IGMS Issue 16

by IGMS

  Haber shrugged. "I have no wish for reprieve, not now. I have been wishing for the end of this since you first stormed into the palace. You could have killed me then, you know, when you met me in the throne room, your sword raised against mine. How your soldiers would have loved that, to see you best me in front of them."

  But at school, Haber had always defeated Elwell in sword play. Once, Haber had allowed Elwell to win, and he had known it. It had infuriated him.

  "But you never were a man for blood," said Haber, teasing the man dangerously, as if pulling a bird carcass from a hound. "Were you?"

  Elwell's eyes flashed with anger. "You think I am afraid of a bloody, messy death? You think I will spare you for that?"

  "I think you would rather poison me the night before, and then bring my lifeless body to the hangman for a show," said Haber, nodding to the crystal decanter and the powder he had been offered. In truth, though, he suspected nothing of the sort.

  "What? Never. You will die in gore, then, if that is what you desire. Remember this, Berick. Your father demanded this death, not me." His hands were so tightly clenched into fists that the knuckles had gone white. There was a circle of white around his mouth, as well.

  So, now Haber had fallen to Elwell's level, using him as he had been used.

  "Would you like to see your father's head hacked off?" asked Elwell in his fury. "Will you hear the sound of it dropping into the basket? Will you see his eyes open one last time, and his mouth drop, when the head is held up to the crowd?"

  Haber looked into the terrified eyes of his son and wished this was not necessary. But there was one thing he could do.

  "Not the boy," said Haber softly. "I beg you. Keep him away from the sight." He had never begged Elwell for anything before, but he would beg for this. Haber knew better than anyone. Berick would be haunted for the rest of his life by such a death.

  That was reason enough, even if it was not the only reason. Elwell waved a hand, tired of the argument. "He may remain in the palace, then. Afterward, he will step out and be declared king at my side. But I will watch it. I will see you die. No one will call me a coward."

  From a distance, he would watch.

  Good. That was what Haber needed to be sure of.

  "It is time for you to go now," he said to Berick again. "We shall not meet again."

  Berick began to sob. He turned his face into Elwell.

  "Give him the magic now," said Elwell. "You will have no other chance. Give it to him now or know that your kingdom will fall after you are gone."

  But this was not part of the plan. "What do you know of the magic?" scoffed Haber. "Nothing. I could give him a button and tell him it was the magic, and you would know no better."

  "I know more than you think. There is an old manuscript, from the earliest days of the kingdom," said Elwell, triumphant. "It says that the magic is strongest if it is given freely, but that it passes through the blood regardless."

  For a long moment, Haber was as if deaf. Did Elwell know everything, after all? Would the magic be his?

  "From your blood to your son's," said Elwell.

  With those words, hope returned. Elwell would never have planned all of this -- believing that it depended on Berick inheriting the magic from his father's blood -- if he did not know for certain that the boy was Haber's son. Whatever else he had done with the queen, he had not made a son with her.

  "I thank you," said Haber, sagging into a chair at last. "But I will not give him the magic."

  Elwell took out his anger on the boy, which was painful for Haber to see. "Come, Berick. You must go back to your room."

  "No, please," said the boy. He dug his feet into the carpet.

  Elwell reached for his ear and boxed it.

  But Berick would not give up. He fought until Haber put a hand on his son's shoulder. He could not give his son the magic, but he could give him some dignity, and that, too, was something a king needed.

  "Go with him. No struggling like a prisoner. You will be king," said Haber.

  Berick's body went limp. "Yes, Father," he said.

  Elwell took him out and came back alone. "If you think that he will rebel against me in time, if that is the hope that keeps you sane, you are very wrong. I know him too well. And I will know him better. I will know of everything he dreams of at night, what frightens him to breathlessness, what he cannot give up and still live. I have already begun it, and I tell you, it has not been difficult."

  Haber clapped slowly. "Yes, great work. A boy of six years old. What a master you have shown yourself to be, that he does all you say. But it may change when he is twelve, or sixteen, or twenty. Or four-and-twenty. You can never be sure of him, because he will always be changing. That is what a boy does, Elwell. It was what I did. And what you did, too."

  "I never changed," said Elwell. "Nor did you. You were always so wrapped up in your own world that you never saw anything you did not want to see."

  There was a silence as Haber accepted the truth of this. "I have one favor to ask," he said then. "For the sake of those old days."

  "What is it?" asked Elwell.

  Was he like to refuse it, only because he could?

  "Let me speak to the man who will wield the axe. You will choose him from among the king's men, will you not?"

  Elwell was suspicious. "You think that I will choose a man who has been with you for some time, and he will let you escape somehow? You have no allies within or without these walls. I have made sure of that. I do not leave such things to chance."

  "I ask only for a man of experience," said Haber. He allowed his voice to shake, and held out a hand in front of him, a formal petition from man to liege. It was part of the show.

  Elwell drank it in. And then smiled. "A quick death, eh? A man who has a strong arm and who has killed before and will not hesitate?"

  "Yes," said Haber.

  "I will send in the three youngest of the guard. There are some who have never met you before. You may choose one of them."

  "But --" said Haber, pretending to protest.

  Elwell did not notice the gleam in Haber's eyes. He did not think to, now. He left the king to scrub his own robe clean of its filth, and to stare at the offering in the decanter, and the white powder.

  Just before dawn, they came. Three young men. One was not even full grown. His shoulders were small in his uniform, and his cheekbones stuck out of his skin as if it were pasted on. He had pustules on his face and worse, his hair was red. No doubt he had been teased mercilessly for that, all his life. The guard would not have made it better.

  The other two were more handsome. One had a broken nose. The other walked with a swagger.

  Haber asked them all where they had been born, and who their families were. But it was not the words of the answer he listened to it. It was something else, the tone, the taste of it. He asked who had been in battle before. None of them had. He asked who had practice at wielding an axe. The one with the broken nose said that he had cut a good deal of kindling. They did not any of them know why they were there.

  At last, Haber asked which season they liked best.

  The one with the broken nose said that he liked summer.

  The swaggering one said he liked spring.

  The red-headed one said he liked winter, because it was quiet.

  Haber focused on him. "Have you any sisters?" he asked.

  "One," said the red-head.

  "Tell me about her."

  "She sings songs while she is working in the fields. She teases me and sometimes I hate her for it."

  The other two sniggered.

  "And if she were insulted?" asked Haber. "What would you do?"

  "Defend her," said the boy.

  "And if the man who spoke the words were a swordmaster and a head taller than you?" he asked.

  "I would defend her all the same."

  Haber believed him.

  Haber asked questions of the others, of their families, of their training. But he alrea
dy knew what he needed to know.

  When Elwell came back, he asked, "Which do you choose, then?"

  Haber did not hesitate. He pointed to the one with the swagger.

  "Then you shall have this one." Elwell pointed to the red-head and turned to him. "You are to be the one to execute the king. Come with me. You must acquaint yourself with the axe."

  The boy protested and Haber watched him go sadly. He was perhaps sixteen.

  And how long before Elwell realized the truth? Would the boy be old enough by then? He was the only one of the three who seemed to have any sense of honor, or love. He had not even asked his name, thought Haber.

  They brought a hood for him and tied his hands behind his back. He did not struggle.

  When they led him outside, he could hear the crowd, though they were not as loud as they had been the night before. There was some respect for the king, and for his magic, it seemed, despite having risen up against him.

  He was nudged to go up the steps. There were forty-six of them. He nearly fell, but the men behind him dragged him forward. One of them was the swaggering one, who swore at him and cuffed his head.

  But the crowd hissed and the king thought he heard something thrown. There was a thunking sound, and the swaggering one went quiet and he did not pull as hard on Haber's arms.

  Finally, Haber was at the top. For the last time, he felt the bounds of the magic that edged the kingdom in protection.

  "Your Majesty," said the red-head in a choked voice.

  "Is it time?"

  "Yes."

  "I will kneel."

  The red-head helped him to the right place. What to say to him?

  "I killed my father," said Haber. "I cut his throat when he was old and ready to die, and his blood splattered me."

  The red-head stuttered something.

  How to make it clear? "The blood," said Haber. And he leaned his head forward. "The magic goes through the blood. In your time, you will have to pass it on to someone, as well."

  The red-head's breathing was labored.

  "You will do well," said Haber.

  The axe was raised.

  And fell. Blood splattered onto the boy's hands.

  And a new king was made, through the blood.

  Odd Jobs

  by Josh Vogt

  Artwork by Kevin Wasden

  * * *

  "According to your resume, Mr. Whisk, you spent five years as the Man in the Moon."

  "That's right."

  "After which, you had a short stint as an Easter Island statue."

  "Correct."

  "I see you've included a photo of yourself from that time."

  "I tried to show my best side, sir."

  "Then you applied for a department transfer and wound up as an extraterrestrial transmission beamed from the Cygnus X-1 star system."

  "Exactly so."

  "But that isn't your present position."

  "No, sir."

  "Apparently, you're now -- and please correct me if I read this wrong -- 'the calm before the storm.'"

  "Spot on."

  "Which storm, precisely?"

  "Ah. That'd be telling. My work requires a bit of client confidentiality. Can't give folks too much warning."

  "Would you at least explain how you go about doing this job?"

  "I mostly sit in the corner and keep to myself. And I stay as quiet as possible."

  "That explains your whispering."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Mr. Whisk, it seems to me that all the jobs you've held are entirely made-up."

  "But I've included contact information for my previous employers."

  "I don't think my telephone service reaches outer space, tropical deities or forces of nature."

  "You might want to switch providers then, sir."

  "Is this some sort of prank, Mr. Whisk?"

  "Why would you think that?"

  "You've been smiling rather largely this whole time."

  "I enjoy what I do, sir."

  "Tormenting human resource recruiters?"

  "No, sir. Odd jobs. Might say they're my life's calling."

  "I'm sorry, but I should end this interview."

  "Whatever for?"

  "I can't take any of your experience seriously."

  "Can't you at least check my references?"

  "Mr. Whisk, your references include a ghost haunting the Strombardi castle which perches on the Heights of Ruin, a time traveler stuck in the thirty-second century, and the last living unicorn which you note as, and I quote, 'unseen in these lands, verily, upon 500 years.'"

  "Yes, but it should be trotting through the flowered fields of Balesquey tomorrow. If you catch it before it peers into the Pool of Mirrors, I'm sure you'll get a stunning recommendation on my behalf. Besides, it'd do your soul a treat if you got a chance to meet it."

  "Why's that?"

  "Unicorns are great character witnesses."

  "How so?"

  "Well, if it lets you come up and pet it, than you're all right."

  "And if you aren't 'all right'?"

  "Then it gores you to death."

  "Ah."

  "With its one horn."

  "Yes. I figured that part out on my own."

  "That's progress, sir."

  "Mr. Whisk, you're either fully mad, in which case I don't know why I'm wasting my time, or you've led one of the most remarkable lives I've heard of."

  "I would never waste your time, sir."

  "Is there at least any way you could prove you are capable of such extraordinary occupations?"

  "Please accept a sample of my work."

  "Exactly what is this, Mr. Whisk?"

  "That jar, sir, contains a piece of the moon's gravity. Consider it a gift. I took the liberty of painting the gravity red so you could actually see it within the glass."

  "It's smaller than I would've imagined."

  "It always is, sir. But surely you feel its pull."

  "Even if I can, what am I supposed to do with this?"

  "Anything you wish. Give yourself a little gravitas at the next office party, perhaps. Ah . . . but I wouldn't put it too close to those paperweights."

  "I appreciate the warning. Now, let's pretend I take this seriously, even for a moment. I'm still unconvinced you qualify for a position here. Do you understand the expertise this facility requires?"

  "Of course."

  "Based on what you list here, I should turn you away this instant."

  "That would make me extremely sad, sir."

  "Why do you want a job here, of all places?"

  "The storm I am calming before is about to break, thus putting me out of employment. Even the most transient of us enjoy steady pay."

  "Mr. Whisk, our particle accelerator is soon to go into operation as the largest in the world. We have the highest caliber of engineers and physicists already on task."

  "I'm aware of that. I thought your holding this interview meant there were opportunities still available."

  "We've several slots open on the team, yes, but even our janitorial staff comes from top-ranked graduate programs. I can't think of a single opening that would take advantage of your peculiar, er, background. Neither do you state a specific job for which you're applying."

  "I'm adaptable. Though I admit there is one position I'm keen for."

  "Do you have a doctorate?"

  "Please. Do you know how much time people waste studying to become what they want to be, rather than simply becoming what they want to be? I am a man of action."

  "But without the required education, what role could you possibly fill?"

  "You have to think outside the box on this one, sir. Actually, it'd be better if you thought inside. Inside the tube, that is."

  "Wait. You can't possibly mean . . ."

  "I see the gleam of enlightenment in your eye, sir."

  "You want to be brought on as . . . a particle? In the accelerator?"

  "There you have it."

  "I must be
mad to consider this, but how would you work as a particle?"

  "I can come on for a probationary period of three months, during which I will help establish your research team as one of the top in the nation, if not the world. If you aren't satisfied with my efforts after ninety days, I'll gladly resign."

  "You're serious?"

  "Entirely. You want axions? Tachyons? A black hole to ignite its dark flame on your monitors? I can do that for you. Do you want to be the first to discover the fundamental particles that compose quarks and leptons? Or Higgs particles by the bottleful? Breakthroughs in antimatter production and handling? I can do that too. You've built this center on the shoulders of intellectual giants. I can make you the giants. You won't regret hiring me, sir, not for one nanosecond. I shall be the light at the end of your accelerator . . . or tunnel, if you prefer traditional imagery."

  "A very passionate speech."

  "Thank you, sir."

  "And you did it entirely while whispering. Impressive."

  "I won't deny it took a little bit of practice."

  "You do know several of the particles you named are either theoretical, or believed impossible to exist in the known universe?"

  "And how much of the universe do we really know, sir? Isn't that the point behind this complex in the first place? Discovery? Exploration? Transformation?"

  "Your enthusiasm begins to sway me."

  "It's good to know there's at least one reasonable person left in the world."

  "I'm actually of a mind to hire you, just to see what will happen. I have one last question, though I'm almost afraid to ask it."

  "You'll deprive us both if you don't."

  "All right, then. What are you, Mr. Whisk?"

  "Oh. That's quite the question, you're right. You've heard the phrase, 'the details will take care of themselves'?"

  "Yes. But I've also heard the Devil's in the details."

  "If he is, I've yet to meet him. That's what I am, though. A Detail. We fill in the cracks of existence and meddle behind the scenes. We're crop circles and mysterious lights in the sky. We're Bigfoot's hair samples. We're spirit orbs in photographs, blacked-out lines on government files and wormholes that let you go back in time to kill your grandfather. We make sure life stays interesting."

  "There are others like you?"

  "Quite a few. You'd be surprised how many of the universe's grand mysteries would turn out to be unbearably dull without a little personal attention. Some of us just enjoy taking an active role in what we end up doing."