Orphan of Mythcorp

by R. S. Darling

  Kana finished cleaning my cripple-stick and then handed it to me. I tried it out. Wobbled and shook, but the lusty desire to be free of this scene and these kooks lent me strength.

  “Should we tell him?” Faustus asked Kana, grin still plastered on his face.

  The one called Kana inspected me, stepped up onto the bloodied chest of Titus, and said, “You look familiar. Don’t he look familiar, Red?”

  Faustus started checking me out too. “Yeah, he kind of does—especially with that cane and black mop of hair and all them bruises. I’ll be a pillagers pet if he doesn’t look like him. What’s your name, kid? And don’t lie, because Kana here can tell a lie by the faintest facial twitch.”

  “My name is Morgan.” It was a smidgen hard to breathe; the air was so heavy in here.

  “What was that krit you pulled on the girl?” Kana asked. “That staring thing, I mean.”

  I hesitated—which Kana seemed to notice. Bile rose. “It’s called a Mesmer. If I focus, I can sometimes make people do what I want them to. I’m not as good as some of the Morai.”

  “The Morai? Son of a witch,” Kana said. “Were you raised in the Home? That piss-plant on Golden Avenue?” She and Faustus waited with their peepers’ wide open.

  I nodded, hoping it was the right answer.

  “Seth-on-a-stick!” Kana shrieked. She traded looks with Faustus. “It’s Knox’s boy.”

  Chapter 13

  Sanson

  I raced away from the fighting yahoos and made it to Alpha where I hailed a cab. Cabbie Man got me home by twelve thirty. After injecting myself with the last nanite vial from the case, I fell on my bed and was out in seconds.

  Like other aspects of my condition, sleep is one of those ‘normal’ tasks I no longer have to perform. My body doesn’t need to recover since it doesn’t accumulate or expend energy.

  The nanites, however, have less work to do during sleep: they last longer the more I sleep.

  Sunlight was trying to penetrate my lids—which was my first indication that I was late. Sleep glue had sealed my eyes shut. It happens, all part of my curse. I felt my way to the bathroom (which is very dangerous and tedious for someone with no sensation), got to the sink, and splashed water on my lids. “Dang it,” I whined. Still stuck. I raised my hands, opened the vanity and, relying on memory and sound, reached out for the bottle of Nexdrops.

  With head craned back I soaked my eyes with the liquid; drip-drip-drip. Half a minute later my lids popped open. I dribbled a few more drops in each eye and blinked.

  Such a pain, being undead.

  After five minutes of self-examination, I dressed and checked out the time. “Holy crap.” I was almost three hours late. Thanks mom. Four fresh vials of nanites from the little fridge in my bedroom fit snug into the case; I deposited the whole mess, along with the blueprints, into my backpack. With the walk to Philicity High, I ended up three and a half hours late. I nodded at the Iconocop, walked through the detector and dropped my FAD in the polymer case to the right.

  “Just in time for Fifth Period Sociology,” I groaned.

  I joined the throng in the hall, made it to Room 114. That’s when Ash grabbed my arm. He looked up with this puppy dog expression, which came off really creepy with his white eyes and vacant expression.

  “Where have you been?”

  “Relax,” I said, “I got your papers in my bag.”

  Ignoring me, he said, “I need your help.” His buddy Lamorak was with him, sporting the same creepy expression. “Come with me.”

  “But then I’ll miss Sociology and I might need it after we graduate,” I said. Neither of the Morai seemed to get it. Apparently they’d been born without a sense of humor. So I shrugged, followed them on a seemingly random walk around the school. “Where are we going?”

  At last Ash spoke. “We’re not going anywhere just now,” looking around. The halls were just about empty. “I was waiting for some privacy before we go somewhere. Listen, earlier today Manny Kant and Gareth fell to blows.”

  The Morai have a strange way of speaking. “I assume that means Manny Kant beat up one of your guys?”

  “Yes.”

  I walked towards the windows, glanced outside. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that, but why are you telling me this?”

  “I want you to make him sorry,” real calm, as if he were asking me to buy him ice cream.

  “There’s like twelve of you, right?” I asked. “Why don’t you just gang up on him?”

  Lamorak huffed and puffed and looked in Ash’s eyes. I had yet to hear this one speak. Ash held his hands up as if placating him, and said to me, “Our bodies are fragile. Even if we surrounded him, all he’d have to do would be to deliver a few well placed punches, and we’d lose the edge.”

  “I don’t know man,” facing the windows. “You haven’t even asked how hard it was for me to get those papers you wanted. I nearly got flattened by some huge . . . I don’t even know what it was.”

  Ash betrayed no impatience. “Lamorak here knows Kant’s schedule. He will take you—”

  “Look, I’m not doing it,” I said, flapping my hands around. “This is weird. You don’t just ask someone to beat up someone else, okay? You ain’t no Mafia Don and I ain’t no bruiser. I’ve never been in a fight in my life. I think I’ve done enough for you as it is. I’m going to class.”

  I started to walk away, but Lamorak rushed ahead and barred my path. He was bigger than Ash, and with his three ponytails he came off as even more eccentric. Ash set a hand on my shoulder. “You are right. You have done much already. But please hold off making a decision until I show you something. Will you do that much for me?”

  I looked down at his white hand. He released my arm. “Fine. But I’m not going to beat someone up just because you asked nicely. I got my own health concerns too, you know.”

  He nodded and led me down the hall. After rounding the corner I realized where we were headed. Two minutes later we reached the nurse’s station. Ash and Lamorak signed in and I did the same, but I wasn’t going to change my mind just because he showed me his beat up buddy.

  “Hello Miss Little,” Ash said, opening the inner door to the room where they keep the cots. “Is it cool if we visit Gareth?”

  The nurse said, “Of course.”

  “I brought a couple friends if that’s alright.” He had a way of making his questions sound like statements. “This is Lamorak and Sanson.”

  Miss Little nodded at each of us and then pulled a curtain out of the way. After that she disappeared to check on another patient. I stood behind the Morai yahoos but could still see; the mangled sight on that bed was gag-worthy. I was expecting a black eye, a puffed up lip at worst. But this was some nasty stuff.

  “Holy crap,” I gasped.

  Ash nodded. “Yeah, we bruise easily. Nurse Little said he might not wake for a few days.”

  “Why haven’t they taken him to the hospital?”

  Lamorak snorted, walked around to the other side of the bed. Ash, calm and cool as ever, shrugged. “He’s a Morai. We’re not allowed off school grounds.”

  “But look at him!” stepping closer. “He’s not even white anymore.” His face looked like a steak left out too long. “And what the heck did Kant do to his hand? What if he dies?”

  Silence.

  Now, I’m no empath, but I could feel their anger and frustration just looking at their busted up friend. Plus, if I didn’t help Ash out now, he’d never forgive me and never lift my curse.

  I sighed. “Where’s Kant?”

  Ash nodded at Lamorak, who in turn nodded at me and indicated that I should follow him. So, once again I was doing exactly what Ash wanted. It didn’t even seem to matter that I was immune to his Mesmer.

  My mute guide led me to the gym where Mr. Pangborn was blowing on his whistle, jumping around in his tight white cutoffs, and generally being a big A-hole to the sophomores. I followed Lamorak inside and along the blue cinder-block wall over to the bleachers, which were
pushed out on this side of the gym. As every smoker in Philicity High knows, when the bleachers are out, you can gain access to the old supply room behind them.

  Lamorak stopped when he reached the door. It had been painted so many times that it blended in with the wall. “Where’s Kant?”

  “He has a fifteen minute free period after his Theorics class. He comes alone to smoke.”

  I was surprised he answered. Lamorak’s voice was just as smooth as the other Morai, but had a slight lisp to it. “Are you going to help me, or do I have to handle him alone?”

  “Alone,” he said.

  “Super.” I shoved on the door. It was paint-glued but gave under my weight. I set my bag down on a pallet loaded with satchels of baseballs, while Lamorak shuffled off to the side of the door and plopped down on a half-deflated Lazy-boy.

  And then we waited for the goon to show.

  I chugged some Nanex, checked my thermal. “Well how long till he shows? I hate waiting.” I did not receive an answer. This was like standing in an open field with a lightning rod during a storm, only more boring. “I wish he’d show up already so we can get on with it.”

  A little while later I said, “What if he gets the upper hand on me?”

  Lamorak shrugged.

  Jerk. “So, ah, how does your Mesmer thing work?”

  Lamorak shrugged, sighed. “It’s pheromones. We peep into your soul and release pheromones through our pores, which relaxes your noodle and body, making you pliable. Then, with our peepers, we entrance you. When these things take hold, you become our puppet. Happy?”

  “How could that possibly make me happy?”

  Lamorak stood, listened. “He’s coming. Stand over there so he doesn’t see you at first.”

  “Yes sir, Puppet Master.”

  The door handle jiggled and the door inched open. I felt nothing, not even fear. Or maybe I did. When your heart doesn’t beat, it can’t race when you’re scared, so you have no way of knowing your own heart, really.

  One of the few advantages to being undead.

  I raised the baseball in my left hand, ready to smash it against the back of Kant’s head. It was dark in the supply room, but not so dark that I couldn’t see the figure entering. I reacted before realizing that it wasn’t Kant. My hand was three inches from the head before I jerked to a halt. “Holy—”

  “What the fug are you doing?” the Morai asked after turning quick to see me standing there, fist on baseball inches from her head. “Sanson? Lam? What’s going on?”

  “Ava? What are you doing here?” Lamorak asked. It was female. Huh. I backed up, out of the light so that I could get a better look at her. As she moved closer to Lamorak, I watched her hips. Yup, she was definitely a chick. Curves and smaller hands gave her away, but on closer inspection I noticed other qualities lacking in all the rest of the Morai.

  “I saw you in the hall walking with . . . him,” Ava answered. “You had Study Hall but you were going the opposite way, so . . .”

  Lamorak shrugged.

  Ava turned to look at me, then back at Lamorak. “So what are you doing here, with him?”

  Lamorak shrugged. “Ash convinced Sanson to . . . repay Kant,” gazing at her. “Now sit down over there and be quiet. He’ll be here any second.”

  Ava sat down next to him. I couldn’t help but stare. The Morai dudes were weird, but ponytails and white hair on a chick is a whole other bucket of chicken. I could go for her. She caught me staring, made a ‘what the heck you looking at?’ face.

  “I’m sorry, it’s just, I think you’re hot.” Oh man, what a doushe. “I mean, beautiful . . . and stuff. I like your . . . shirt.” Great job, pervert, stare at her chest while babbling like a moron.

  Ava did not smile, but when she looked down at the floor (after giving me a dirty look) she pulled her braid around and started fiddling with it. And as every guy knows, when a chick plays with her hair, she’s saying she really wants to play with something else.

  I was totally and incredibly down with that.

  “He’s coming,” Lamorak piped up.

  “Excellent.” Now I’d have a chance to show her what a badass I was. I slunk into the shadows, raised the baseball, and got ready to pounce. The doorknob jiggled and in stepped Manny Kant. He checked out the light bulb, probably trying to decide if he’d left it on from the last time he was down here.

  I was hoping he’d do a little CSI. Instead, Kant stopped where he was and inhaled. “Crap.”

  He snapped around, rushed for the door. But I was too quick. I smashed the baseball into his left cheek, where it made a lovely wet smacking sound. His head jerked to the left and he stumbled back. As Kant grabbed his cheek, I paused—which was my first mistake.

  Kant recovered quickly, leaping forward fist first. I managed to snap my head back but Kant’s knuckles still made contact, barreling into my nose.

  “Ah,” I screamed, not from pain—there was none—but from surprise. I rubbed at my nose, vainly trying to discover if it was broken or still streamlined. “You freaking broke my nose!” I shrieked and turned to Ava. “Did he break my nose? I think he broke my nose.”

  Ava had her hands to her face. “I don’t know. It looks broken but maybe it’s always looked that way?”

  All the while Kant was circling me. He suddenly darted forward. I stuck my hand out but in a fight no one ever stops just because you want them to—not unless it’s a Fight Club fight or your opponent is massively submissive and outrageously stupid.

  He rammed straight for my gut. I heard air being expelled but felt nothing. Kant landed a right hook into my ribcage while I was still trying to recover from the nose debacle. I didn’t feel the blow, but couldn’t help notice that it shifted my footing. It must’ve been a fierce mother. What kind of damage was this jerk doing to my poor body?

  I tried to shove him off, but he had his arms around me now in a bear hug. So I reared back and struck him. He gasped but held fast and we both went down. Real fights are not like you see in the holovids; neither fighter gets more than one or two well-placed punches in before both grapple and fall. Then it’s all about who gets the stranglehold first. Wrestling more than boxing. We flailed around, grunting and cursing, our shoes scoring dozens of black streaks on the vinyl floor. I could see that Kant was sweating. If I could just hold on a little longer.

  BEEPBEEPBEEP

  My dang thermal went off again. I managed to squiggle my left arm around Kant’s back to sneak a peek at the digital readout. “Fifty-Nine,” I breathed. Had to finish him quick or my joints would start seizing up, and God knew what he’d do to me then.

  Or to Ava.

  I looked around as we danced idiotically on the floor. Ah, that will do, I thought, spotting a Louisville Slugger standing beside the canvas bags of balls.

  We scrapped on the floor, Kant getting in a few half-hearted blows every couple seconds; he couldn’t really put in his full strength, as I had his biceps pinned to his sides. But while he probably thought he was wearing me down, I was slowly shifting us over to the bat. Thirty seconds of this (with Ava panicking and Lamorak just watching) and we were close enough. I reached for the bat with my left hand, releasing Kant’s arm and risking my hide.

  He reared back for a blow to my face. I sidled to the left and grabbed the bat. Kant’s fist landed on the vinyl and he started balling—which gave me leeway to shimmy out of the clutch of his legs. I raised the bat awkwardly, thermo howling, joints seizing.

  With all the strength I could muster, I slammed it down.

  The beefy part of the wooden bat caught Kant smack dab on the points of his shoulder blades. A gruesome double-crunching sound followed.

  He screamed. In my peripheral vision I noticed Ava covering her ears and cringing. Lamorak stood stock-still, his expression bordering on . . . satisfaction? Whatever. Kant screamed some more and messed the floor with a mixture of tears and blood.

  Panic welled inside me. I had to shut him up. Down came the bat again and again. The
wet smacking sound of wood on flesh and bone was enough to make me want to puke (if only I could), but the stubborn yahoo just wouldn’t shut up. So I kept at it, up and down with the Slugger, until finally his cries waned. Soon the sound he was making was the slobbering of blood-drooling.

  I stood still, dropped the bat.

  It clanged against the floor, bounced a few times and then went still. The only sound was that of my thermal wailing and Ava sobbing behind me.

  Before I could end up a bleeding statue, I walked over to my backpack. Still, it was a struggle, my knees creaking and not wanting to bend, my hip joints nearly frozen, and my arms like wet laundry left on the clothesline in the winter. I bent down, removed case-gun-vial, and injected myself.

  A few minutes later my temp was back up to 62.

  Ava was leaning over the unmoving Kant when Lamorak shook my hand. “Thank you.”

  He walked out of the room. Ava looked back at him. “Where are you going? Lam!” She turned to me. “We can’t just leave him here. He needs a hospital.” She put her hand to Kants’ neck, her breathing becoming erratic. “Oh man. His pulse is really slow. Do something.”

  I stood there.

  “You did this. Now fix it!”

  I looked around. What did I expect to see, a doctor? Then I remembered the case. Worth a shot, I figured. Ava watched as I reloaded the hypogun and injected nanites into the unconscious Kant. For a few seconds nothing happened, but then, as she was checking his pulse again, Ava exhaled. “It’s a little better. Okay, help me carry him out.”

  “Carry him out?”

  “That’s right,” she snapped. “Help me take him to Miss Little, she’ll call an ambulance and—”

  “And then the police will show up and I’ll be taken away. Uh-unh. No way. I’ll help you carry him to the end of the bleachers. Coach Pangborn will find him soon enough.”

  She seemed peeved but listened to reason, maybe because she was an accessory or complicit or whatever they call it when someone witnesses a crime and doesn’t do jack to stop it. We bent down and hoisted him up. Ava grunted and I could tell she didn’t have the strength to carry him far.