by wildbow
“So you’ll give me fourteen percent when you offered less to others. You think you’re flattering me.”
“Yes. We’re staying a little bit longer here. We looked into it, the heroes don’t have a strong presence here in your Charlestown territory. We can get away with just a little bit more.”
“Don’t think I won’t look into the amounts you just gave me.” Accord was using a stylized fountain pen to make a note on a pad of paper. Trickster wasn’t entirely sure, but the paper didn’t seem to have lines, and Accord was still making them meticulous, with neat, tight, flowing script.
“I wouldn’t lie,” Trickster said. “That’s a good way to get killed, and I rather like being alive.”
“It has its moments,” Accord said. He wiped the end of the fountain pen and snapped the lid into place. The pen joined all the other objects on the desk, arranged with explicit care to even spacing and hard right angles. It was almost artistic, the way things were arranged for both size and utility, and the uniform nature of the aesthetics, with the colors and materials seeming to flow from object to object. Silver and wood in dark cherry.
Accord looked down and corrected the position of the pen on his desk before turning back to Trickster. “Fifteen thousand dollars, and fifteen percent of any take. The heroes don’t have a strong presence here because they don’t need a strong presence here. I maintain the peace. It will cost me if I have people here, active and causing trouble.”
A little steep. “I’ll have to discuss that with my teammates.”
“Before you do, let me make you an alternate offer. You do mercenary work?”
“We do.”
“I’d like to hire you for a task.”
“What task?”
“I’d like certain items stolen from a rival. I can describe them to you and show you photographs. Do this for me, and we’ll waive the fee for entering my territory. Also, I’ll concede to have my share cut down to a mere ten percent.”
“Which rival?”
“Blasto. A tinker. Not quite the destructive personality his name implies.”
“I read up on him. Blasto from the latin prefix, meaning bud, germination or seed. Tinker botanist, grows walking, sentient plants in giant glass tubes.”
Accord gave Trickster an approving nod. “Yes. Tinkers are… bothersome. Tinkers who work wet are especially bothersome. They build, they learn from past research and past projects, each thing is created more elegantly or faster with the tools they’ve designed and amassed over time. A tinker designs a better welding torch, to use an analogy, and that allows him or her to build a better power drill. And so the cycle continues. Steal Blasto’s tools for my trophy case, it will set him back weeks or months. I’ll give you a further bonus if you destroy any other projects of his, as well as any computers or blueprints.”
“Dangerous, to attack a tinker in his lair.”
“Ah, you want more than just the waiving of your hospitality fee?”
Trickster was careful to be diplomatic. “No offense intended. If Blasto was that easy to handle, I’m sure you would have dealt with him already.”
“Agreed. Hm. As you surely already know, I am a craftsman. Not a tinker, but I use my power to create quality goods.”
“I’m aware.”
“I will pay you a moderate sum, and I will also supply a set of costumes for your team. Use your free time over the coming week to make notes on what you desire. Newspaper clippings, printed images or links to online images each of you individually like. They do not necessarily need to be of costumes or clothing. I would meet each of your teammates to assess their preferences. With that, I can guarantee you costumes that everyone in your group will like.”
And you bring the world a little more in order, Trickster thought. Accord was a thinker, and the running theory on his power was that he got naturally smarter as the problems he was addressing got more complex. It gave him an intuitive understanding of groupthink, politics, and convoluted designs. It also made him a local warlord capable of devastating counterattacks. The power failed to grant him the same advantages in a one-on-one fight, and he wasn’t quite the same battlefield strategist when it came to direct assaults.
Which was, Trickster understood, why Accord wanted him and the other Travelers to handle the attack on their own.
“Only four of us need costumes,” Trickster said. “The other can make her own.”
“Only four costumes? When there are seven of you?” Accord’s tone made it all too clear that he knew he was admitting knowledge he shouldn’t have.
He knows about Noelle.
“When there are seven of us, yes,” Trickster said, feigning a lack of concern.
The door banged open. Trickster tensed, his power reaching, even before he saw the threat.
It was Sundancer, with the receptionist following quickly behind.
Idiot, Trickster thought. I told you to stay back.
“Trickster,” she said. Then she saw Accord. “I’m sorry for interrupting.”
“The deal was for a one-on-one meeting,” Accord said. His tone was strained, indignant. Accord looked at his receptionist. “You didn’t warn her at the door?”
“I tried,” the receptionist said. “She charged on through.”
“It’s an emergency,” Sundancer said. “Trickster, we—”
“Shut up,” he said, and the tension in his voice coupled with Accord’s seemed to clue Sundancer into the gravity of the situation.
She fell silent. She’s smarter than this, which means the situation’s bad. But I can’t do anything about it until I finish dealing with Accord.
His heart was pounding. “Go wait outside, Sundancer. I was in the middle of a meeting. If Accord is willing, we’ll wrap up this business quickly, I’ll… offer him something by way of apology, and then I’ll come and talk to you about the issue.”
Sundancer backed towards the door, turned and left.
“Very sorry, sir,” the receptionist murmured. She closed the door.
Accord stepped over to the window behind his desk and stared outside. Trickster waited patiently as the man composed himself. Long seconds passed, and Trickster couldn’t help but imagine the worst case scenarios that would have Sundancer forgetting common sense and crashing a private meeting between supervillains.
“I am something of an oxymoron, Trickster,” Accord said, turning around. He was measuring his words, stretching out the sentence, as though he were fully aware that Trickster was now in a hurry, and he wanted to apply pressure.
“Is that so?”
“You see, I deal with complicated things,” Accord touched his mask, “And I excel at them, but deep down, I’m a very simple person.”
“I think we’re all very simple when you look past the surface,” Trickster said.
“Quite so. I like order, Trickster. Order means everything has its place,” Accord touched his desk, moved his chair a fraction of an inch so it was squarely in place. “And everyone has their place. Your subordinate’s place was not here.”
“I understand. I’m willing to make amends.”
“Of course,” Accord said. He looked up and met Trickster’s eyes. “I will be rescinding my earlier generosity. Fifteen thousand dollars will find a way into my hands within the next twenty-four hours.”
“Agreed,” Trickster said. There goes our pocket money.
“You’ll do my favor for me and expect no recompense.”
“Okay.”
Accord paused, seemed to consider something. “She’ll have to die, of course.”
Trickster tensed. Really, really didn’t want to have to fight this guy. “Let’s… not be so hasty.”
“There are two kinds of people in this world, Trickster. Some fit into the intricate machine that is society, and they serve as cogs, gears, levers and weights. I think you’re like that. I liked you right off. Even your power… balance, isn’t it? Move things from one place to the next, but things remain fundamentally equivalent.”
“Well said,” Trickster replied. His mind was racing. How to convince the lunatic to leave Sundancer alone? If he couldn’t, would it be better to fight and kill Accord now or wait until he could recruit the others? Accord wouldn’t have invited him to a meeting if he didn’t have some kind of safeguards. Traps? For all Trickster knew, there was a pitfall in the floor or dart traps in the walls. Accord’s power, his knack for complexity, would make it trivial to weave such things into the architecture of his home and office. If he knew, he could use his power, time it to put Accord in the way of his own trap… but it could be something else entirely.
Accord was still talking. “Others aren’t so accommodating. They are freefalling, careening elements, bouncing off any and every surface, damaging everything they touch. Pyrokinetics so often fall into this category, I’ve found. Rest assured, it’s better to eliminate this disordered element before it does too much damage.”
Trickster couldn’t find the words to reply. Think, Krouse, think!
“What a shame, such a young girl,” Accord sounded genuinely upset.
“What if…” Trickster started, his mind racing.
“Yes?”
“What if I told you she was an agent of order in the universe? That this situation, it’s not her that’s causing the discord? Like us, she’s just reacting to another force?”
“You don’t know the details any more than I do.”
“True. But I know her.”
“You’re biased by virtue of being her teammate. I see no other way than to act decisively. Would you like to do the honors, or should I?”
“I’ll show you what I mean. She’ll show you.”
“Oh?”
“Just give me a second to go get her. Maybe a bit of time to prepare—”
“Ten minutes, Trickster, and only because I like you.”
“Ten minutes,” Trickster answered him.
“And she comes alone. If she’s truly an ordered individual, she’ll show me for herself.”
Trickster nodded, turned and walked calmly out of the office, counting in his head.
The second the door was closed, he bolted, checking the time on his cell phone. That’ll be ten minutes exactly. He set a timer, subtracting the time it had taken him to leave the office.
The entrance that led to Accord’s personal office was set in an alley, out of sight of the streets. Trickster found Sundancer waiting.
“Trickster, it’s—”
“Stop,” he said, checking the phone. Seven minutes left. “Where’s your phone?”
She pulled it from her belt, “We—”
He used his power to swap her cell phone for his. “No, listen carefully. You just threw a neurotic, perfectionist supervillain’s world into disarray by intruding on our meeting like that. He’s now rather intent on executing you for it.”
“What?”
“And he’s a little guy with some big muscle at his beck and call. We could maybe deal with them in a pinch, but it wouldn’t be pretty. So I’m going to use your phone, call another member of our team to get filled in the emergency. You’re going to fix your mistake, and you’ll do it in… six minutes and twenty-three seconds. Look at the screen of my phone. That’s your deadline. Go, stop by a bathroom, tidy your hair, get it wet and comb it if you have to, but look proper. Better to look neat than to look pretty, understand? When the timer hits zero, you’ll walk into his office, then you’ll perform a ballet routine.”
“Ballet? Krouse, I haven’t done it seriously in two years.”
“Pick a routine you can do perfectly over one that’s fancier or whatever. Do it, apologize profusely for the intrusion, then bow out and leave. If he gives any sign he’s not satisfied, or the second you fuck up, set the place on fire and scram.”
“Krouse—”
“Call me Trickster when I’m in costume,” he corrected, his voice hard. “Don’t worry about burning him alive. He’ll have escape routes. You have five minutes and forty seconds, now. It took me three to get from his office to here. Go.”
Sundancer rushed to get inside.
Trickster called Oliver.
“Marissa?” Oliver asked.
“It’s Trickster,” he replied. Need to talk about being more secure with our names. “What’s going on?”
“It’s Cody. He touched Noelle.”
Trickster froze. “How bad is it?”
“Three times, Krouse.”
“Three,” Trickster said. “Fuck me. I’m on my way.”
* * *
There’s no way Cody’s stupid enough to make contact with Noelle.
There’s no way anyone would do it three times. How?
Throwing caution to the wind, Trickster moved through the crowd of people by swapping with them, zig-zagging from one side of the street to the other, scanning the crowd. People ran to get away from him as he appeared, but he didn’t care. Just needed to minimize the damage.
Minimize the damage. It’s becoming a running theme.
He found his target not by spotting him, but by seeing the reaction from the crowd. People were hurrying to get out of his way, running away.
The guy was naked, covered in gnarly, tumorous growths, and was moving at a limping run, attacking anyone he could get his hands on. One of his arms was larger than the other, and a fluid-filled blister covered his entire stomach, sloshing with the contents. His jaw didn’t fit right, and had dislocated on one side, giving him a lopsided yawn.
A man shoved him and ran, sweeping his two children up in his arms as he fled.
Three seconds later, the man snapped back into the same position, in front of the creature. Perdition… Cody. Except not quite. The man carried through the shoving motion, but Perdition wasn’t there any more. Shoving empty space, the man stumbled and was clubbed over the neck and shoulders with a massive, misshapen fist. He hit the ground with enough force that Trickster doubted he’d rise again.
The two children had fallen to the sidewalk when the man disappeared. Perdition advanced on them.
Trickster crossed the street, swapping himself for one of the people who was fleeing the scene. The children were running, but Perdition wasn’t one to let his targets slip out of his grasp. The six year old didn’t get more than three steps before getting reset to his original position.
“Hey!” Trickster called out. “I’m the one you want!”
Perdition spun around, and Trickster was already swapping himself for someone else, not allowing his opponent more than a glance.
Hide in the crowd. Can’t allow him a chance to get me.
“Kroushe!” Perdition screamed. He couldn’t completely close his mouth, and slurred the words.
Inconvenient.
“Keell you! Mehk it shlow, mehk you beg an’ crah and sheht yershelf lekk a baby!”
The little kid was getting away. Trickster allowed himself a sigh of relief.
“Shheh wush mine! An’ you ruinn herr!” Perdition screamed at a volume that distorted his voice even further, left it ragged.
Trickster winced.
“Muh cahreer, muh frenndsh, my guhll! You ‘ook hem! Yer a ‘hief!”
Some of the time, the powers would be different. Most of the time, going by precedent, they were stronger. Trickster was left to wonder how Perdition’s powers had changed. Duration? Range? The amount of time reversed?
Then his surroundings flickered, half the crowd disappearing.
Trickster didn’t waste a second in swapping himself elsewhere, moving across the street.
Perdition was only just turning in the direction of where Trickster had been.
He doesn’t need to see me now?
Trickster saw everything shift again.
He’s got a lock on me. Not as strong when he does it this way, but he can track me, force little jumps backward.
Perdition charged, and the crowd scattered.
He reached for his belt, saw another shift, and Perdition was suddenly twenty feet closer, a few steps aw
ay. With no time to follow through, Trickster swapped himself out of the way.
—And only belatedly recalled that he was putting another person in Perdition’s path. Perdition knocked a young woman to the ground, grabbed her, and then slammed her into a wall.
She wouldn’t have survived the impact.
“Kroushe!” Perdition roared.
Another shift hit. They’re about ten seconds apart, and he’s hitting me for anywhere from one to five seconds each time.
Perdition was halfway across the street. With the way the crowd was scattering and the number of available people to swap with was dwindling, he was running out of options. He could run or he could stay and fight, virtually powerless.
He stayed, reached to his side, and unbuckled the largest pouch on his belt.
Perdition was getting closer. He seemed to have only a general sense of where Trickster was, wide, mad, bulging eyes roving over the crowd.
Trickster swapped himself for someone else, waited until Perdition started to turn, then did another swap.
Perdition paced from one side of the street to the sidewalk, between the last two of Trickster’s chosen destinations.
Only one or two seconds were left before the next automatic time skip.
Trickster swapped himself for the body of the girl who Perdition had thrown into the wall, drew his gun and fired it, all in one smooth motion. Screams of alarm erupted in the wake of the gunshot.
He stepped closer, then emptied the remainder of the clip into Perdition’s head and chest.
He swapped himself for someone in the lingering crowd, grabbed the closest person. “I hope you own a car. Because you’re going to lend it to me. Fast.”
* * *
Krouse pulled the car into the driveway. Oliver was outside, and hurried to Krouse’s side.
Oliver was taller than him, now. The baby fat was gone, and he was fit. Krouse had wondered at times why Chris had been so attractive to the ladies. He didn’t wonder with Oliver. Oliver was attractive in a way that meant he could model, he was naturally athletic, he was even smart. It was scary how fast he was picking up new skills.