Litany of Wrath

by Levi Pfeiffer

  She couldn’t do it, hand grabbing the blade and hiding it in her wide sleeve against her forearm. Reuben stopped then, and turned around to face the pursuers. There were five of them, all as ill-dressed as Reuben, ten or so paces behind. They were walking abreast of each other in a line. The street they were on was strangely empty, and Reuben felt a sense of unease and decided to try diplomacy in the face of the superior numbers.

  “Well, what do you want?” he asked, aware that this was not the strongest of openings.

  The middle most one stepped a pace forward, “We have what we want right here, both of you, in the open, and where we can see you. Though, since you’re asking, it’s you we’re after, mister, and the bold little lady is just an unexpected bonus.”

  Pim moved suddenly, hand whipping out in a complex spring action that was as beautiful and as deadly as the blade that left it, spinning in vicious precision to bury itself in a post next to one of the figures.

  “I hope that wasn’t your only blade,” called out the person, casually loosing the blade and idly flipping it up in the air and catching it again, with the ease of one who knew how to use it.

  Pim reached into her vest and brought out the other knife, though she kept hold of it.

  “Isn’t that nice, lads,” said the first, “I don’t think they wants to enjoy our company.”

  Pim was scared, she’d already be fighting if this were her turf but it wasn’t, and to make matters worse they were outnumbered more than two to one. What she’d hoped would not happen reached her ears, another set of footsteps was coming, echoing towards them from the behind, cutting off their only avenue of escape. She could not afford to take her attention away from these five but there was an oddity to the new arrival, the soft tap-tap of a walking cane. Maybe things were not so bad after all, surely the cane was that of some fine gentleman out on a postprandial stroll, someone too important to tussle with. Perhaps the five in front of them would melt away, give Pim and Reuben a chance to escape. She groaned inwardly as the pursuers remained standing. Apparently, whatever they had in mind did not matter about bystanders, and the unfortunate pedestrian was about to walk into a most unpleasant dinner show. The thugs noticed the figure pacing behind their quarry while one checked the surroundings carefully. If it was just a bystander, the person would be collateral damage. Tap … tap. The pace slowed as it neared.

  The clicking slowed and came to a stop. The five figures gazing past the beleaguered pair confused Pim and Reuben. A voice from behind, well cultured and tired, “A little schoolyard scrabble, I presume? Tut-tut, here we are in the heart of civilization, yet as always, you find still the uncouth lout, ever ready to pull us back into the era of grunting beast versus grunting beast.” The voice was clearly used to having an audience, one that would be still long enough for its long pronouncements. In contrast, the five were nearly springing already, it was only out of curiosity that they briefly pardoned the intrusion. They did not really understand what had been said, but they recognized the tone, and their sharp rebuttal was crafted from iron blades rather than steely wit.

  The speaker for the five, not daunted, replied, “Excuse us, gentle sir, it would be a shame to get blood all over your frilly cuffs. Run on home to your nurse or stay for a little lesson on what it means to be a real man.” Tap … tap, the cane echoed a few more times and the newcomer stood in line with Reuben and Pim. Reuben stole a glance sideways, the richly-dressed figure of medium age was younger than he by a good decade or more. Not bothering to ask why said individual would come to his aid, he merely nodded greeting. He watched with a pause that the fellow did, in fact, have lace cuffs sprouting from the neat cut of the frock coat.

  “Gods, let me stick him, Gripper,” said one of the others, who had previously been silent.

  The leader grinned, “I say let’s get them, lads.”

  They spread out in a slow semicircle, relishing the hunted looks in the eyes of Reuben and Pim. The third they disregarded entirely as some drunk kid that wanted to show off. Well, they would give him something to show all right. Cudgels and blades were drawn from hiding places that were in the ragged clothing of the individuals. Tension filled the walkway, waiting for the coming skirmish. With the additional person, it could go either way. Reuben had no weapon on him, having been relieved of his acquired knife when he was last arrested. Pim had only one blade left and the newcomer had his stick held nonchalantly. Reuben doubted that it had much heft anyway. Reuben could feel the moment coming, Pim as well. Both tensed themselves as the others readied to pounce. And there, in the small moment when all held their breath and the dice were about to be cast, came laughter. Great wheezing, thundering peals of laughter from the man in the frock coat. It was enough to put even the most daring of them off their stride. You never could tell with the crazy ones, sometimes they would fight and fight on after they should have realized that they were dead. Swift calculation was being performed by the would-be attackers, but as the laughter carried on, Reuben could see the unspoken agreement that odds in their favor or not, they would charge just to shut him up.

  “Stow the laughter, Mister,” Pim said.

  At once the fellow straightened up, adjusting the silk cravat that had made a spirited attempt to escape his buttoned coat. “Oh, yes indeed,” he said, and he reached into his pocket with his free hand, pulling out what appeared to be a small coin. “Dear little scamps,” he said, calling to the five thugs, “Heads or tails?” Then he started giggling, again, nearly overbalancing with excitement.

  The thugs looked uncertain for a moment. This new person was clearly mad, maybe some lord’s progeny kept well dressed who had eluded his guardians to make merry on the streets. He would be easy to overpower, but it could be risky, some of the lords could hold long grudges when you messed with their own. The leader grunted, the giggling dandy was getting on his nerves; he’d sort it out later, anything would be worth shutting the noise up. The hyena laugh was far too grating. “Get ‘em, lads,” he said. As the thugs rushed forward at the three, the newcomer flipped the disc into the air. It carried forward on an arc that would have it landing in the midst of the charging feet.

  Small things can, at times, carry large potentials. The same small acorn in the forest may one day grow into a towering giant. A low rumble on the mountainside, a skitter of rocks resonating louder than usual may send small animals scurrying for shelter, somehow sensing death about to visit in the form of a rock-slide. The violin string, humming ever so slightly, inaudible but nevertheless present, waiting for the moment the fingers press and the bow draws; yet it may abruptly snap, the beauty of symphony lost and the potentiality instead released in sharp distortion.

  Reuben and Pim, tensed and ready for battle, watched on in a horribly still moment of time. There was the disc, spinning in the air, and landing with a faint sound of stone on stone. The disc had been unregarded, insignificant. The noise of the pounding feet drowning out the landing of the disc. The explosion that followed just after was ear-bursting loud, accompanied by a flash of blinding light. Four of the charging men fell over, crashing to the cobbles. They sputtered and ground their hands into their eyes, seeking to clear them in their private ringing world without vision. The fifth, the leader of the bunch, was not present at all. Where he had stood a considerable crater in the stone now smoked with heavy, acrid-smelling vapors.

  For Reuben and Pim the shock wave had nearly knocked them down. Spots were in their eyes and they could only vaguely discern the satisfied laughter of the frock-coated man. He hadn’t moved when the charge came, except to flip the coin forward into the path of the thugs’ charge and then lean back on his walking cane with a look of contentment. After the four regained enough vision to blearily see their former quarry confidently standing, waiting for their next move, the remaining thugs took off in a scramble. Peaceful evening returned to the street.

  Reuben turned to look at the smiling, confident-looking, face, “I suppose thanks are in order,” he said.

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nbsp; A quick shrug was the first reaction of the man, then he said, almost apologetically, “Oh, don’t worry about that, it was an experiment.”

  “Did it work?” asked Pim, dusting herself off.

  The man tap-tapped over, poking the crater his cane. “Hmm. Well, maybe.” His tone was that of a curious soul, just coming upon a new and yet perplexing problem. “It was supposed to create an intense reaction of violent expansion in a localized area of say, about an arm’s length.”

  Pim looked askance at the man, puzzled by his speech. Then, following the man’s gaze to the large shallow crater, “Where’s all the bits?” she asked.

  Reuben, who had been working out what the man said, his lips soundlessly repeating the line, looked over at the young man, “You mean it was supposed to blow up?” he said.

  “Roughly, yes,” responded the man, “And that it did exceeding well.” He sounded quite pleased with himself, face shining. Then his countenance fell, “Wasn’t supposed to damage the street, though. I am sorry about that.”

  “What about the person it killed?” Pim asked, still baffled.

  “Oh, I don’t suppose he’d care too much,” said the man, matter-of-factly. “Bloke probably didn’t have the eye for it. Few do you know, they just don’t appreciate it, but this part of the city, well, the masons did a superb job. Really sorry to have marred their hard work.”

  “Yeah, that’s a real shame,” said Reuben, carefully, “Who are you?”

  The man clapped his hands and did an elaborate bow, “Lucius Orramar, pleased to meet you,” he said. Then he returned to his search somewhat distractedly, almost as an afterthought, as he kept on morosely considering the state of the stonework. “Such a shame,” he mumbled again.

  Pim caught Reuben’s eye, “Let’s get out of here, how’s about that?” Pim said.

  Lucius shook his head, “Oh no, we mustn’t do that, looks so terribly guilty and all. Just wait along for the guards to show up and explain the situation, nothing to fear here.”

  Pim was already edging away from Lucius. She looked at the person as if he were truly deranged, “Wait for the guards, are you thick?”

  Lucius looked hurt, “Low blow, keep it above the waist, please. Or not about the waist at all,” he said, patting his stomach.

  “I’m grateful to you for your help,” said Reuben not entirely sure that he was, “But Pim’s right, we ought to be off.”

  Lucius peered at the rapidly dimming sky, “Here, it is getting on, though, isn’t it? Tell you what, let’s go to the inn now, and I’ll just leave a note, the guards are sure taking their time. Can’t wait around all day, after all.”

  As he was scribbling a note, Pim leaned over to Reuben, “Now I know why he’s being sent with you.”

  Reuben whispered back, “Yeah, I’m sure he’s got some relatives that would be heartbroken not to have him around for the holidays.”

  “He’s a loony,” said Pim, as she saw him write a note and leave it in the crater underneath one of the rocks.

  Lucius, having finished his task nodded at the two and motioned for them to follow him, back up the street he had arrived by. Before leaving, morbid curiosity overcame Reuben and he glanced at the message left behind. He saw with satisfaction it was addressed to the head of the Mason’s Guild.

  9 DOORWAY TO INFINITY

  Experiments with regard to my current project are progressing well. I dare not reveal, even here, the nature or means by which the recent achievements have been made. For safekeeping, my assistant has allowed me to store the most pertinent articles in his hidden safe. I agree with him, for once; though he be cautious to a fault, in this instance it is too important for unnecessary risks.

  Research notes from the personal archive of Lucius Orramar, Master of Karthild

  Heavy fog made morning in Entigria a clammy affair. Reuben stamped his feet impatiently on the cobbles, waiting for Lucius to return from within his workshop. He had been invited in, but had respectfully declined. It would only take a minute anyway, he’d been told. Reuben grumbled to himself; his traveling companion had a poor sense of time, he was sure it was almost a half hour in the cold now. He added that to his internal list of irritations about his new acquaintance, along with that ridiculous laughter last night in the face of danger. Lucius had calmed down a bit when they reached the inn. Over a light meal and a few drinks he had gotten to know the clever but somewhat distractible person as an eccentric inventor and practitioner of Karthild, sponsored by his family connections with the city. Reuben had not held that against him, despite his distaste for most in leadership. Despite this charity to the individual, he could still remember that giggle when Lucius had faced the thugs. Anyone who could do that must be a little bit mad, somewhere in that spinning, popping mind a screw could pop loose; hence his desire not to enter the madhouse itself, Lucius’s workshop.

  Soft quiet was all around him, embracing him in the pale light of dawn. Thankfully, he had been provisioned with fresh clothes and even some traveling gear that had been waiting for him in his room at the inn. None of the accoutrements were particularly excellent, however, they suited him in a rough and ready fashion. His own boots he had kept; old as they were, they were still sound, and he did not wish to break in a new pair. But trousers and shirt had gladly been exchanged for new and clean versions, with the addition of a light coat suitable for spring. Lucius had informed him that limited armament would be made available to them before they would be ready to start the portaling process. Reuben was less happy about that, but kept to himself that he still had hold of one poorly fashioned small knife on loan from Pim. She had left Reuben when they had reached the inn last evening, off to report her findings so far to Gavin.

  If he had been able to discern much through the misty street, Reuben would have seen a line of similar workshops. He was in the tradesman’s quarter of the city. Even at this early hour, there was a productive air of creation. There was not much carriage traffic yet, most were likely waiting for the sun to cut a path for them. Finally, Reuben heard the door to Lucius’s shop open and out stepped the man himself. He had put aside his frock coat in place of a great woolen monstrosity that covered him nearly head to toe. With it went a large hat, also wool, that fit him impeccably at a jaunty angle. Slung around one shoulder was a pack stuffed near to bursting. The redness of his companion’s face, and the small grunt the man made as closed the door and clicked the lock before stepping down to street level, suggested it was quite heavy.

  “Why so much stuff, Lucius?” asked Reuben.

  “Why indeed; we’ve no idea what to expect, right? Got to be prepared,” said Lucius. He seemed not to mind the heat of his clothing or the sweat that was already starting to bead his forehead.

  “I thought you said we’d have some supplies waiting for us?” said Reuben.

  “Oh, yes. But not this. No, this is just for me,” replied Lucius.

  They sailed their way through the morning streets, kept on the right bearing by Lucius. Buildings popped out of the mist like icebergs, great mansions and tall workshops whose heads were lost in the grey. Droplets of water appeared immediately on Lucius’s coat, clinging doggedly no matter how hard the man tried to shake them off. Reuben was so used to getting the odd raised eyebrow that he didn’t bother to notice the amused expressions on the faces of the few pedestrians that they passed along the way. These were the morning people, busy with their duties and chores, far too polite to chuckle at the outfit of a stranger when their own work clothes were stained with long use, but there were limits to what could pass for normal.

  Huffing and puffing, Lucius held up a hand, “One moment, got to get this off.” They halted, Reuben taking the satchel Lucius held out. It had two straps to it, similar to a soldier’s rucksack, but there were extra pockets sewn on everywhere. The bulging, misshapen canvas was indeed of considerable weight. Stoically, Reuben waited for Lucius to struggle out of his great coat. Free from the cloying heat of the garment, he folded the coat over one
arm and held out his hand for Reuben to return his gear.

  As Lucius was once again slinging the pack onto his shoulders, they heard a voice from out of the fog, “Aha! Found you at last.” Vapors parted to reveal Donovan.

  “Hey there,” said Reuben, glad to see a familiar face. “Must have been something urgent to pry you from your pub.”

  Donovan looked at Reuben and tilted a head towards Lucius, a questioning look in his eyes.

  “Don’t worry about this one. Got me out of a scrap last night,” said Reuben.

  Donovan looked doubtful but said, “Yeah, well, can’t be too careful these days. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ve been out all morning, hoping I might find you.” Donovan kept looking over his shoulder as he spoke, though he could not expect to see much in the fog. “Last evening, in walks five mean looking folk, asking if I knew anyone by the name of Reuben Torald.”

  “Must be a popular sort,” said Lucius with a grin.

  Reuben frowned at Lucius, “I think we might have met up with them.”

  Donovan stamped his foot, “What’s going on, Reuben? You pop up, out of the blue, then are gone just as fast. Now I got strange folk knocking on my door and disturbing my patrons. It’s a wonder I found you at all.” Donovan’s voice was strained and not just a little worried.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t explain it all right now,” said Reuben. He was beginning to feel concerned. He had known Donovan for a long time, he had always been a rock of good sense, if he was worried now, it meant something. “You ought to be alright, I’m heading off again anyway.”

  “Where?” said Donovan.

  Lucius held up his finger to his lips, “Mum’s the word, old lad. It’s a secret.”

  “Knock it off, will you? This is my friend you’re yanking around.” Reuben was beginning to feel quite cross at Lucius and his flippant attitude. Lucius flinched at the tone, with a look of hurt like a dog that has been swatted by its owner covering his face.