by Robert Bevan
Mordred, unsurprisingly, didn't respond. It felt good to talk to someone who didn't try to hijack what she was trying to get off her chest with their own agenda. Whether they wanted something from her, or wanted to prop themselves up by teaching her some profound life lesson, or were simply waiting for an opportunity to make the conversation about them, Katherine often felt like people only paid as much attention to her as they'd need to barely pass a pop quiz on what she was talking about. It wasn't that she had some terrible secret she needed to vent, or that she thought she had it harder than any of the rest of the people Mordred had sent to this world. She didn't have anything at all specific she wanted to say, or anyone in particular she wanted to say it to. She only wanted someone to pay her the courtesy of listening to her with their undivided attention. Even if he was a fat hairy vegetable, Mordred would have to do.
Sitting down against the wall, she let the damp earthen floor soak through her jeans. It felt great.
“What is it with you guys and your world-domination fantasies?” Knowing he most likely couldn't even hear her, she continued without waiting for an answer. “Being a leader is harder than you might think. Sure, there's a bit of a power high when things are going well, but it can be a pain in the ass when any little thing is less than perfect. And I'm just speaking from being the captain of one little ship. You're looking to rule this whole world.”
Katherine laughed at the thought as she wiped her sweaty hair out of her eyes.
Mordred farted. It was unsettling, like he might be back in that body. But it was one of those things that happened occasionally. The engine was still running, after all, even if there was nobody behind the wheel.
“Your biggest problem is that you don't command any respect. That takes more than traipsing around in a goofy purple cape and acting like a condescending prick, and it takes more than power. Suppose you get your dice. What then? You get to play god over us all again? How'd that work out for you last time? No matter how powerful you believe yourself to be, we all know you for the insecure nerd that you are. However you try to justify it to yourself, I encourage you to step back and take an objective look at how fucked-up it is to imprison people in your little game so that they'll worship you or whatever. I've got news for you, asshole. It's never going to happen. Kill us if you want, but we'll never worship you, we'll never respect you, and we'll never stop fighting you.” She tried to think of a good way to end this little tirade. “Fuck you.” It wasn't poetic, but he wasn't listening anyway.
A long slender turd descended through the hole in Mordred's chair they'd cut out for exactly that purpose. Maybe, on some subconscious level, he had been listening, and that was his response.
Gross as it was, it was probably for the best that Mordred took a shit while she was there with him. She could scoop it into the Bag of Holding immediately, minimizing the time he had to spend in its presence.
“Let's get that cleaned up before I feed you,” she said, turning around to grab the poop-scooping shovel she kept propped against the wall.
Strangely, the shovel wasn't where she remembered leaving it last time she scooped up Mordred's shit. Maybe she was misremembering the last time. No, that didn't make sense. She leaned it against the same wall every time. There was only so much wall space down here. She turned around to check the wall behind Mordred, and her heart nearly stopped.
Mordred was out of his chair and on his feet, grinning at her as he held the shovel like a baseball bat.
“It's a cloak,” he said, then swung hard.
Silent.
Dark.
Oblivion.
Chapter 47
Stacy drummed her fingers impatiently on the Arby's table, staring out the window at the darkening street for any sign of Cooper, but staying keenly aware of where Dave was and what he was doing at all times. She kind of hoped he'd lunge at her again or try to make a break for it so she'd have an excuse to take out some of her pent-up frustration on him again.
She'd given him a chance to run when she escorted him to the bathroom to clean himself up after his little accident in the dining area by stepping out of sight around the corner of the building and hoping that he'd try and flee while he thought her guard was down. Whether he was wise to the trap she'd set, or he was just too chickenshit to seize the opportunity, he stayed put after exiting the bathroom.
Now, like then, Dave was a model prisoner. Sure, he glanced at the door a few times, but what prisoner doesn't pass the time of his sentence daydreaming about escape? Then again, those prisoners usually had walls and bars to keep those daydreams in their place. All Dave had was the threat of Stacy beating the shit out of him. She'd already demonstrated that was a formidable enough threat, but she was going to have to sleep at some point.
“I don't think he's coming back,” Dave finally said. “He probably got lost. Maybe we should go look for him.”
Stacy eyed him warily. “Whatever scheme you've got brewing in that thick head of yours, you'd better forget it.”
“I'm not scheming anything. I didn't run when you pretended to let your guard down while I was in the bathroom, did I?”
Well played, Dave. He might be a chickenshit, but he was a savvy one.
“No, you didn't. But I had full control of the situation then. Out on the street, there are a lot more variables at play. You'll be keeping your eyes open for an opportunity.”
“And what do you think the odds are of me successfully taking advantage of one?”
“Not good,” said Stacy. “Hence the warning.”
Dave shrugged. “Well, there you go. So why are we still discussing it?”
“Because I want to know why you've got such itchy feet all of a sudden. And don't even try to tell me it's because you give a shit about Cooper.”
“I'm more concerned about Professor Goosewaddle.”
Stacy laughed. “That's really sweet of you, but I think he can take care of himself.”
“That's not what I meant,” said Dave. “He's given me multiple warnings about coming here, and I'm more afraid of him than I am of you. One way or another, I'm going to be on the other side of that door when he and his sadistic bitch of manager get back.”
He had a point there. Stacy didn't think Professor Goosewaddle would hurt her, but there was something about that Jennifer girl. If Stacy had to rank every Arby's manager she'd ever met by how much she'd like to back them into a corner, Jennifer would rank dead last.
“Let's go,” said Stacy. “But remember, you're on a short leash.”
“Yeah, yeah, I've got it.” Dave waddled past her and out the door. He must have been more right than Stacy had given him credit for, because Paul and the goblin staff breathed a collective sigh of relief as they said goodbye to her.
Dusk was setting in, and the rest of the shops on the street were shutting down for the night. As nice as that first familiar whiff of Arby's curly fries had been upon first arriving there, Stacy was now happy to escape the scent of them. The cool evening air outside was refreshingly free of non-hydrogenated corn oil.
As they walked up the street, Stacy soon realized that Dave wasn't the ideal traveling companion when she was trying to cover as much random ground in as little time as possible. Was he trying to drive her mad with impatience? Or was he just genuinely this slow? He was like a ninety-five-year-old man trying to drag a wheelless school bus.
She stopped, which didn't feel like much of a change. “This isn't working. We need to come up with something better.”
“What have you got in mind?” asked Dave. The unspoken message was, “You're dragging me along against my will, so don't expect a whole lot of help from me.”
“Cooper knows I was expecting him to come back. If he's lost, as you suggested, he'll eventually think to ask for directions. So it makes sense to stay close to Arby's, where we parted ways.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Dave. “Just as long as we're not actually inside it... or loitering too close.”
Another
thought occurred to Stacy. “Then again, he's been gone so long that he might think I've given up waiting on him to come back and look for me elsewhere.”
“He might. So I guess that puts us back at square one.”
“Not really,” said Stacy. “As far as I know, there are only two landmarks in this whole city he would think to look for me. Arby's and –”
“No,” said Dave with sudden assertion in his voice. It seemed an odd time for him to put his fat little foot down about something.
“No, what?”
Dave's assertive expression wavered into confusion. “No, ma'am?”
Stacy rolled her eyes. “No, I mean what are you saying no about?”
“You were about to suggest the Whore's Head Inn, weren't you?”
Stacy shrugged. “Yeah. So?”
“Was that your little plan all along?” Dave's tone was accusatory. “Frank put you up to this, didn't he?”
“Frank? What does Frank –”
“Did you send Cooper ahead of us to start digging a hole?”
“Dave!” said Stacy. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“If you want to kill me, you can do it right here on the street. I'm not letting you lure me into Frank's little trap.”
“Nobody wants to kill you, Dave. Look, I know you had it out with Frank, and he probably doesn't want to see you any more than you want to see him. Maybe you could just wait outside while I run in and see if Cooper's there.”
Dave laughed. “Nice try, cunt. But I'm not about to –”
CRUNCH!
Stacy rubbed her fist where it had smashed Dave's nose. It was a good kind of sore.
“FUCK!” Dave honked through his bleeding nose. “What was that for?”
Stacy couldn't believe he had the audacity to ask the question. “What the fuck do you think?”
“So it's okay for you to set me up to get murdered and tossed into a shallow grave. But if I call you a name, I'm the asshole?”
His raving paranoia sounded crazy to Stacy, but she could see that he truly believed she was trying to set him up. And given that, she believed that he'd fight her here on the street rather than follow her to the Whore's Head.
“We'll stay here then,” she said. The sun had completely set, and the faint magical light from the streetlamps was becoming more pronounced against the darkening sky. At the rate they were going, she had little confidence that they'd be finding Cooper today. “We'll get a room and stake out Arby's until I can think of a better idea.”
Dave rubbed his nose as he nodded to an inn across the street. It had a quaint charm that was a lot more welcoming than the Whore's Head Inn, but lacked the flashiness of the grand hotels on the Crescent Shadow strip. “I've stayed there before. It's reasonably priced.”
“First, we need to get some supplies.”
“What kind of supplies?”
Stacy headed for the other end of the street where the more mundane shops were. The magic shops near Arby's probably had exactly the sort of thing she needed, whatever that turned out to be, but not likely at any price she could afford. Once she found Cooper, they could keep an eye on Dave in shifts, so she didn't want to blow a whole lot of money on keeping him contained tonight.
There was no point in keeping her intentions a secret. Being resigned to being her prisoner for the time being anyway, Dave might even volunteer some insight on how to best get the job done.
“If we're going to spend the night together, I'm going to need some assurance that you won't act on any bad ideas you might have while I'm sleeping.”
A flicker of annoyance showed on Dave's face, like he hadn't exactly been counting on being able to try anything when she fell asleep, but he hadn't ruled it out either... until just now.
“You could lock me in a cage,” he offered. “That's how they usually handle this sort of thing on TV.”
“That inn you stayed at. Do the rooms come with cages in them?”
Dave sighed. “Not typically, no.”
“I'm not hauling a dog kennel back there or anything. Who knows what kind of weird sex stuff the manager would think we were getting into?”
“What about a rope? You could tie me up.”
Stacy smiled to herself. That Dave was quite the slippery fish. He proposed a plausible but impractical method of containment, then followed it up with a more practical and seemingly plausible alternative.
“I could do that,” Stacy said slowly, pretending to consider his suggestion. “Oh, but then you could just change forms and easily escape the knots.”
Dave looked down at his feet. “Oh yeah. I guess that's true.”
“If we got a room on the top floor, I could tie you up suspended outside the window,” said Stacy.
“Why would you do that?” Dave asked, his eyes wide with the horror of her suggestion.
“To discourage you from wanting to escape the knots, of course.”
“That wouldn't discourage me. I have Damage Resistance to everything but silver or magical weapons. Hitting the street would barely affect me at all.”
It was interesting how cooperative he was suddenly being. His fear of heights was apparently greater than his desire to escape. Stacy had no intention of suspending him out the window, but it was fun to watch him sweat.
“I could put some silver coins on the ground directly below you.”
“People would pick them up!” Dave wasn't even trying to hide his panic now.
“I'll throw some dirt over them. No one will know they're there.”
“I'll tell them!”
Stacy smiled down at him. “Not if I gag you.”
“But, but...” Dave scrambled to think of something to counter that with, but he was thinking in the wrong direction.
“Relax, Dave,” said Stacy. “I'm not going to suspend you out the window. That probably wouldn't play well with the authorities.”
Dave breathed out a sigh of relief. “That's true. There's almost certainly a law against that.”
“So I was thinking I might suspend you from the ceiling instead.”
“Oh no!” said Dave in mock fright. “I might fall a whole four feet.” Then the fake concern on his face turned genuine. “Hang on. Are you talking about suspending me over a chamber pot or something?”
Stacy laughed. “Shame on me for not thinking of that, but no. That would be really gross, but not necessarily a strong enough deterrent if you had your mind set on getting into mischief.”
“Then what are you talking about?”
Stacy shrugged. “Maybe nothing. Let's find out.” She walked into a shop called The Best Defense. The sign featured a multitude of weapons, ranging from daggers to crossbows to large-bladed axes.
The inside of the store lived up to the sign's promise. Beyond the mere everyday needs of a small army, the inventory featured some exquisite instruments of death and dismemberment on its walls. Weapons with names such as Soul Spiller, Bloodline Ender, and Paste Maker were displayed reverently in glass cases, more like museum pieces than items anyone who did their own murdering could hope to afford.
“Ask me about shields or helmets,” said the muscular, leathery-skinned woman behind the counter as she casually cocked a crossbow. “You'll win a free bolt.”
Stacy smiled. “No, I get it. The best defense is a good offense.”
The shopkeeper sighed like she'd been waiting her whole life for someone to say those words to her. “People can be so stupid.” She held up her crossbow. “I tell you, there are times when I want to put one of these straight through a customer's head, just to see if it makes any difference.”
“Can you really blame them, though?” asked Dave. “I mean, if you're in the market for armor, and you see a sign about defense...”
The woman leveled her crossbow at Dave. “Turn your head to the side and line up your ear holes, and I promise this won't hurt a bit.”
Dave grimaced as he tried to lean out of the crossbow's line of fire. “Is that how you treat potent
ial customers? I think I'll take my business else–”
“Dave,” said Stacy. “Shut up.”
When she was satisfied that Dave wasn't going to continue, the woman laughed and uncocked her weapon. “The name's Myrna. What can I do for you?” she asked, addressing Stacy.
“First, I'd like to know if you have a silver-bladed dagger.”
Dave gasped behind her.
“For self-defense,” Stacy elaborated.
“Defense,” said Myrna snidely. “Seems there's been a lot of folks looking to defend themselves with silver ever since the king put a bounty out on wererats.”
That was an interesting bit of news, but Stacy reasoned that asking for further details would come off like she was trying to double down on the lie. So instead, she lied.
“Okay, you caught us. I've never been a bounty hunter before, and I was a little embarrassed to admit what we were doing.”
“As well you should be.” Myrna pulled a dagger out from under the counter and placed it in front of Stacy. “Look at that blade.”
Stacy stared at the shiny serpentine blade, taking what she felt was an adequate amount of time to appreciate the craftsmanship, so as to not insult the shopkeeper. “It's very nice.”
“It's very short,” said Myrna. “Wererats are nasty creatures. Are you quite sure you want to get so close?”
“I appreciate your concern, ma'am. But I think I can handle a wererat.”
“One wererat, sure. They're weak and cowardly creatures. Even the fat little girl behind you might handle a single wererat.”
“I don't have to take this shit,” said Dave, stepping out half a foot from behind Stacy. “I'm all man, lady!”
Myrna laughed. “You smell like you shit yourself in fear when I pointed this little crossbow at you.”
“That was from poison,” Stacy corrected her. “And he did it a little while ago.”
Dave sighed. “Thanks, Stacy. Way to have my back.”
“My point is that wererats seldom travel alone,” said Myrna. “Where you see one or two standing out in the open, you can bet there are five or six more lurking in the shadows nearby, lying in wait of some overconfident bounty huntress and her pet walrus to come within striking distance.”