by Brhi Stokes

Brhi Stokes
PULP GRIND PRESS
Turning Pages (The Arbiter Book 1)
© Brhi Stokes 2017
All rights reserved
www.brhistokes.com
[email protected]

PULP GRIND PRESS
No matter how you feel right now, there’s a whole world of stuff out there.
Go get it.

“I suppose you might call me a ‘fixer’. At least, that’s the word they’d use here. Really, I’m probably more of an ‘item finder, person-disappear-er and general thing-doer’ but I guess that’s too long. That, and the things I disappear are hardly people.” I toy with the stop button of the old tape deck; watch the thin, black belt skitter to a halt. I have no doubts that I could explain myself more succinctly if I tried harder. Perhaps be a little more eloquent...
“Ah, stuff it,” I mutter, allowing the tape to flutter back to life like a tiny black bird. I wonder idly if I might later regret this, but if I fail to come back then someone ought to know what happened. Whether they believe it or not is another story.
“‘Creatures’, you could probably call them, though I think they prefer ‘Masters’. Not that anyone here would know what you were talking about if you spoke of them. Unlike some places; places where they’re out in the open and everyone keeps going about their business as if they’re not... toxic. Not wrong.”
I brush a hand over my face and through my hair, ignoring the biting cold as I take the stairs down from my flat two at a time. I am already running behind schedule and I was told that this job needed to be done as quickly as possible.
Reaching the car, I toss the cassette recorder onto the panel above the wheel and slide my keys into the ignition. The car grumbles and complains in the cold, but I turn up the heat and the ice across the windscreen begins to disappear. I give it a little time to work some warmth into its pipes before pulling out onto the slick streets.
“Where was I?” I ask the tape. “Right, yes. I find things, too. Strange things. Things most people wouldn’t know where to look for or what to do with. Things people wouldn’t have heard of.” I keep a close eye on the road ahead as I drive; it is late enough to be barren but damp enough to be formidable. I know that wet roads are the least of my troubles, but crashing my car into half-melted snow would certainly slow me down.
“You wouldn’t believe the things you’ll find in places no one thinks to look. Even here in our world. Once,” I laugh, in spite of myself, “once I was sent after this little paperclip. Just a tiny piece of curled up metal like I’d seen in the office supplies aisle a million times - and couldn’t figure out why the Masters wanted it so desperately. So, I think to myself ‘just some stationery, ought to keep it in a safe place, or I’ll lose it’ and I clip it to my lapel. The next thing I know I’m in bloody… Luoyang or Beijing or somewhere like that. Stark. Bloody. Naked. In the middle of some town square. And there’s men with swords all around me pointing and snarling…” I try to quell the laughter that is rising in my throat, but a coughing fit overtakes me instead. By the time I come down from it, I remember that my last cigarette was hours ago. With a free hand, I pull my pack out of my pocket and fumble around until I can hold the cigarette in my mouth and light up. It will be my last for a while. A long while, knowing my luck.
“Now, this isn’t about a finding, I don’t believe. I was told it’s about a killing, but there’s always more to it. Especially considering that the manner of beings I take contracts from don’t necessarily like to leave things clean and simple. But the rewards…” I take a long drag and let the smoke wind from my mouth like a lethargic python as I chuckle into the cool air. “The rewards are worth it. Even if the travel’s a bit of a... hassle.”
It does not take long to drive to the bridge. I had thought it was further out, or maybe I have just been enjoying listening to the sound of my own voice so much that the trip felt shorter. Or maybe I just stumbled across another of those paperclips.
“Right, we’re here.” I lift the tape recorder lovingly from the car. As the wind whips and pulls at my hair and jacket, I worry it will knock the tape recorder from its new perch on the railing. Thankfully, it refuses to budge.
“I hope you can still hear me.” Though I am unsure why it suddenly matters so much.
“All right…” I fumble in my coat until I find what I am looking for and lay the second object with a soft, metallic clang on the railing next to the recorder. “Well I’ve got to go get this job done, so if anyone finds my tape and doesn’t think I’m insane, stop by my office sometime and I’ll tell you what I know.” I rattle off the address.
Sighing, I tap the tape recorder with an impatient finger. “My name’s Page McAlaster. Spelt without an I, like I’m not quite a squire yet.”
“Anyway, I suppose you might call me a ‘fixer’.” I pick up the gun I had deposited on the railing next to the recorder, it is cold and firm in my hand. I raise it slowly to my head until I can feel the cool press of steel on my temple. “Thanks for listening.” My finger thumbs the trigger, and I press down.
In some small part of my mind, I think I have time to hear it fire.

As it happens, I was wrong about the cigarette. They had plenty to spare where I went, and I am almost grateful it was not my own throat I had ruined with them. The way I see it, that one was hardly getting much use, anyway.
The sound of a lone car drifts through the air as I trudge up the stairs to the balcony. The shops on the ground level closed hours ago, so only a handful of lights guide my way as I crest the third flight, lighting my breath as it frosts in the air.
Part of me feels as though I should have relocated myself after the first few jobs, but it is not as if I spend much time at home. Besides, how many two-story flats can you find for cheap in this city these days?
The balcony giving access to my front door overlooks its twin across a small courtyard shared by the shops below. Thorns and snares protrude from the plants, snagging at anything that moves too close, yet they never grow across the path. I’ve never seen someone tend to it, though I’ve scared off a few cafe staff from flicking their cigarette butts into it. That has to count for something.
I draw my eyes back to my cigarette packet, too busy wondering if I overdid it on the job or not to immediately notice the figure at my door. They are standing outside of it, staring at the faded ‘12B’ presented on its front along with the smudged peephole above it. We seem to notice each other at the same time and, as they turn, I am greeted by the delicate features of a young Asian man. His eyes widen as he sees me.
“Erm…” he says, gesturing at my door. “This isn’t what it- I wasn’t trying to…” He falters, tucks his hands into the pockets of his tight jeans, and bites his lip. He looks so unsure of what to do or say next that I immediately cross thief and hooligan from my mental list. Competent thief or hooligan, at any rate.
Besides, the lingering awkwardness is vaguely endearing and the blush across his cheeks makes it quite clear that robbing the place is not his intention. He baulks as I approach the door, keys in hand.
“This is your place?” From the surprise in his voice, he might as well think I am going to rob the place.
“What? I don’t dress for this part of town?” I query as I unlock the door and glance over my shoulder at him.
“No! I mean… yes, you look… normal?” He frowns to himself, shakes his head and tries again. “Hey, listen, are you the one who, erm… left the tape?”
I had been planning on heading inside and ignoring the boy, but the mention of the tape has me turning back aroun
d. I lean on the doorframe so I can peer out at him. “Yes, that was me. I didn’t think anyone would’ve paid it attention.” Really, I am surprised that the police failed to remove it from the scene, but I refrain from mentioning that. I recall that Daniel had not returned it to me along with my personal effects once I had awoken, either. I grimace; I had intended on destroying the bloody thing once I got my hands back on it.
“I fished it out the river a little ways from a bridge. I thought it might’ve been a relic or something - I mean, who uses tapes anymore? - but it worked and I thought I’d come down and see if…”
“If I wanted to explain the crazy on it?”
“Well… yeah. Yes. It just sort of… ends. There’s a loud bang at the end, like a gunshot? Then it just plays out for a while. I really just wanted to see if you were okay,” he says.
I take a moment to look fully at the young man. His brow is crinkled in concern, and his eyes are slightly wide as he regards me. The tension in my shoulders relaxes and I unfold my arms. I cannot recall the last time I saw someone do anything that was not completely selfish.
“Oh. That’s... nice of you,” I say finally. I normally refrain from taking visitors. In fact, I am more than a little sick of them at this stage. However, I know that I have brought this on myself by leaving the tape. “Look, it’s about to start snowing. How about you come in for some tea and I’ll maybe answer a few of your questions.”
He hesitates for a second, still gnawing at his lip before he brushes his glossy dark hair behind his ears and steps forward. I lead him inside with a vague motion to kick off his shoes at the door. As we enter, he peers around the bottom level of the flat. The hall leads straight to the large office at the end, where I used to do most of my business. It sits somewhat abandoned as of late, however. The only other rooms down here contain a storage area, laundry, and bathroom, so no doubt he is disappointed as he glances down the hall. He hesitates as I move up the small flight of stairs, but relaxes as we reach a small living area; kitchen and dining room together, an open double frame leading to the lounge. I realise the place probably needs a clean, though I doubt he notices as he takes a seat at the counter and watches as I put the kettle on.
“So… you’re Page without an I?” he asks.
“Seems like it.” I turn and lean on the counter, trying for my most disarming smile. Unfortunately, people have never been my strong suit. I can read them pretty well, even make them work together if I try hard enough. Relating to them, on the other hand, has never been for me. My shrink always used to marvel at my success in my previous job. She once described my personality as borderline sociopathic, too, but I always thought that was a bit dramatic.
The boy is no difficult read, either, with the way he is wringing his hands and fidgeting slightly: nervous as hell, but something is keeping him here. Curiosity, perhaps?
“I’m Connor,” he tells me finally.
“Nice to meet you.” I reach across the table and shake his hand out of habit. “So, questions,” I add as I turn back to make our tea.
“Yeah, well… For starters, I guess, what’s with the tape? I mean I listened to it a few times and you seem to imply you work for some sort of… creatures? And that you have to travel a lot. Are you… like a spy?”
“Nope. Milk and sugar?” He nods, and I continue. “Just a fixer, like I said.”
He eyes me for a long moment, trying to figure out whether he wants to say whatever is on his mind. Finally, he settles on his decision. “Do you really kill people..?”
“Yes, I do. But no one in this world.”
“Erm… world?”
“World. Plane. Hrmm…” I try to think up a few more synonyms as I pour some whisky into my teacup. Connor shakes his head as I hold it out to him. No more synonyms come. “Look, I didn’t really think anyone would find that tape, much less come here and ask about it. So, while I’ve now lost a bit of cash on this bet, I can tell you that your curiosity’s not going to be satisfied unless I tell you the whole story. And that might take some time.”
The young man shrugs. “I’ve got nowhere to be.”
My lips curl in amusement. “Really?”
“Sure. I mean I came all the way here and, at the very least… y’know, it sounds like a good story.”
“You’re not worried that I’m insane? I just implied that I kill people in other worlds.” Dimensions. Drat, there’s the synonym.
“Not really.”
“Or a vampire?”
“Wh…”
“That was a joke.”
“Oh…”
“All right. I’ll tell you the first part of the story, then you can see how you feel about hearing the rest,” I say, sipping my spiked tea. I can only hope he gives up halfway through the story and leaves. For now, however, I suppose I should at least start it for him.
Connor laughs, covering his mouth with a hand and I realise I must have been frowning at him. “You really don’t wanna tell me, do you?”
“Not really. But it’s not a bad story. It might help me get my head around it, too.”
“Cool. Before you start, though, who’d you make a bet with? And what was the bet, exactly?”
I tap my nose conspiratorially and I immediately see Connor regretting his decision to stay. I have no idea whether I am getting old or his youth is the problem. “Getting ahead of yourself, my friend. A good story always starts at the beginning. And as much of a mess as this whole thing is, I think it’s at least a half-decent tale.”
So, I begin.
• • •
I had been given a specific weapon for this particular job. I knew I would have to go and find it myself when I arrived, but I was too busy dealing with the travel plans to think about it at the time. It was hard trying to weigh up speed and damage, after all. Eventually, I settled on speed and barely afforded myself a moment to think before I flung my body from the roof of the building. I even remembered hitting the ground, I think. Then, immediately, my eyes were open again and I was groaning in pain as something seared through my skull. My vision was dull and my head was on fire as something wormed its way down through my nasal cavity.
Finally, as the pain receded, I coughed and retched onto the ground. There was blood, a lot of it, but a small clink caught my attention as a piece of metal hit the ground amidst the gore. So there were guns here, then? This was going to make the job simultaneously much easier and much more difficult.
I prayed silently for a suicide as the rest of my face knitted itself back together from the gunshot wound. It was either that, or someone had been vindictive enough to ram a gun down this poor sod’s throat. If that was the case, I was unsure if I was equipped to deal with whoever had done this person in when I started wandering the streets in their body. I was leaning more towards the first option, anyway.
As I waited for my body to complete its healing, I noticed the tacky sensation of dried blood matting the hair at the back of my scalp. With my tongue, I felt around the ever-closing hole at the back of my throat as I tried to clear it enough to talk. Finally standing, I saw that blood spattered my trousers and shirt. No surprises there.
I plucked the gun from the ground a short distance from the bloody mess I had left and inspected it. It was an antique-looking muzzleloader, the type you ram things down the barrel of and hope for the best. I wondered briefly how this person had gotten their hands on one, before taking stock of myself: I was dizzy but alive. And… a woman, I discovered as I ran my hands down my face and chest in the dim light of the tunnel. My eyes adjusted with surprising speed, fully revealing the sewer in which I stood. Unfortunately, my sense of smell returned moments later and the sickly, overripe scent nearly made me vomit once more.
The area was large enough for several people to stand in with their arms outstretched, more of a tunnel with a trickle of filth running down the middle than anything. Rats scurried around nearby and, from somewhere well above, I almost thought I could hear the sound of hoofbeats.
I focussed on myself to avoid the smell as I trudged through the dampness towards a light breeze. I was human; or, at least, I lacked any strange abilities or appendages as far as I could see. This meant I had no peculiar way of protecting myself, but at least there would be no surprises.
As I emerged gratefully out into a cool night, my position became apparent. Buildings drew themselves up around the stone ditch in which I stood, the entrance to the sewers. Above me, the ramshackle roofs and cobbled streets were in desperate need of repair. Meanwhile, in the distance, rising up the hill on which the town was built, were the huge stone walls of a castle or church. Thankfully, that was not where I needed to be. Distantly, above the stench of the sewers, I thought I could smell the sea, and I was tempted to follow my nose towards where the fresh scent of salt water waited.
I was so busy taking in the sights that I hardly noticed the man sleeping just outside of the sewer entrance. He awoke with a start and a loud buzzing as I trod on his ankle. I stumbled back, eyes widening as the buzzing grew louder and drowned out the slurred curses he spewed. He hovered a foot in the air, borne by translucent insectile wings. I muttered an apology, raising my hands as I skittered up the sides of the open sewer and onto equally dirty streets.
Sure, I was human, but that hardly went for everyone else here. Although I did not recall any winged people living here.
The grime on the streets became more apparent as I followed the wooden signs on street corners to my destination. I stepped around discarded crates and general muck on the damp streets, hoping it was past the hour for people to be emptying their chamber pots. It was certainly dark enough, and the streets were weakly lit by oil lamps, one on every second corner or so. It made the dirty, cobbled streets and worn-out stone buildings all the more menacing. Regardless, part of me was grateful that I did not have to see the state of the place in the light of day.