Bigfootloose and Finn Fancy Free

by Randy Henderson

  “Why did youself send gnomebright for I?”

  “Because,” I said, “I’m about to get your future love out of this place, and I thought it might look good to her if you helped free her.” And because it never hurt to have a friendly sasquatch around when facing a group of potentially hostile feybloods and Department of Feyblood Management enforcers together, regardless of the DFM’s protections.

  “I trusting youself,” Sal said.

  “I give you my word,” I replied. “I brought you here to help me, not to be arrested.”

  Sal grunted agreement, and I opened the hidden passage in the stone wall leading to the DFM facility. Once again, an enforcer greeted me, this time Knight-Captain Reyes, the leader of the group who’d arrested the feybloods at Elwha. Without her helmet on, her short-cropped silver hair and crooked nose gave her the appearance of a female Mexican boxer in her early fifties.

  “You need to put this on,” she said, offering me a blindfold.

  “I figured,” I said, and sighed.

  She held up a silver collar to Sal. “And you will need to wear this.”

  Sal looked angrily at me and took a step back. “Youself give word I not being badgrabbed.”

  “We’re not arresting you,” Reyes said. “It’s just the rules. No feybloods are allowed in this facility without a suppression collar on. As a sasquatch, it will inhibit your strength. But it will not be used to shock or subdue you, unless of course you attack an enforcer or attempt to free one of our guests.”

  “It’s okay, Sal,” I said, and felt an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach. I hoped they would not make a liar of me. “You’re protected under the Pax. You’ll be able to leave whenever you want. Correct?” I asked, turning to Reyes.

  “Correct.”

  Sal eyed the collar sideways, but allowed Reyes to put it on. I slid the blindfold on, and Reyes led us through the facility, this time climbing rather than descending. We finally passed through what sounded like a bank vault door. I felt the tingle of wards wash over me, and then the weak warmth of sun on my skin.

  “You may remove the blindfold.”

  I did so, and found myself outside, in an open bowl-shaped area the size of three football fields within a ring of forested hills. A landscape of tall grass, boulders, shade trees, and the occasional single-room cabin surrounded a large pond that appeared dull and lifeless beneath the gray sky.

  A fence ran around the entire perimeter that I could see, and a chain-link tunnel led from where I stood to a small bunker of concrete blocks and barred safety glass about twenty feet inside the circle, with locked security gates at either end.

  A metal sign hung on the fence that read: Warning! Dangerous feybloods. No weapons, active spells or potions allowed beyond this point except by DFM personnel. The following may also cause undo danger to you or the feybloods: mana, meat, muffins, music players, silver, iron, virgin blood, salt licks, wine, mead, extreme sorrow, red cloaks, broken shoes, mirrors, riddle books, or firstborn children. See duty captain for any special restrictions.

  Reyes punched a code into the keypad lock, then pressed her persona ring against the metal plate above it.

  The gate clicked open. Reyes led us down the tunnel, the gate closing behind us.

  A jackalope bounded up and sniffed at us from the other side of the chain-link before loping off again into the tall grass, its antlers bobbing above the grass as it hopped.

  We entered the concrete structure. It was a single, open room with several square plastic tables spaced throughout. Near one table stood the four Elwha feybloods—Frog Face, Faun, Dunngo the dwarf, and Sal’s potential soul mate, Challa.

  Zenith, the changeling who’d offered Vee a place with the Silver Court, stood among them with her fitted suit and short bobbed hair. As I entered, she finished speaking to the feybloods in a low tone that suggested she was giving instructions.

  Dunngo spat dust when he saw me. “Gramaraye. Come to laugh at brightbloods.”

  “No,” I said. Hopefully, I’d have a chance to speak with Dunngo alone, to tell him how sorry I was about his son and assure him I would do everything I could to find a cure for Grayson’s Curse. I couldn’t blame him for his anger, but I didn’t like the idea of someone hating me, especially for the wrong reasons. “Silene asked me to help you.” I glanced at enforcer Reyes, wary of how much to say in front of her. “I Talked with Veirai, but I need to ask a couple of questions.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Zenith said. “I’m here to protect the rights of these brightbloods under the Pax articles.”

  “That’s okay. I have questions for you, actually. What do you know about the attack on the alchemist, and the death of Veirai?” She wasn’t the Silver Archon, but she was in his counsel. If the Archon was involved, maybe I could get Zenith to reveal what she knew, or to lie about it in front of these enforcers with their truth-sensing.

  Or at least I could stall long enough for Plan B to arrive.

  Zenith’s eyebrows rose. “I am a changeling, Gramaraye. Even if I did know something, you have no right to question me unless I’ve broken the conditions of my visit.”

  “If you are protecting those who knowingly caused an attack on an arcana, or ordered the destruction of a witness, then that breaks the conditions of your visit.”

  Zenith crossed her arms. “And if you had proof I did such a thing, then you could ask me if I did such a thing.”

  I could hear Alynon chuckling in my head.

  I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.

  The door opened, and a DFM enforcer who looked like a buff Anthony Michael Hall with spiky hair led Silene and Romey inside.

  “Captain,” the enforcer said.

  “Lieutenant Cousar,” Reyes replied with a curt nod.

  Silene pulled away from enforcer Cousar’s touch as if it made her ill, but Romey’s young face was a mask of proud defiance, and she smiled at me with her waerfox grin as if I were the one being led in at her orders. I hadn’t asked for her, only Silene, but we’d see how long her arrogance lasted.

  “Good,” I said. “We can get some real answers now.”

  Romey simply brushed at her fox-red dress and patted at her hair as if she’d been led into a nice restaurant. But Silene practically squirmed, causing her green dress to shimmer. She looked like she’d been drinking all night and then had the chili-dog with extra onions for breakfast: fidgety and sweaty and miserable. It was possible her discomfort was simply at being in a warded space cut off from any plant life. It was also possible her discomfort had a deeper reason, like guilt.

  She glanced at Sal, and raised one eyebrow. “So they finally arrested you for yarn bombing innocent trees?”

  Sal crossed his arms. “So youself gotten badgrabbed for being a big iceheart?”

  Silene sniffed. “You’ve been doing the arcana’s bidding too long if you believe every scrap of lies they toss you. I’ve done nothing wrong,” she declared to the room.

  “Maybe you believe that,” I said. “But one thing I’ve learned from the enforcers is that almost nobody thinks what they’re doing is wrong, even when it is.”

  “Romey was right,” Silene replied. “I should never have trusted your offer of help.”

  Romey’s fox smile widened.

  “Right,” I said. “What you mean, I think, is you didn’t expect I would actually try to help, and discover the truth.”

  “And what truth is that?” Silene said.

  “That you tricked Veirai into attacking the alchemist, and then had your Archon try to cover it up.”

  “What?” She sounded genuinely startled, and slightly alarmed, glancing from Sal, to me, to Reyes. “I had nothing to do with the alchemist murdering Veirai,” she said. “And I only just spoke to our Archon this morning. He does not wish to get involved.”

  I glanced at Reyes questioningly.

  “I detect no lies,” Reyes said.

  I frowned, confused. “But then—”

  I saw
Romey touch enforcer Cousar. It was subtle, and from my angle of viewing I doubted anyone else noticed. Cousar shuddered, reached into his jacket pocket, and threw what looked like several thumb-sized teeth onto the ground. As they struck the concrete floor, he shouted, “Spartoi adorior!”

  Knight-Captain Reyes extended her baton with a flick and leaped at her fellow enforcer, but it was already too late. Even as Cousar swung his own extending baton up to block Reyes’ strike, the dragon’s teeth took root in the floor, and four spartoi grew up in their place faster than the Road Runner high on Jolt Cola.

  The spartoi were not Ray Harryhausen skeletons in hoplite armor. Rather, they were living breathing warriors who looked more like naked male underwear models, if those models were thrown into a pit and told the last survivor would get the Calvin Klein gig—heavily muscled and with a murderous light in their eyes.

  Romey shouted at Dunngo and the rest, “The arcana are trying to frame us! Fight for your freedom!”

  The feybloods growled and hissed and, in the case of Dunngo, ground stony teeth.

  The spartoi raised their hands like claws, and let out a murderous war cry.

  I stood between them, and gave out a small squeak.

  *Oh, shazbot.*

  12

  (You Gotta) Fight for Your Right (to Party)

  Dunngo flexed his stony muscles as his obsidian eyes turned to me. Frog Face blinked rapidly, the faun shuffled his hooves sharply in preparation to charge, and Challa’s fur-armor fluffed up as her beady sasquatch eyes narrowed in my direction.

  “Wait!” I shouted, and then thought better of trying to convince them Romey was the real problem here, and thought even betterer of getting my butt out of there in one piece.

  Unfortunately, between me and the exit were four summoned spartoi, two battling enforcers, and one evil waerfox minus a pear tree.

  Dunngo charged at me on his rolling torso of rocky soil across the concrete floor.

  The spartoi leaped at the feybloods.

  I spun to get out of their way, tripped over a plastic chair and fell hard to the ground. I scrambled back as the feybloods and spartoi crashed into each other at the center of the room in a flurry of limbs, fur, flesh, and spattering blood. One spartoi leaped at Dunngo, getting between him and his obsession with hurting me.

  Sal stepped between me and the battle, his fur fluffed up and his hands flexed into fists the size of small bowling balls.

  In front of the exit to my left, Reyes exchanged a rapid series of blows with the enemy enforcer, Cousar, like two dueling Jedi on fast forward, their batons now glowing with blue fire and sending sparks flying with each strike and block.

  My back hit the cinder-block wall.

  This was insane! Romey, Cousar, and his spartoi were the real enemies in the room, but the feybloods thought the arcana were the enemies so were as likely to kill me as Cousar. The only beings in the room I could count on not to kill me were Sal, and maybe Reyes, assuming she didn’t think I was somehow responsible for this.

  My hand went to my chest, to the skeleton key hanging beneath my shirt. If I could reach the exit, I could get out.

  Frog Face screamed in pain as a spartoi warrior slammed him to the ground. The collar prevented him from paralyzing the spartoi with his poisonous skin, and he was the weakest of the feybloods here.

  Smeg.

  I couldn’t just escape. I had to help if I could.

  I pushed myself up. Zenith had Silene’s hand to my right, also with their backs to the wall. Our eyes met, and Silene’s eyes narrowed into a murderous stare.

  “No!” I said, holding up my hands. “Romey, she did something to enforcer Cousar!”

  I realized then that Romey was nowhere to be seen. She’d fled somehow. But not before sticking a knife in Reyes’ back, I saw. The handle jerked and wobbled as Reyes exchanged blows with her fellow DFM enforcer, and I could tell it was slowing her down, hampering her movements.

  Double smeg.

  Zenith glanced at Reyes and Cousar battling each other, then back to me. “If you’re not behind this, then get us out of here.”

  “No!” Silene said, yanking her hand free of the changeling’s. “I won’t abandon my cousins.”

  Sal, still standing as a wall of defense between us and the spartoi, looked back at me. “Use arcana lightnings or fires!”

  “I’m not a wizard!” I replied.

  We could definitely use a wizard about now, though.

  Frog Face leaked greenish blood freely as his spartoi kicked him. The second spartoi had the faun suspended a foot above the ground by a death grip on his neck, the faun’s legs unable to kick far enough forward to do much damage. The third had gone in low against Challa and was lifting her off her feet like a wrestler, seemingly oblivious as she shredded the flesh along his muscular back with her claws—if she fell, she’d be vulnerable, and the collar kept her from using her full strength to prevent that.

  Only Dunngo seemed to be holding his own. The spartoi’s blows and grasps crumbled and broke off chunks of dirt and rock from Dunngo, and the collar prevented the dwarf from regenerating or taking new material from the concrete floor. But the spartoi was a mass of bloody flesh where stone had scraped away skin. And was that a rib poking out of his side? It was a race at this point to see which of them lost too much of their body to function first.

  I had no weapons, no artifacts, and if I got close enough to use my necromancy effectively on a spartoi, he’d break my neck before I could exorcise the tiny spark of dragon spirit that animated him.

  I still gripped the slender skeleton key in one hand, however, and it gave me an idea.

  “Sal! Hold still!”

  I reached up and touched the enchanted fingerbone to the back of his collar. The collar opened with a click, and fell to the floor.

  The spartoi kicking Frog Face stopped and turned toward us. But he took only a single step before Sal charged in with a roar and his arm swung around in a windmill uppercut.

  The spartoi’s head snapped back and his jaw ripped free, flying across the room as his feet flew out from beneath him. He slammed to the ground, most definitely dead.

  I touched the key to the changeling’s collar, and then Silene’s, as Sal moved in on the spartoi choking the faun.

  “Is there anything you can do?” I asked them both.

  “Not in here,” Silene said, tears of frustration building in her eyes.

  “You know magic is forbidden me,” the changeling said, and her tone suggested I was still trying to trick or trap her. “But I am well skilled in physical combat.”

  “Well, that makes one of us,” I said. Everything I knew about hand-to-hand combat I’d learned watching movies, and what I’d learned from Mister Miyagi was that if I tried to pull an amateur karate move on one of these spartoi, then Finn-san would be squashed, just like a grape.

  *I have urged you to learn krav maga or some such art,* Alynon said. *If you get us both killed—*

  Now is not the time! I thought back.

  *It never is.*

  Cousar’s baton connected with an audible clunk! to Reyes’ head, sending her spinning to the ground.

  Not good.

  “Sal!” I shouted, trying to get his attention as I sprinted at the enemy enforcer. Sal grabbed the head of the faun’s spartoi in his massive hands, and twisted.

  Maybe I could distract Cousar long enough for Sal to get to him, before—

  The enforcer shouted something, a tattoo glowing around his throat. Lightning leaped from his outstretched baton in a concussive, blinding flash, filling the air with the smell of ozone and lifting the hairs on my head and arms as it arced past me. I tried to intercept the blast—not entirely a suicidal act given a certain Fey tattoo that Alynon had left me with, handy against direct energy attacks and not much else—but I was too slow and only caught the edge of the lancing arc. Just enough to leave me collapsed on the ground, my muscles twitching spasmodically.

  The lightning struck Sal i
n the back. His arms flung out, and he slammed forward into the far wall of the room. Black curls of smoke rose from a circle of blackened fur as Sal fell to the ground.

  Silene ran to Sal, and the changeling followed her.

  I blinked away the purple-and-green afterimage of the blast, and struggled to my feet.

  Cousar kicked me in the gut, knocking the air out of me and doubling me over in pain. I retched and gasped for breath.

  *I told you!* Alynon said. *If you had done sit-ups—*

  SERIOUSLY? I thought-screamed at him. I threw my hands up defensively and backed away, grasping blindly for any physical contact with Cousar I could use to summon his spirit. Pain exploded in my left hand as the baton smashed into it. I screamed and jerked both hands in, cradling the blazing supernova of agony against my chest.

  A ululating war cry echoed from the concrete walls, and Zenith leaped over me in a forward dive, rolled, and came up under Cousar’s next swing of the baton to punch him in his baby-making parts.

  His uniform must have taken most of the force of the blow, because he barely flinched, and instead brought the baton back in a return swing for the changeling’s head.

  She dove to the side, rolled again, and came up holding Reyes’ baton. “Go help Silene!” she said without taking her eyes off the enforcer. She smiled a wicked grin, and said, “All right, wizard, let us see what you can do.”

  My hand still screamed pain at me, but it was now merely a small nuclear detonation with throbbing aftershocks. Sweat stung my left eye, and I rubbed at it as I looked around me.

  Challa’s spartoi had her down on the ground, and tickled her feet—the surest way to render a sasquatch helpless long enough to do real harm.

  Dunngo and his spartoi were now staggering around each other like two drunks, both looking horribly beaten and broken. I considered trying to reach Dunngo, to unlock his collar so he could regenerate, but getting past the spartoi would be difficult, and Dunngo was just as likely to crush me as thank me.

  The changeling gave another ululating cry and leaped at the enforcer, raining a series of blows at him. She seemed to be holding her own, at least for the moment.