by Brhi Stokes
A knock at the door dragged me from my thoughts and I headed downstairs with a frown. It was late evening by the time I had awoken, though I would not have put it past a messenger to come at odd hours. The last one had, after all, been a cat. It was just that I had never had one knock before.
The figure at the door was an old woman I had never seen before, who looked up at me with moist blue eyes. She stared long and hard at my face for a few seconds, before pushing past me and into my entryway.
“Hey, wait a moment!” I spun to face her as she stepped towards the office at the end of the small hallway.
“Oh, where is it,” she murmured to herself in a croaky voice, “where is it?”
“This isn’t your flat and I don’t know who you are, so I’m only going to ask you to leave once, madam.” Senile or not, this was my home and I did not appreciate strangers rifling through my drawers as the old woman had begun to do. I tromped into my office after her. “Hey! I’m talking to you.”
The office was more for show than anything else, I hardly used it these days, but the old woman’s attention was unwelcome at best. Her hands fumbled for the door of a cupboard before I placed myself between her and it.
“You!” She frowned at me, poking me in the chest with a brittle finger. “You made me come all the way here, all the way-”
“From where? The nearest nursing home? What are you doing in my flat?”
She scoffed at me, her gaze sharpening as it fixed on my face. For a moment, her face was more youthful, streamlined and much paler. I blinked hard.
“Nursing home? What’s- ugh.” There was confusion evident in her voice. “From Myrkdraw, you idiot!”
I stared at her long and hard, watching as her features writhed and started to lose their hue. For the barest of seconds, I could have sworn her eyes were huge and multifaceted. Pushing myself away from her, I rubbed at my suddenly blurry eyes. Had she said Myrkdraw? How had someone like her learned the name of another plane?
“The medallion,” the old woman demanded as she gave up on the cupboard and set her now-steely gaze on mine. “Where did you put it?”
“You…” I frowned, overcome by the sudden urge to sit, but unable to take my eyes off the woman’s shifting features. “You were the man from the plane I was just in - from Evisalon? - why… what do you mean ‘Myrkdraw’?”
She stared at me incredulously, before shoving abruptly past me and heading up the stairs faster than I would have expected from an old woman. I suppose it was because, in reality, she was not one. I hurried after her as she commenced her scouring of the living room. Carefully, still facing her, I inched towards the kitchen counter until I could slide the amulet into my pocket. My head was spinning as I sat on the nearest stool.
“But if you’re… the woman from Myrkdraw… I killed you. You should be dead.”
Spinning abruptly, the old woman glowered at me. “Yeah? And what happens when you die, smart arse?”
“I… I travel to another- Wait... You can do it, too?”
“I’m a planes-hopper. Like you. So I don’t know why you’re so damn surprised.”
“I…” I swallowed hard, letting the information slowly sink in. When I had been offered the ‘job’ so to speak, I had been told very little. “So the other planes…?”
“Have them?” She stopped her quest for the amulet and turned to face me. “You think Earth is the only place with cunning Masters? Of course the other planes have them.”
“Oh…” was all I could manage. I did not bother to get up.
“This is a waste of time,” growled the little old lady, digging around in her handbag until she pulled a small device from it. It looked like a detached supermarket scanner made into a prop. It was built from old iron and bronze dials covered its surface. She fiddled with the knobs for a bit and the device clicked like a Geiger counter. Its clicking continued as she waved it around the room; the sound increasing to a desperate rattle as she pointed the device squarely at me. Her expression could have withered roses. I could make out the fury in the features that lay beneath the old lady’s face, but there was some other emotion there, too.
“Give that to me.”
“No,” I told her, folding my arms as she stood there pointing her device at me.
“Do you even know what it does?”
“No. Do you?”
She eyed me silently before she spoke again. “No. But I need it, just give it to me!”
“No.” I braced myself for another fight like we had outside the Evisalon cathedral, but none came.
Instead, she looked up at me, human eyes watering while her bug-like set quivered. “Please?” she whispered.
The tears caught me completely off-guard. Suddenly, I had images of myself as a character in a noir film, with some dame at my door begging me to help her solve the murder of her dead husband. My stint in family mediation had given me a good backbone against tears, but these were more than just frustration. The woman was desperate. She was also the only other fixer I had ever met and my curiosity was getting the better of me.
“Why do you need it?” I asked as she slumped against one of the dining room chairs.
“Because it’s important somehow. The Masters - my Masters - want it, and obviously yours do, too. It’s… valuable. And if I have it, I’m sure I could get the others to listen. They might even help.”
“Help how?”
“Help the world. Myrkdraw. It’s getting worse, the violence, the riots. The rich living like they’re the only ones worth drawing breath. If I can use this to bargain with a Master of another world I might be able to convince them to help, to…”
“You don’t really have a plan, do you?” I asked.
Her shoulders slumped, and she drew up a worn hand to swipe at her tears. “My eyes are leaking…”
“Yes, it’s what we do when we’re sad. Or angry. Or distressed. Actually, sometimes when we’re happy as well.” I waved away her confused look. “It’s normal.”
“I don’t have long,” she told me, stepping forward on shaky legs. She reached out to the table to steady herself, before looking at me once more. “I’ve been here nearly too long. What can I say that will make you decide to help me?”
“Probably nothing. I’m sorry, but I can’t just give you this.”
“You were happy enough to steal it!” The old woman attempted to saunter towards me before dizzily careening into the kitchen counter. I placed a hand on her shoulder, bracing her.
“So were you.”
“I…” she frowned.
“You look like you’re about to pass out. Lay down for a bit and we’ll talk when you’re up again,” I had some questions for her about fixers, that was for sure, “and I’ll consider helping you out.”
“But my time is nearly up.” Panicked, she looked at a small counter on her old-fashioned scanner.
“You mean your day? How long did it take to find me?”
She glared again. “I had a lot of walking to do. I need to go before the time is up.”
“Considering I saw your real form in Myrkdraw, you probably don’t have anything to hide.”
“What do you mean? I’m talking about the time limit.” She tried to writhe out of my grip, but I decided to keep my hand on her shoulder to hold her upright.
I nodded. “Yes, the time limit before you start to… dissolve. Around your own form?”
There was a very long pause before she spoke again. “Is… that what happens? I was just… told about the limit. Not what it did.”
“Well,” I said, “if it kills you, it’ll just boot you back to Myrkdraw and, since you know where I live, you can come bother me again, right?” Before she could disagree, I added, “You jumped again too quickly, didn’t you? I can’t handle any closer than a week apart, but you dove straight on in again, hmm?”
She opened her mouth to respond, standing up straight. However, before she could utter a word, she swayed and tumbled. I managed to move swiftly enough to s
top her head hitting the ground too hard. I carried her gently to the settee, noting as I straightened that the flesh of her cheek had sluiced away, revealing un-wrinkled white skin underneath. I grimaced as I raised my hand; the tissue I had accidentally wiped from her cheek clung to it like rot.
Then, I ordered some pizza and sat on the recliner, fully awake and intending to wait out her slumber. Not a hard task, given that I had recently awoken from a relatively long sleep - cleaning aside. There was also enough on my mind to take up the time with. Another fixer. I laughed, long and hard, shaking my head as I did so. Of course the other planes had their own, how else would they get things done? Whatever strange games the Masters of each plane played with one another, they would need their own pawns. I knew I should not have been so bothered by my ignorance - after all, the job had not exactly come with a manual - but I hated being blind-sided.
I had so many questions for the Myrkdraw woman, and they rattled through my head as I laid back on the recliner. I spent some time trying to put them in order, glancing at the woman every so often to ensure she was still asleep. I could only hope she did not shed too much old lady flesh across the suede before the night was out.
**
I had intended to stay up the entire night, given the circumstances. However, I must have slipped off sometime towards dawn because I was awoken by a startled yelp. My new friend was still lying where I had left her, but now she had a fistful of detached flesh in her palm, glistening in the morning light. A good chunk of her face was devoid of wrinkled human exterior and I could clearly make out the smooth porcelain skin and part of one bug-like eye. Her eyes met mine and she let out a small squeak of surprise; the mess crumbled into pieces over the floorboards.
“I don’t-” she began.
“Shower,” I told her. “Come on.”
“What?” Her tone was alarmed as she stood and followed me down the hall. Her footsteps were careful as she attempted to catch the worst of the matter in her hands. It merely sluiced between her fingers.
I pushed open the bathroom door and pointed towards the shower. “That.”
“How do I…?”
“Bathe?”
She bristled at my words. “I know how to take a bath! But I don’t know how to use your-”
I stepped into the shower and turned it on, silencing her. All things considered, she seemed a little awestruck. “Just turn the handles back to the right when you’re done. Red one first.”
“This is awful,” muttered the woman, a softly flanged tone filtering into her voice. Bits of her face were peeling away, now, and she was trying to ensure that it all landed in the shower.
“Looks it,” I observed, leaving before she could respond, and intent on pouring whisky into my tea this morning.
It helped only a little as I sat by the counter, playing with the amulet. I tried not to think about my shower filling with liquid flesh, and had to hope I could explain it to the plumber if she clogged the drain. Instead, I focussed on the amulet, holding it up to my eye as if that might help me decipher its secrets. The knock at the door nearly had me dropping it entirely. I shoved it quickly into a pocket before standing. If Mrs Anderson was here about the mail again, I was going to make sure that, the next time I travelled, it started in her living room.
Cautiously, I moved down the stairs and peered through the peep-hole. A young girl stood on the other side, staring at the door with a calm expression. I considered keeping it shut and pretending I was not home, but I knew I could spare a few seconds to tell her I did not want whatever she was selling. I opened the door wide, trying to act as though I did not have a bug woman in my shower moulting human flesh.
“Can I-”
I was almost ready for her to stride past me. I was not, however, ready for the way she lithely batted my arm aside and ducked swiftly beneath it on her way in.
“The person you think they are, they are not,” she told me brusquely. I picked her accent as Japanese or maybe Korean.
She had glanced back at me to say this and my breath caught a little in my throat. Her complexion was much darker than I had come to expect from seeing Asian models and media, and her skin was flawless and devoid of makeup.
“You are staring,” she chided, her tone indicating that she would take none of my nonsense. “And I am much older than I look.” Which was good, I supposed, because she looked about sixteen and I was unsure how to feel about my gawking at a teenager. It also crossed my mind that I was contributing to what was probably a long list of people staring uncomfortably at this poor girl.
“Sorry,” I found myself saying as she abandoned the first floor and moved up the stairs. I wanted to be baffled at the number of forced entrances into my home, but after meeting my first intruder, I was having a hard time being surprised. I moved swiftly up the stairs in her wake, intending to block her movement as she crested them. She was much quicker than me, however, and ducked past before I could settle my hands on the railings.
“Where is Avilaigne?” the girl demanded as she stopped in the centre of the room and turned to stare at me.
At a loss, I simply watched her from the hallway. At least she was not after the amulet. Unless that was its name. “Who?”
“Me.” The voice came from behind me, and I turned to see a sopping wet half geriatric half insect-person standing in the hall. A towel was loosely wrapped around her, and patches of human skin still clung to her body. She had decayed much faster than I had ever experienced myself, but the shower had no doubt assisted. I could see clearly her oddly shaped legs and the black, fly-like eyes that gazed at me. I had to wonder how the shape of her legs was hidden beneath her human skin-costume, but I had other things to worry about right now. Stepping to the side, I put my back to the wall of the hall, now able to keep an eye on both intruders.
The girl looked from me to Avilaigne and back again. “Why are you not… full of fear?” She had to search for the word.
“Scared? Why aren’t you? And how did you know that Avilaigne was here?” I countered.
“Because it is a job to destroy her,” the girl told me, reaching into her handbag to pull out a strange pistol. It looked very familiar.
I was in front of Avilaigne before I knew what I was doing. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see my ward raising her spiked forearms in the same martial stance she had used on me. “Woah, wait a moment. Pardon me?”
Behind me, there was a gentle snort. “You tried to do the same thing not so long ago… uhm…”
“Page,” I told her, “my name’s Page.” I looked at the gun-wielder. “All right, then, what crazy plane are you from, hrmm? Evisalon? Titanis?”
The girl regarded me with vague derision and I realised her face did not waver and swim as Avilaigne’s had when we had fought in Evisalon. I knew the answer even before she spoke. “Earth.”
“Oh…” I said, fighting the urge to sit down hard.
“What? Did you think you were only one like us?” The girl rolled her eyes, gesturing with the gun as she spoke. “Out of my way, I have to do a job.”
“Then you know that she won’t really die,” I tried, not wanting to deal with the old lady corpse that Avilaigne would become if she were killed in our world.
“Yes. That is why I have this gun.”
‘This gun’... I blinked at her, hoping sincerely that this was the last of today’s revelations. I could not decide which one made me feel more foolish. To be honest, and thinking back on the messenger cat’s derision, it was probably this one. No wonder the cat had been so smart with me; I had been given the gun for a reason and failed to use it properly.
Behind me, I could hear Avilaigne shifting nervously. She broke the awkward silence between us. “You don’t understand. I bet you don’t even know why they sent you after m-”
“Trying to make social uprising. So that Myrkdraw is better,” the girl interrupted.
“Oh,” the two of us said in unison.
“Your plane gets better. Your Ma
sters are not happy, our Masters are not happy. So they send me here with the weapon,” her unimpressed gaze fell upon me, “even though you are closer…”
“Yes, well, the thing is…” I searched for the right words, unsure of whether embarrassment or something else had me stumbling. “I didn’t do quite that good a job when they gave me that gun.”
The girl shrugged. “I will do the good job for you.”
“Wait!” I raised a hand, hoping I covered more of Avilaigne than I felt I did. Hoping more-so that the young woman did not just decide to shoot through me. Then, before I had thought my plan of action through completely, my old training kicked in. “What do you want out of this conversation, miss…?”
“Natsuko is my name. I do not understand the question.” A Japanese name, from the sound of it.
“Natsuko, okay. And you’re a fixer, like me,” I said. Then, as she gave me a blank look, I added, “Someone who travels to the other worlds.”
Natsuko frowned at me. “A tabibito,” she agreed, finally, “yes. You said ‘fixer’?”
I nodded. “So you want to be able to do this job?”
Natsuko stared at me impassively, no doubt trying to figure out what stupid game I was playing at.
“But I know that not finishing a job’s not the end of the world. Because I didn’t finish mine.”
The young woman was not impressed. “Because you could not. I can.”
“Right. But the Masters want Avilaigne to stop causing trouble in her world. That’s the reason for this, right?”
“Why do you still talk?”
“Because I think we can come to an agreement. I think the Masters would be okay if she promised to stop…” I glanced over my shoulder at Avilaigne for support.
The foreign fixer glowered, her bug-like eyes unreadable, but her lips were pursed. “What? Promise to stop overthrowing the oppression of the masses of my people?” Her voice was soft but vehement.
“Are you on the side of this where you don’t die or the side where you do?” I hissed quietly back at her.