by J. S. Miller
I picked up the sword next, but it had already undergone extensive modifications. It’d clearly started out as a European longsword, but someone had replaced the hilt and coated the blade in protective oils, which had kept it razor sharp. I pushed a small button located near the cross guard, but nothing happened. I tried again, channeling a bit of power into it this time, and the blade burst into flames. Remarkable. After that initial burst of energy to jump-start the fire, it could apparently keep itself going indefinitely. He’d somehow created a mechanically self-sustaining alchemical reaction. I pushed the button again, and the flames disappeared, leaving the sword unharmed.
The Stoneskin lacquer looked almost ready, so I removed it from the heat and started to unbutton my shirt before hesitating. I had no idea if this stuff would work, so it might be prudent to test the lacquer on something that wasn’t my only shirt in the entire world. Plus, it’d be nice to have additional layers of protection.
I glanced around the room and saw a wooden coat rack leaning against one wall. On it hung a red velvet smoking jacket Hugh Hefner probably would’ve loved. I sighed, walked over, and pulled down the jacket.
Tossing the garment into a large sink, I snatched up the beaker and drenched the fuzzy fabric with its contents. The concoction bubbled and hissed for a few seconds before soaking in, but it dried quickly, and the jacket still felt soft and pliable afterward. When I tried to cut it with the sword, however, I couldn’t produce so much as a frayed thread. Perfect. I stripped down to repeat the process with the rest of my clothes and the rune satchel. Indestructible garments acquired, I only needed one more thing: ammo.
One of the cabinets held an array of round glass bottles with rubber stoppers and long fuses. They looked like Christmas ornaments waiting to be painted red and green, but instead, I selected only those small enough to fit down the barrel of the blunderbuss and filled them with every color in the alchemical crayon box. They clinked softly as they fell into my rune satchel.
Slinging the gun over my shoulder and sword across my back, I made for the exit. It was time to go back to Astoria.
Chapter 28
The tracks Coppersworth and I had made were easy to follow. Well, his tracks were, at any rate. My friend’s feet left broad, deep prints, and for the first time, I noticed the runework in them. Alchemical symbols representing lightness, stability, and balance had been carved into the soles. Walking beside them felt like following in my forefather’s footsteps — something I’d always gone to great lengths to avoid.
Newton’s Hollow remained cold and unwelcoming, but it also exuded an emptiness it hadn’t before. Aside from my own feet crunching on leaves and the spidercat above me whispering through the trees, the place was silent. Not just quiet, but silent, as if someone had pressed mute on the entire world.
We passed through the clearing with the melted stump and then made our way into Tree Dog City. As I walked beneath the bioluminescent buds, no shi dogs cried out in alarm. No sounds of any kind came from the forest around us or the branches above.
A chill breeze made me shiver, and I downed one of the restorative elixirs I’d made in Rundale’s lab. It flooded my body with warmth, bolstering me against the cold and giving me a burst of energy. These elixirs didn’t quite do the work of a hot meal and a good night's sleep, but they were better than a whole box of Red Bulls.
Spidercat and I marched long into the night before we reached the edge of the canopy. The moon city glowed overhead, hanging like a meteor freeze-framed in the instant before impact. At least Astoria hadn’t already been destroyed. That would’ve been a bit anticlimactic.
I stepped forward, but the cat started hissing. It stared into the murky darkness that lay between us and Astoria, its back arched, its eyes frantic. Before I could do or say anything, it bolted back into the forest, leaving me standing alone at the edge of the trees.
I raised a hand to block out the light from the city and tried to locate the gondola. Something about the shadows did feel … wrong. They seemed to writhe, and every so often, I caught a glimpse of white, flashing like teeth in the night.
The Laughing Man’s army was already here.
As my eyes adjusted, more and more of the encampment stretched out before me. It had encircled the entire city, and red figures prowled in the dark, skulking between the carcass tents like attendees at an International Boogeyman Convention. I’d seen it all before, but not like this. Not waiting at the feet of a helpless foe. Not laying silent siege to a city with no walls.
In my bag, I found a bottle filled with sparkling orange liquid. The globe pulsed faintly as I centered myself and imbued it with energy. I set it on the ground, took a step back, and … realized I had no way to light the fuse, aside from the sword or an alchemical fire, both of which would give away my position.
I pondered my options for a moment, then hurled the glass hand grenade as far as I could. At the top of its arc, I channeled a wild burst of energy into the liquid, and it flashed as it fell. There was a faint crunch, and then one of the tents exploded in a cacophony of orange chaos. Whether it was the feral energy of this world, the unfamiliar new ring, or the potency of Rundale’s chemicals, I couldn’t say, but the noisemaker potion went off like a Fourth of July fireworks extravaganza.
Roars of surprise went up around the camp, and every white mask in the area made a beeline for it. Not one of them noticed me dart inside their perimeter.
Sprinting between the tents, I kept my eyes on the sky until I found a single line of darkness silhouetted against the city lights: the rope of the gondola. Almost there. I raced to the rim of the crater and rounded the final tent between me and my best chance at getting back into Astoria.
As I turned the corner, a pair of sentries snapped to attention, looking startled despite their unchanging bone faces. I tried to put on the brakes but stumbled, lost my footing, and tumbled sideways off the edge of the crater.
For a few sickening seconds, I free-fell, and the feeling of weightlessness reminded me of the void between worlds. Then my trajectory converged with a slope of fine, dark sand, and I started rolling. Something jabbed me in the back of the leg, and sounds of crunching glass came from my rune satchel.
As I slid to a stop near the bottom, the blunderbuss, which had been hanging from my shoulder by a leather strap, thumped down beside me. Both it and the sword — the latter having tried but failed to puncture my jeans — looked undamaged. Inside the rune satchel, however, only six or so small bottles were still intact. I removed them carefully and then sighed with relief; the transformative mixture, the only one that mattered, was still safely trapped inside glass.
The rest of the satchel twinkled with a combination of glowing chemicals and sharp edges. It was a dangerous mess, but the runes and lacquer had protected the leather and prevented the disaster it might have been otherwise. I closed the satchel and was dropping the intact bottles into my indestructible pockets when a sound from above made me look up.
Half a dozen monsters, including the sentries from the ridge, were sliding down the bank toward me. I glanced around for some way to slow their assault but saw only soft, porous sand.
I reopened the rune satchel, poured the glowing contents in a line in front of me, and focused my power. What happened next surprised even me: Green and yellow liquid flashed in the dirt, and vines began sprouting wildly, with flowers and thorns intertwining to form a floral barricade. Huh. I’d kinda been hoping for a wall of fire or something.
I picked up my gear and ran. One creature, an enormous mantis, skittered down the bank quicker than the rest and tore through the vines with its serrated forelegs. It was fast, closing the gap between us in seconds, and I soon realized outrunning it was impossible. So I turned, pulling the longsword from my back and hitting the switch on the hilt.
Blue flame rolled up the blade, and light splashed around me onto the dark gray dirt. The mantis skidded to a halt, rearing onto its hind legs and emitting the odd, muffled screech of the things t
hat wear the bone masks. I swept the sword up, and black blood sprayed, soaking the absorbent earth. The mantis screamed again but kept lunging at me. I shuffled backward, trying to outmaneuver the wounded creature. But then five more ghostly white faces materialized behind it, illuminated by the light from my blade, floating toward me through the darkness like the spirits of the dead.
I ran. Ran until my lungs couldn’t take in air, until my legs burned hotter than the blade in my hand. It wasn’t fast or far enough. A clawed hand hit me in the shoulder, and my tired legs tied themselves in knots. I fell hard onto the dirt. It stung my eyes, and when I looked up, all I could see was Astoria glowing above. For a delirious moment, I wished I could reach up and pluck the city from its orbit. Wrench the neon orb free and bring it crashing down upon my enemies.
Something nearby roared. A victory cry from my pursuers, no doubt. Except this was clear, not muffled. This was a cry from an unchained beast, a harsh, furious bark accompanied by a flash of light and heat. I wiped the sand from my eyes as another ball of superheated plasma whizzed by my ear and crashed into the mantis, melting a hole through its midsection. The barking continued, tearing through my pursuers. I looked around, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.
Just beyond the circle of light from my sword, an arm-sized cannon lifted skyward in the dark, smoke pouring from its muzzle. The gun glowed red against the top of a sculpted metal bowler hat and glinted on the glass of a monocle.
“It’s about bloody time you got here,” Coppersworth said. He extended his non-gun hand, and I took it.
“Sorry,” I said. “Got held up. Making all those bad decisions was a time-consuming hobby.”
“Good to see you haven’t given it up completely,” a voice said from behind him. Claire stepped out of the shadows, a humorous glint in her dark eyes. “You all right?”
“I think so.”
“Well it looks like you fell off two buildings, so I’m going to ask you a few questions anyway. How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Three.”
“What’s my name?”
“Claire.”
“What on Earth are you wearing?”
I hesitated, glancing down at my ridiculous getup, complete with elephant gun, flaming sword, and red velvet smoking jacket. I looked like some kind of Gentleman Rambo.
“I do say,” Coppersworth said. “Is that Arthur’s old longsword and blunderbuss? However did you—”
“I can explain later. Long story short, I was passing back that way and needed a few things.”
“They certainly proved useful,” he said. “If not for the light from the blade, we would never have thought to descend into this bedeviled pit.”
“How did you, anyway? Get down here, I mean.”
“Of course,” he said. “You haven’t seen the lift.”
Chapter 29
I held the flaming sword aloft as Coppersworth and Claire led me deeper into the crater. All I could see was more dark sand, but they seemed to know where they were going.
“So, what’s the sitrep?” I asked.
“I fear I am unfamiliar with that particular turn of—”
“He means how are things going upstairs,” Claire said.
“Ah, well, as you have no doubt noticed, we are completely surrounded. Thankfully the Outrider’s forces have not yet devised a means to breach the gravity moat.”
“Gravity moat?” I asked.
“‘Tis the locals’ name for the space between crater and city, as well as the gravitational abnormalities which occur there. They claim not to know how it works, so I’m afraid I cannot provide additional insight. Oh, and speaking of technological curiosities … there’s the lift.”
Ahead of us, long lines of glimmering brass emerged in the sword-light and ran up toward the city. It was an immense Victorian elevator shaft, hundreds of feet tall, with ornately filigreed fixtures and details. It shivered and swayed in the breeze, the base hovering a foot or so above the crater floor. Coppersworth walked up to the gate and inserted a key. As the doors parted, lamps clicked on, and yellow light poured out onto the sand.
“You can’t be serious,” I said, disabling and sheathing the sword.
“Whatever do you mean?” His eyes glinted mischievously. I grinned, realizing I’d missed his dry sense of humor.
“You know what?” I asked. “Never mind. I’m sick of questioning everything on this circus of a planet. Let’s go.”
I stepped up into the elevator, then turned to help Claire, but she’d already hopped in behind me. Coppersworth followed, making the car dip slightly under his weight. The doors shut on their own.
The lift’s inner walls were a metalwork mesh, meaning we could see out all around us. Maybe a little more questioning wouldn’t have been such a bad idea after all. Without warning, Coppersworth pulled a lever, and the car shot upward.
“If you don’t mind my asking,” I said, trying to retrieve my stomach from where it had landed near my knees. “Do they at least have a plan?”
“They are ‘working on it,’ as you sometimes put it,” he said, gazing upward. “Nevertheless, a few … unforeseen complications await above. I believe you’ll need to see them to fully understand.”
I threw him a sidelong glance, but he continued staring up. Following his gaze, I saw the city twinkling above like a satellite shot of the Earth. It rushed toward us, and for a moment I forget whether we were falling or rising.
“The shift approaches,” Coppersworth said, grabbing a handle above. “Brace yourselves.”
“OK, right, I can do this,” Claire said, an anxious edge to her voice.
I tried to project my own uneasy confidence as we positioned ourselves across from Coppersworth and sought out handles of our own.
Despite my unease, when the weightlessness came, my legs sighed with relief. Exhaustion crept in toward me. I imagined sitting, lying down, resting. Or, better yet, just letting myself float there … hundreds of feet in the air … inside a gravity-shifting elevator. Maybe getting comfortable wasn’t the best idea after—
We crossed the shift line. My legs flipped up behind me as the weight of two planets played tug-of-war with my skeletal structure. My shoulder twisted, forcing me to release the handle, and I fell toward the roof of the car, landing hard on my back. In the corner of my eye, I saw large metal boots touch down light as a feather beside me. Then something landed on my chest and let out a small “oomph.”
Claire lay on top of me, but not in a sexy, romance-novel kind of way. The soul of her shoe was pressing against my face.
“Listen, I’m glad you came back,” she said. “But maybe not quite this glad.”
“Uh,” I said, eloquent as ever.
“You’ll need to formally request a date first. Talk to my assistant, Steve. You remember Steve? For now, let go of me.”
I hadn’t realized my hands were holding her by the upside-down waist. I let go, wondering if I could still feign some concussion-induced bewilderment. Ever the gentleman, Coppersworth bent down to help Claire to her feet.
“Still haven’t gotten into the swing of it, eh?” he asked, directing the question at me.
“You’ve got fat ankles,” I groaned from the floor.
“I see now,” Claire said as if talking to herself. “A bit of banter to relieve the tension isn’t on the menu, but if someone needs insulting, then he finds words.”
Coppersworth helped me up too as the elevator, now descending rather than rising, plunged into darkness. Brakes screeched. The car lurched and came to a clanking halt. When the doors opened, they let out the same cheerful ding as the other Astorian elevators I’d had the misfortune of riding in.
In the room beyond, maps of the city and surrounding area papered the walls, and a broad, solid table stood in the center, surrounded by figures of all shapes and sizes, most of whom I didn’t recognize. But I did see Stern, leader of the shi dogs. Glynda was there, too. And the blue-skinned woman from the Astor’s office,
who stood in the background clutching a clipboard. They had the air of people whose very important conversation had just been interrupted.
“Boss?” a familiar voice whispered. It sounded close, but I couldn’t see anyone. Then I remembered I would need to look down.
Cagney and Brando stared up at me from under tattered, dusty fedoras. They also sported new matching shoulder holsters holding Colt M1911 pistols. The gargoyles had always had a knack for acquiring classic mobster paraphernalia, but where the hell had they found those? Maybe the guns were their payment from whoever had told them to stand there as though they were on guard duty. Irrational anger flickered inside me. I was The Boss, not any of these clowns.
I exited the metal cage and entered the room. Despite all the friendly faces, calling the silence “tense” would’ve earned you gold at the Understatement Olympics. Coppersworth’s mouth clicked on and buzzed as if he’d just turned it up to 11.
“The mission was a success,” he boomed. “The alchemist has returned.”
A chorus of relieved noises — which sounded a bit rehearsed, to be honest — issued from around the table. One figure, however, seemed utterly unruffled by my arrival. He wore a hooded cloak and scarf that hid most of his body and face. It was the same ensemble I’d seen on Cobblestone Road, just after fighting Big Ugly … and in a dark alley, before getting tossed into an Arclight slaughterhouse. He stood in the corner, partially hidden in shadow, almost outside my line of sight. But I saw him.
“Hey, asshole!” I shouted, stepping farther into the room. “You owe me some answers. Right. Fucking. Now.”
Everyone at the table went silent again, throwing furtive glances back and forth as if trying to figure out who’d pissed off the guy with the magic powers. The cloaked figure, however, reached up and pulled back its hood. Bright red hair spilled out over dark brown eyes. I knew those eyes, but the warmth that had once been there was gone. It had been replaced by something as cold and hard as steel.
“Elena?” I asked.
“Observant as ever,” she said. “I was hoping our reunion would involve slightly less name-calling, but you are you.”