muse brought you hence to my humble abode so that, in the exchange of knowledge, we can both be increased and gain greatness in the eyes of the world?"

"I do not remember meeting the muse upon my travels," Jeremiah still smiled to show that there was no disrespect meant by his words.

"Ah but do not the muse walk unseen, wearing the face of another, to drop her words of guidance as sweet honey from unknown lips?" the specter with the bow asked, "Does not she move us without us knowing until we are her willing supplicants, coming seeking the knowledge at her alter?"

"It is true that I coming seeking, oh masterly weaver of words," Jeremiah admitted, "And that I was moved by one who believed themselves to be uttering falsehoods to lead me down a path of nothing but frustration and disappointment but I now I see that the one of whom I speak was Serendipity's creature and moved by her will. So I do humbly place myself in you hands, submitting to learn what it is that you are willing to teach me."

"Then come down, dear friend, come down and witness the glories of a world long passed," the specter proclaimed, "Come down and revel in the glory of knowledge long forgotten and long lost."

Smiling Jeremiah turned and stepped out of the box as the music once again swelled behind him.

*

Ulrich settled himself at the side table on the dinner terrace, in consideration for his guest. Denied any seat that would successfully take his weight, Hartseer settled himself sidesaddle style on the stone wall, cup of tea cradled delicately in his metallic hands, glass marble eyes regarding Ulrich with curiosity.

"So what do you wish to discuss with me, while your companions appear to be absent?" Hartseer asked as Ulrich carefully sipped his tea.

"Well the first would be this," Ulrich replaced his teacup in its saucer and laid the fiddle out on the table, "Have you ever seen the like of this on your extensive travels?"

"It appears to be the commoners instrument known as the fiddle, or poor man's violin," Hartseer ran his eye over it, "More common in the northern regions of this country, were trade across the mountains is more open due to the dwarven people's strongholds and therefore more foreign influence is felt. What of it?"

"It seems to  be a little more than that," Ulrich admitted and briefly outlined what he had observed when he was playing it. Hartseer listened attentively, fingers flexing on the cup he held in a mimicry of the fidgeting common to organic people. He considered it as Ulrich wound up his observation.

"A relic," he gave his conclusion, "Not many wizard's in this country can make them now. After the wizard's tower was savaged by its last owner and the Circle either killed or enslaved and then killed, the knowledge of such craftsmanship began to fade. The King has sponsored some likely ones to go to the dwarfs to learn their smithing techniques but it will be years if not decades before the quality they produce is anything like this."

"I rather suspected that it was a magical item," Ulrich smiled, trying to sound like he wasn't blaming Hartseer for stating the blindly obvious. He guessed that Hartseer was used to having to deal with people for whom the blindly obvious was an item that escaped their intellectual grasp.

"As to what it is designed to do," Hartseer rubbed his chin with his knuckles, "I would believe that it is a draining spell of some kind. As such you may wish to keep this unusual treasure with you. Though there are not many human wizards left in this land, there are still those who can employ such arts and it maybe of use to be able to pull their fangs when they least expect it."

"So you believe that it drains magic?" Ulrich questioned.

"I think that would be a sensible conclusion, why?" Hartseer asked.

"I was a little concerned that it maybe a life drainer" Ulrich admitted, "Kaelin had already left the room, you see, so I wasn't able to see what effect its music had on a living being. Considering how badly she reacted to the whistle I found I didn't want to risk playing it around people until I am utterly sure what effects it will have."

"That is eminently sensible and considerate attitude," Hartseer inclined his head, "Unlike the attitude of some people I could name." Ulrich inclined his head in return.

"With all their many and manifest faults, my father's family were always sticklers for consideration and courtliness," he admitted, "Even insults of the most dire kind where to be delivered in a courtly manner and with consideration to form."

"And thus the most bland of statements can hide the speakers true intentions," Hartseer observed, "A reason I prefer the sharp edge of my assignments, where insults are simpler and more straight forward to deal with."

"There is a certain pleasure in being able to directly answer an insult," Ulrich admitted, "But there is always a certain pleasure to the long planned revenge playing out how you want it to. As I say, revenge is a dish best served cold, with those little cheesy things on sticks."

Hartseer actually chuckled, a dry, husky sound more like a gasp but a chuckle none the less.

"Is it possible for a relic to drain the life force of a sentient being?" Ulrich asked out of curiosity.

"Oh yes," Hartseer nodded slowly and the look in his eyes held the edge of a grin, "I saw one in the lands far to the south east, in the land of jungle and drought, during my travels. It was a most... tidy device."

"Tidy?" Ulrich frowned, "What do you mean tidy."

"They had a most admirable attitude to those that society cannot keep," Hartseer recounted, the grin in his eyes unfading.

"That sounds ominous," Ulrich sipped his tea to hide his discomfort.

"Not unless you believe the dangerously insane and the vicious should drag on their people until they do the decent thing and remove themselves from the equation," Hartseer countered.

"Define insane," Ulrich challenged.

"A man who strangles his lovers and then disposes of the bodies by eating them," Hartseer returned. Ulrich's tea cup stopped part way to his mouth and then went back on its saucer. "Apparently he believed that humans are a better source of nourishment than all others."

"Yes," Ulrich agreed sounding faintly sick, "Yes, I would define that as insane."

"So the device would take the life force of such a one and give it as a gift to one who had been dying of some incurable disease, such as leprosy, thus removing a risk to their society and enabling their existence to at least serve some purpose before they protected the world by leaving it," Hartseer's eyes were full of approval for such an idea, "As I said, a most tidy device."

"Indeed," Ulrich suppressed a shiver. There was something about utterly chilling in how Hartseer balanced the books between harm and usefulness to society. It spoke of a cold, clear view of the world, a dreadful checking and balancing of the books that viewed human existence as a series of numbers and debts, clearances and items.

"Just what set you on your travels?" Ulrich asked, easing the conversation away from such an unsettling topic.

"It was not a what," Hartseer admitted, "But a who. It was while I was fighting as the seen head of my Sensi's army. We were finally making decent progress against the paladins and marched into the estate of one of the lord's of the Domilii's lands. This lord had been known as recluse and for keeping to his estates, rather than attending court. I will admit that I was surprised that he threw open the doors to his estate so easily but it was when I met his unknown wife that I saw the reason for it all."

"That reason being?" Ulrich found himself leaning forward.

"The Domilii had began his assent to power riding the wave of sympathy after his family, parents, siblings and their children, had perished in an attack by forces unknown on their family estate. All died... save one," Hartseer leaned forward as well, "Can you guess who I had just found?"

Ulrich felt stunned.

"A niece, a niece had made it out alive," he said.

"And I had just found her," Hartseer would have been grinning like a cat in the cream if he could have done, "What is more she had the Spark of the Paladins in her. A Spark I could train."

"You were a paladin?" Ulrich frowned.

"No, the paladins would not have accepted me ever," Hartseer shook his head, "But that was the benefit of giving up my humanity for this." His metal fingertips touched his metallic chest, "Though I had not the Spark, in this metal skin I had the ability, once my Teacher had trained me, to go toe to toe with the paladins and win. Therefore..."

"You could train her," Ulrich guessed.

"It was my pleasure to have the niece of the Domilii under my wing," Hartseer rolled the sentence, enjoying its flavour, "And it was that pleasure, that pride that betrayed us both." The pleasure dropped from his shoulders.

"How so?" Ulrich was the ever attentive questioner, giving the impression of being a cob of corn, all ears.

"My Teacher eventually fell in battle against the paladins," Hartseer turned the cooling cup in his fingers, "When I next contacted my Sensi through the rune stones, he spoke of gaining a new acolyte soon, so what did I do? I offered my pupil for the position." He leaned back on the pillar behind him, satisfaction turned to deep dejection with whip lash speed.

"That didn't go well?" Ulrich had suspicion as to why but it still came like a sucker punch.

"He tripped up and revealed that my Sensi, the man I'd trusted to give me the tools to save my people, the one both my Teacher and I had trusted to change the world for the better, was... the...Domilii," the torment in Hartseer's eyes was a pit that reached into the Abyss.

"Oh no," Ulrich closed his eyes for a moment.

"All of it," Hartseer admitted, "The whole damn, bloody war, all of it had meant nothing at all. All of it orchestrated by one man to feed his dark ambition and the machine he had built. And I told him where to find his niece, the one missing piece he needed to be able to take the breaks off."

He stared into a distance, across a gulf to a place long, long ago and far away.

"Four hundred, ninety and seven years," he said after a long moment of silence, "Four hundred, ninety and seven years of trying to make up for betraying the women I had come to see as my daughter. Four hundred, ninety and seven years and even now it may not be enough, if Elisha is correct about the source of this trouble."

"Surely the Domilii..." Ulrich probed carefully.

"Is dead?" Hartseer's gaze was sharp, "Don't assume that. He turned me into this and I am sure that there was at least one other tat he experimented on."

"Oh?" Ulrich tilted his head.

"The last survivor of the paladin kill team that was sent out after me," Hartseer set the cold cup down, "When we parted ways he told me that we both had betrayals that we would have to answer for."

"That could have just been the fact he'd failed to stop the Domilii from fooling everyone," Ulrich pointed out.

"It could," Hartseer admitted, "But a Paladin's student was the closest thing they had to a child and his had always been unduly influenced by the Domilii. The boy had a powerful Spark but he had always needed an older hand to guide him and he had been separated from his teacher and friend. Or you could say that his teacher and friend had abandoned him when he possibly needed him most to come hunting me."

Ulrich thought it over.

"Betrayals you both had to answer for," he agreed, "I would say that the paladin certainly saw it as him having abandoned his pupil."

"And so we face something that potentially has the power to reach across oceans and defy time itself," Hartseer intoned. Ulrich thought it over.

"Guess we are in for interesting times," he agreed.

*

 The heavy thrum of the music guided Jeremiah through the building, deep but soaring notes calling him deep into the back stage area of the theater, the strange whip cording colors becoming more mute and utilitarian as he probed deeper into the shadows. The voice of the cello was a beating heart in the darkness.

Finally a door, dull and plain stood in the plain plastered wall with the vibrating center of the music just behind it. Jeremiah lifted his hand and pushed it open. Shelves and standing cases of books stretched away into the shadows, the music twining and swirling around them. Jeremiah felt his face crack into a huge grin as he stepped inside the room.

"Oh good Sir," he beamed, "You are a beautiful creature!"

The music shivered on a quick up tick and Jeremiah turned the corner of a couple of bookcases to see the master of this hall sat at the research desks, his cello in front of him and the bow just lifting from the strings.

"Oh my good Jeremiah," the figure seemed to smile but it was hard to drag his face into focus, "I do not believe that anyone has ever referred to me as beautiful."

"Is not the one who gathers and guard knowledge beautiful?" Jeremiah asked, "But I must confess myself at a disadvantage. You know my name but I have no knowledge of yours. May I be graced with such knowledge?"

"Of course, my friend," the figure billowed to his feet, crossed his waist with his bow and bowed to Jeremiah, "I am Michael Azrael, master of this house and guardian of its treasures. Please look and admire the gems that I have preserved for you."

Jeremiah looked around at the shelves. On one bookcase he saw copies of books he had only seen as disintegrating pieces, kept locked away for fear that the slightest touch would crumble them into dust. Here though, they were in perfect condition, beautifully bound and ready to be read. However, on another he saw titles that he had no knowledge of at all. He skimmed over them, wondering what 'Much to Do About Nothing' could possibly mean and where the two cities were.

"It seems you have books that do not have much to do with my studies, friend," Jeremiah turned back to Michael, who stood with an unnerving stillness.

"Of course," Michael agreed amicable, though that strange double voiced tone became more pronounced, "This is a theater. Surely one should expect the great works of literature to be gathered here?"

"I suppose so," Jeremiah admitted, not quite showing his irritation. If this had been nothing but a wild goose chase.... Especially as Hat kept clattering in the wind that did not exist. Once again Michael seemed to smile, though it was hard to say. All the rest of him was dressed in black with only the smallest flash of white shirt at his chin but his face seemed unnaturally white and he held it tipped to the right, as if trying to hide that side from Jeremiah.

"If magic is your sole focus however then I believe that the books there will be enlightening," Michael gestured with his bow to the corner of the room. Forgetting his carefully donned mannerisms, Jeremiah nearly scurried over to the corner of the room. A quick look told him that there were no books penned by the same hand as those that rode in his pocket but there were those that were definitely interesting.

"May I be so bold as to ask to be allowed to take these two with me?" he asked, turning to Michael.

"For such a friend as you, of course," the mouth was in focus this time and it definitely smiled.

"My unending thanks," Jeremiah smiled back as he slipped the books into his cavernous pockets. It was a strain however and he considered the fact that he might have to invest in a pack in which to carry his treasures. "Tell me, my dear friend, is there anything that I could do for you?"

"There most certainly is," Michael smiled again, laying aside his bow and placing the cello carefully on the table top. Turning he picked up a manuscript.

"My magnum opus," he stroked the cover with caressing fingers, "I need you to return it to the living world."

"The living world?" Jeremiah raised an eyebrow, "Are we not in the living world  now?"

The phantom smile grew wider.

"Nay, dear friend, we are in the shadow lands, the place between worlds," Jeremiah felt himself go cold at the answer.

"Am I dead?" he held on to the control of his bladder very firmly.

"Not... exactly," Michael said, "As I said, these are the shadow lands, the place between the worlds, as well as between life... and death. Here we are not alive, neither are we dead, we simply are and thus can we continue for all time, for time means precisely nothing here.  Hence why this building, which in the 'real' world is just a crumbling shell in a city of ruins and despair, stands in all its glory."

"So if you can last for all eternity here," Jeremiah frowned, "Why do you want your magnum opus to go back to the land of the living?"

"Why does the teacher long for willing students?" Michael asked back, "Why does the artist paint his pictures? Why does the singer sing her songs? I can continue here but I cannot perform. I have an audience of ghosts, not living souls! I need to perform, I need the roar of adulation. I exist here but I am starving for worship of a warm and loving public. I long to be heard again."

"So why don't you take it yourself?" Jeremiah asked. Michael hesitated.

"I cannot," he admitted, "The magic I worked to open this doorway for myself means that I cannot carry my great work back to the living myself. Please, do you not know of a musician who would benefit from knowing such a work?" There was something desperate and hunger in the tone, a pleading for salvation from an uncaring god. Jeremiah suddenly knew he had power, power to grant this strange phantom's desire or to withhold it. Oh Michael could threaten to trap him here forever but if he did he too would remain trapped here forever as performer to nothing at all. It was a heady brew and he wanted to make it linger.

"I...." Jeremiah paused, "I think I do know someone who has recently discovered a musical talent and could do with a proper score to play."  Michael lifted his manuscript slightly, a tick of desire. He was daring to hope that Jeremiah would do as he asked but at the same time not quite daring to believe that he would.

"But if, if I took your magnum opus to the land of the living what would I get in return?" Jeremiah said slowly, "I'm not saying that I will but if I did what would I get in return?"

Strangely Michael relaxed.

"You ask what you'd receive in return?" he laid his magnum opus gentle aside and lifted his cello, "Are you not familiar with the power of music? You are a priest are you not? I can tell that from your robes, though your order is strange to me so surely you have heard the soaring refrains echo from the height of the cathedral roof to convince men that God is with them? Have you not heard the strains of the arias that move men to cry for those of their number that they have never met or known? Have you not ever hear the anthems that make the blood sing and people dance for the joy of being alive?"

He settled himself, positioned the cello and laid the bow against the strings.

Music, deep and throbbing, poured forth, the beat of it throbbing in the bones and pulsing in the temples. It swelled and grew, resounding in the chest and pounding in the muscles.

Michael lifted the bow off the strings with such a rapidness that it jerked Jeremiah up short.

"You see my friend?" Michael smiled, still favoring the right side of his face, "You see what music could do for you?"

"Yes," Jeremiah spoke with a gasp in his voice, "Yes I believe I do." He clenched his fists, trying not to shake. He wanted to snarl, wanted to fight, want to find someone that he could punch for no reason at all, the music's vicious call still sounding in his bones and pulsing in his mind.

"So my friend," Michael laid down his bow and tucked the neck of his cello into the crock of his arm so he could lift his manuscript from the table, "Will you take my magnum opus back to the land of the living?"

"Yes," Jeremiah brushed his hair back from his face, still not entirely steady, "Yes, I think I will."

"Then my friend," Michael smiled, face still turned slightly away, "Then we will do marvelous things together, when the time comes."

Jeremiah felt something like a flash of static as his hands closed about the manuscript and somehow it felt as if the manuscript moved slightly of its own will under his hands.

"When we meet again," Michael inclined his head.

"As long as I see the great things you promise," Jeremiah tried to scowl but somehow it lacked its usual fervor.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Michael promised.

As Jeremiah turned back to the door to seek the way back to the stairs that led to the land of the living he heard the strains of the cello sing out again, building in the auditorium. Now it was was not the soft calling tune that had reeled Jeremiah in, now it was a bellow of triumph, a throbbing roar of victory, beautiful in its power, majestic in its strength.

For some reason Jeremiah found himself smiling as he cradled the manuscript to his chest, the strange winds of the shadow lands blowing passed him.