by Tee Morris
“When Hammil dared to stand up to Julie and threaten her paltry volunteer position over tagging the Sword, that was her troll-sized clue that there was something special to it. For Hammil, the Sword was a ticket out of Chicago and out from under her thumb.”
“How did Julie know this thing was some free ride to the good life?”
“Don’t you know, Miranda?” I gave her a bright smile and looked up at the statue. The likeness was incredible. Julie would have approved. “Woman’s intuition.” That, and the Sword’s magic calling to her and just about anyone else of a female persuasion. But I still wanted to avoid the whole magic issue with Miranda for now.
Miranda was about to say something else when she paused. Something about the statue caught her attention for a second. She then looked around at the people also stopping momentarily as they passed by it—primarily women appearing transfixed by the new monument.
“Let’s get outta here, Billi,” Miranda said nervously, the color suddenly drained from her face. “This thing is giving me the creeps.”
Interesting. I didn’t count on the Sword continuing to have that effect. “Sure thing.”
We stepped out into the brisk, crisp day, taking a moment to let our eyes adjust as the afternoon sunlight reflected off the bright white steps of the courthouse. I never liked that about the government buildings here. The glare was tough on the eyes, especially when you spend a lot of time indoors for a statue dedication. I’m just that type of dwarf who likes to know where he is and what he is about to step into.
And had I known what I was about to step into, I would have waited inside.
“H-eeeeeeeyyyy, Baddings! Howya doin’, Short Stuff?”
I don’t know if Miranda meant to dig her hand into my shoulder like a falcon’s talons into its prey, but her grip only tightened when Capone gave her the approving once-over. With a little wince, I gently patted her hand away. There was no reason for her to worry yet. This was just the next test to pass.
“Mr. Capone,” I smiled. “What can I do for you?”
He shook his head and gave that gruff, gravelly laugh of his that made me acutely aware of how close Beatrice was to my breast. “You. Yooooouuuu…you are somethin’, Baddings. You’re a piece a’ work, you y’are! When I heard datcha were still walkin’ around, I couldn’ believe it!”
“You and me both, Mr. Capone.” I motioned to the gloves he wore, color-coordinated with his suit. “How are the hands?”
“Ah, it’s still a pain in th’ ass pickin’ up t’ings, but th’ doctahs say I’m healin’ up all right. I still don’ know what all dat was wit da Sword. I ain’t nevah seen anyt’ing like dat befoah. I guess I won’ evah see anyt’ing like dat again, seein’ as I don’t got it.”
He held his hand up, the fingers slowly, stiffly opening up enough for one of his pinstriped orcs to place a stogie in his hold. As they cut and lit the cigar, he bent down toward me and lowered his voice. “Y’know, I heard dey found dat Lesinjah girl, th’ dansuh, an’ my boys, but dey nevah found da Singin’ Sword.”
“Ain’t that something?” I returned in that same hushed manner. “You want to hire a detective to find it for you?”
Capone gave a few puffs on the cigar, the pleasantries now notably gone from his face. “D’ya t’ink I need a detective ta find it, or jus’ find th’ detective dat’s got it?”
I had this urge to get in his face, but why should I? I was the one in control. “Are you sure you want to threaten me, Alphonse? Think about that night for just a sec, and take a good look at who’s still standing afterward.”
Capone’s boys were only an order away from making us a public spectacle, but the Big Boss merely nodded, returning to his full height. He gave a slight grunt as he removed the cigar from his mouth slowly, pointing it at me as if it were a sixth finger. “Okay, Baddings. Okay. But I’ll be watchin’ yous,” he said, still nodding. “Even if I ain’t around, I’m watchin’ yous.”
“What? Taking a trip out of town, are we?”
He couldn’t help but smile at the sparring partner who barely made it past his waistline in height. “Yeah. Headin’ up t’Atlantic City. Business trip.”
“Make sure you don’t work too hard. Give yourself a break. Take in a movie or something.”
“I might jus’ do dat.”
With the cigar back in his mouth and a nod to his boys, Capone turned to leave. “Stay outta trouble, Small Fry,” he said over his shoulder.
“You, too, Al,” I replied.
Not until Capone got into his car did Miranda finally speak. “Billi, what the hell do you think you’re doing, talking to Al Capone like that?!?”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, watching the King’s chariot pull away.
“What do you mean ‘Don’t worry about it’? I think he just gave us plenty to worry about!”
“Miranda,” I sighed. I saw where this was heading. “Capone was there when it all went down in the warehouse. He’s seen the Singing Sword, and he knows what it can do. He also knows that after he scampered out of there like a panicked dungeon rat, no one else came out of that warehouse alive, save for one hard-ass dwarf.” I gave her an assuring smile. “You think he’s going to try and tangle with someone who could survive something like that?”
I saw the question forming in her eyes. The wait was killing me, and a strange relief washed over me when she finally asked.
“Billi, what the hell is this Singing Sword?”
“Come on, Miranda,” I said, taking her hand in mine. “Let’s go for a walk.”
*****
We were passing a fountain in Grant Park, a huge mother of artistic and engineering expression. I was afraid that I would have to raise my voice over the loud burble, but Miranda was hanging on my every word. I told her everything. About Acryonis. About Gryfennos. The dwarves, orcs, elves, dragons, and the mission to Death Mountain. It all came bubbling up to the surface, returned to the source, and then came bubbling back out again. (Guess the Buckingham Fountain and I had a lot in common this afternoon.)
From the way Miranda’s eyes widened at my telling of what really happened the night Julie Lesinger bought the shire, I could tell that in some weird way, she was buying into it. Miranda was throwing me a killer curve ball the like of which would make Lefty Grove green with envy.
“And that, Miranda, is why Capone, the Feds, and Julie Lesinger all wanted the Sword of Aran—the Singing Sword—so bad. Capone now knows what Julie, Daphnie, and Benny took to the Lower Dungeons of Urlinon. He now knows its power, and that a little Scrappie got away with only a couple of scratches and bruises from something that only a select few in this realm—and far too many in Acryonis—know about.”
“Wow, Billi, this is…”
Her voice trailed off. Poor kid was quickly approaching that wall folks hit when the brain can’t think anymore. She kept looking around the fountain and back at the visible Chicago skyline. Finally, she said in a barely audible, uncertain tone, “Would you please get up here for a minute? I want to look you in the eye.”
I knew that tone. It was one I’d heard from a couple of Dwarven heartbreakers just before the end of what I believed was a solid union between a man and a woman. It was that tone of vulnerability and disappointment. Because I had never heard this kind of voice from my girl Miranda before, I knew my confiding in her had turned out to be a good intention gone bad. Damn.
The afternoon breeze swept a couple of my thinner braids to one side while the main ones barely moved. I took a deep breath and looked right into Miranda’s pretty peepers. Guess it was going to be time to look for a new secretary.
I shouldn’t have started running down in my head the list of potential employment agencies. If I hadn’t, I could have stopped her hand from giving me a hard shove in the chest.
It was a beautiful, clear day. I remember this because as I toppled back, I caught a glimpse of the brilliant blue sky, as crisp and clean as the water I landed into. Still chilly from this morning,
it caressed me in all my cracks and crevices like a skilled tavern wench. Crying out underwater usually amounts to a mouthful of water and a lot of bubbles, and I didn’t disappoint. Then my brain kicked in with, “Hey, Baddings, you’re wearing your best navy blue pinstripe and the shoes aren’t too keen on water!” That was what brought me back to the reality that I was fully dressed and doing the backstroke in Buckingham Fountain.
Now I was back on my feet, drowning out the fountain noise around me with the gush of water pouring out of my clothes. If it weren’t for my best suit, the pigeons would have taken me for one of those cherub decorations that made great perches (or privies) as I slowly spit out the water in my mouth.
“That was for keeping secrets from me, Baddings!” Miranda snapped, her arms crossed tight across her chest. Even miffed to the degree of a battle-raged orc, she still somehow managed to be a cutie-pie. “Do it again, and I will quit. And I dare you to find anyone with looks and brains in a package like this!”
I put my hands on my hips and gave a good, hearty belly laugh. “Swear to the Fates, girl, if you didn’t keep my office running so well…” I slowly worked my way to the edge of the fountain, my movement hindered by the wet clothing and my laughter. I must have looked absolutely absurd. (If you think a dwarf in a pinstripe is funny, picture the same dwarf soaked to the gills.)
I gave an exasperated sigh and looked up at my secretary. “I got to stop underestimating you, Miranda.”
“That you do, Billi!” she snickered, but still with a hint of anger in her tone. “That you do!”
The stone of the Buckingham Fountain was warm, so I figured I’d let the afternoon sun bake me for a bit before we returned to the office. Miranda took a seat next to me, close enough that I could flick a small spray of water in her face from my fingertips. She chuckled, but then the smile melted away as she turned back to me. “Billi, if you don’t have the Singing Sword and both Capone and the Feds are still looking for it, then where is it?”
I smiled with overwhelming satisfaction. “That is a story for another time. The less you know, the safer—”
“Billi…” she warned.
“Okay, okay.” I held my hands up, hoping the submissive gesture would be enough to keep me out of Buckingham Fountain a second time. “I told you that Julie figured out only women could wield the Singing Sword, right?”
“Yeah.” Her eyes grew wide. “You gave it to some woman you know?”
“Well, you could say I work for this woman.”
“But aren’t you worried that this dame will…you know…figure out how it works?”
“Nah. This lady has her hands full, what with holding scales in one hand, the Singing Sword in the other, and keeping an eye on the lowlifes who thought they could beat the rap.”
Miranda had heard so much fantastic stuff from me this afternoon, I feared that this latest bit of trivia would make her head explode. “The Singing Sword…is in the new statue of Lady Justice?”
“I can’t think of any lady worthier of wielding it,” I declared, wringing out my jacket. “When I heard that Lesinger was holding up the dedication, I made some new friends at the studio where they were creating the old girl. Didn’t cost me as much as I thought it would to make these new friends. The Singing Sword is impervious to damage because it’s forged in magic, so we dipped the entire thing in bronze. Kinda turning the Sword into a metallic version of a chocolate-covered peanut. And as the artists were all guys, we didn’t have to sweat the ‘clear minds’ issue. Once the bronze shell dried, they worked it into Lady Justice’s grasp. We still had enough in the kitty to work in the wee-small hours of the morning when no one was around, and to keep these arteests quiet.”
“So this sword everyone’s looking for is going to be on the front page of tomorrow’s Tribune?”
I laughed at Miranda’s observation. “You’re going to need an arc welder to get to it, provided you can identify it. Even the blade’s engravings are hidden by the bronze. Julie wanted to wield the Sword of Arannahs, and she got her wish.” I gave the jacket a sharp snap and shook my head. “If I hadn’t deserved that shove in the fountain, the pressing of this suit would be coming out of your next paycheck!”
I was pouring out the water from my shoes when I looked up to Miranda, who appeared hypnotized by the building tops that pierced the cerulean blue backdrop.
“Go on,” said the kind, soft voice that now caught our attention. It was a mother and her kid; the little tyke couldn’t have been older than three. “Make a wish.”
The child looked at the penny in his hand. He was probably thinking, “But, Ma, this is a whole penny! Do you know how far I could go on this penny?” He made a quick, sharp motion with his hand, and the plunk of the penny and its slow, languid voyage to the fathoms of the fountain brought a curious smile to his face.
The innocence of the moment brought a smile to Miranda’s face as well. She silently pulled out a nickel, closed her eyes, and flipped it into Buckingham Fountain.
“What did you wish for, Miranda?”
She opened her eyes and smiled. “Now if I told you that, Billi, it wouldn’t come true. Now would it?” She stared at the nickel’s image warping under the cascade of ripples on the water’s surface. “Actually, it was more of a prayer than a wish. For Julie Lesinger. I’m an old-fashioned Baptist, Billi, but I have never been a real believer in reaping what you sow. I mean, from what you were telling me, Julie got pushed too far by her father and that bookworm, Hammil. Doesn’t she deserve some mercy? No one should die the way she did.”
The way she died, I reflected, or the way I let her die?
“A question for the ages, Miranda. A question for the ages.” I sighed, wringing out my socks. I figured I could change my shorts when we got back to the office. “If you love someone enough, will that guarantee they will turn out right? I’ve seen humans with real troll turds for parents wind up being the greatest of heroes, and I’ve seen the wealthiest and highest of nobility turn on themselves like a pack of rabid wolves delirious from hunger. Did I want Julie to meet her end like that? Hell, no. Did she bring it on herself? Well, maybe. Magic and the power it promises does strange things to people.” I slipped back on my socks and shook my head. “Sometime I will have to share with you what I know about it. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough.”
I slipped back into my shoes, still damp but dry enough to handle a walk back to the office where a fresh, dry change of clothes awaited me.
“Billi,” Miranda said, a note of apprehension in her voice. “You said that these portals were conjured up by those magician types, right?”
“Yeah,” I grunted. “Those necromancers were always pulling rabbits out of their hats or lightning bolts out of their asses. I tell you though, if Houdini were still alive, he’d have a fit trying to discredit them! It’s always hard to discredit a wizard when you’re missing your mouth, dealing with a third arm growing out of your back, or trying to adjust to your transformation into a patch of bog moss.”
Miranda simply nodded. That’s my girl. So accepting of things beyond the realm of the believable! “Well, okay, so you came through one of these portals along with the Singing Sword, right?”
“Right.”
“So…what else do you think came with you?”
We just looked at one another. This was one of those times that I really wanted Miranda to have a severe moment of stupidity, but this was not to be one of those moments. I really didn’t know what to tell her. My World Book. Me. And nine talismans, each infused with the same level of destructive power, and if brought together, possessing the ability to make The Great War look like a court jester’s routine gone bad. One of these talismans turned up in Egypt, made its way to my back yard, and was now on permanent display in a Chicago courthouse. Another was stolen from the Smithsonian by some whacked-out European nationalists.
So where were the other seven?
And if that wasn’t bad enough…what else, besides the talismans, had come t
hrough these random Portals of Oblivion?
Wizards. I just hate them.
I turned back to face Buckingham Fountain and pulled the fool’s gold coin out of my pocket. I’d kept it with me since that night at the warehouse as a reminder. The coin, with its glyphs and runes carved into it, couldn’t catch the light on account of there was no shine left in it to catch. A dead trinket, now surrendering to decay.
Still, it was a coin. And appropriate as it now shared a bond with one of the nine talismans of Acryonis. I closed my eyes, made a wish, and flipped the coin into the air.
My thumbnail striking it did manage to coax out of the coin a dull “ting” that continued to ring in my ear as it flew. I watched the metal disc flip again and again, its speed creating an illusion of a dozen coins all spinning as one in its little space. Then it struck the water with a hard, loud “per-loup” and a small spike of water shot upward for a moment, collapsing into a series of rings that extended from the point of the coin’s entry. It floated down to the fountain’s bottom with a gentle rocking motion, coming to rest among other coins that carried hopes and dreams.
And this realm doesn’t believe in magic? Hardly.
“So,” Miranda asked as she stood up, “what did you wish for?”
“If I t-t-told you, sweetie, then it w-w-wouldn’t c-c-come t-t-true,” I said through chattering teeth as a light breeze gave my water-soaked self an unexpected chill. “Trust me, Miranda, you’ll want this one t-t-to.”