Mid-Arc

by David Gosnell

  All of them jump, except for the Golem, at the sound of an explosion. They look up to see gouts of fire rushing forth from the top level hotel room where the disc was parked. Three bodies, all aflame, fall down from the sky. One crashes onto a car parked several spaces up from them. Another lands with a sickening thud in the middle of the street. The last one finds itself in the street as well, screeching and flipping around, its myriad of tentacles aflame.

  “Well, this is good fortune,” says Lev, “Perhaps our work here will be easier than we anticipated.”

  Chapter 33

  Boston, Massachusetts Techno-Mage Headquarters

  Edgar looks across his desk at Percy, who is flipping through his tablet computer, re-reading the Russia brief. “This should be a good meeting,” Edgar says enthusiastically. “Good news is long overdue in this war - three of the flesh and blood confirmed dead in one day.”

  “The damage to the hotel was pretty confined. Do you think it was a spell-casting, or one of the Dzemond weapons?” asks Percy in return.

  Edgar considers that for a moment, twirling his mustache. “Possibly Znuul, though he's never shown an affinity for the use of fire like that. I doubt it could have been Karen, if she was there. Unless, maybe, she had some kind of amplification device. My guess is a weapon.”

  Percy sets the pad down on his lap, “Eddie, evidence says she's been enslaved - a damned blooded servitor, to you-know-who. They're going to roast her in the conference.”

  A knock on the door takes their attention.

  “Come in,” beckons Edgar.

  Barry Higgins enters and looks at both of them with a critical eye.

  “You're even more dapper than usual, Barry. You must tell me where you get your shirts and accessories,” says a jolly Edgar.

  “Shirts are custom, the accessories just depend on what catches my eye. The meeting is getting ready to start. You need to be in the conference room,” says Barry curtly.

  “I thought we'd take the meeting here,” says Edgar.

  “No. The conference room,” insists Barry. “I've assembled key staff and you must be there.”

  Edgar gives that statement a moment of contemplation, then stands.

  “Well, it is a good day. This is a little unorthodox, but I think you've done the right thing - the news will certainly jazz up the troops.”

  “Oh, yes the news will certainly motivate everyone,” adds Barry.

  Percy prepares to stand and is promptly stopped by Barry.

  “Not you, Percy. Just Edgar. Space is tight. You just go to wherever it is you go to, and look in through whatever device you feel like looking in on.”

  “You're being awfully bossy today,” says Percy “and it’s not even expense report time.”

  “Neither of you have a clue what it takes to keep this organization running.”

  That statement gets Edgar to raise an eyebrow at Barry.

  Barry doesn't bother with a response; he just turns and leaves.

  Edgar arrives in the conference room and is pleased to see a packed, standing-room-only crowd. Everyone makes way for him of course, and he takes his customary seat at the head of the table. As he's sitting down, he looks at Barry, “Good job, lad.”

  Small talk is made, and eventually the screens come on in their customary fashion. Alistair is, of course, front and center. “Alright everyone, we have many important matters to discuss. I am going to jump right in. Let us start with this distressing news. Our former friend and colleague, Karen Redditch, is no more. Based on analysis of video footage and some fingerprints that we were able to obtain, we have confirmed that the individual formerly known as Karen is now a blooded-servitor of the beast Ahtsag Znuul. It pains me to say this, but she is now a kill-on-sight target, as is the beast. She has forfeited her spirit and flesh to evil.”

  “High chair,” Edgar interjects, “surely we can start these proceedings with something more upbeat?”

  “Yes, I suppose you would find that news personally distressing, Mr. Tinkerman. So, upbeat news it shall be. As we have all been tenuously aware, there is a mole in our network and has been for some time. We have finally identified the culprit and are taking steps today to ensure the integrity of the Protectorate.”

  That news gets everyone's attention in a big way.

  “Mr. Higgins, would you be so kind as to share your findings with the assembly?” asks Alistair.

  Edgar turns to Barry, obviously surprised. Barry returns Edgar's look with a wicked grin.

  “Certainly, high chair,” he starts. “The mole is none other than Edgar Tinkerman himself. We have purchase receipts and phone records to document his complicity with the demon Ahtsag Znuul. They go all the way back to immediately before and after the death of Grey Lightbringer.”

  “Preposterous!” Edgar shouts, halfway out of his chair. But the strong hands of security guards sit him back down abruptly. “Grey was as a brother to me, I would never see him harmed! This accusation is intolerable.”

  “Evidence shows phone records to a number of pay-as-you-go cellphones.” continues Barry. “One such call was to Techno headquarters last year, and we were able to analyze the voice on calling - it is none other than The Destroyer of Hope and Devourer of Souls himself. The voice analysis is being sent to your locations, gentlemen. And, if that is not enough, Edgar has sent a number of various custom-made weapons and armor to the beast in both Seiyun, Yemen, and Houston, Texas.”

  Edgar is silent, regarding Barry's proud display of forensic accounting.

  “Is this true, Edgar?” asks Frederick Reigner.

  “I had nothing to do with the death of Grey Lightbringer. Period. As to these other claims. Yes, Frederick. I have been in contact with Znuul. I did help arm him. And in that way I feel I played a role in the death of Maldgorath the Collector. Who here among us wouldn't say that was a worthy endeavor? Alistair? Do you think the multiverse would be better with that sick bastard popping in and out of any realm he chooses?”

  “How many protectorate missions have you subverted?!” Alistair yells back. “How many good protectors of the Earth have you sent to their deaths? The Techno-Mage guild, as a whole, must be removed from our ranks!”

  “No, wait please! All we need do is remove the problem,” says Barry. “The rank and file of the Techno-Mage guild are not in question. Just our leader, and his right hand accomplice, Percy Baumgarter.”

  “Percy knows nothing of any of this,” Edgar insists.

  “Then explain this call and this text, from almost a week ago… To Ahtsag Znuul himself,” Barry demands, punching up the evidence on his tablet.

  Edgar starts to stand, and the guards again push him back down into his chair. This time, though, Edgar leans forward and kicks the chair out behind him. Despite the better efforts of the guards, he is on his feet before they can set a hand on him.

  Hands equipped with multiple pieces of magic amplification apparatus are pointing at him from all around. The guards hands’ fly to their guns. Barry smiles imperiously.

  “I built this guild from nothing to protect us from threats like the Dzemond. All of you here, I have trained you in some way, personally,” Edgar says looking around the room at the bowler-hatted men threatening him. “You know me. You know what I stand for. As for the rest of you,” he says turning back to the camera on the table, “There is a snake in the grass named Alistair, and it is your fault now, should you be bitten. I hereby resign my station in this guild.”

  “Take him away for questioning,” says Alistair through the video link. “And let us all congratulate the new leader of the Techno-Mage guild, Barry Higgins. Well done lad. Well done indeed.”

  Chapter 34

  Orlando, Florida

  I'm the unhappiest man in the happiest place on Earth. Okay, maybe not - the family I saw yesterday with the screaming toddler in line for the pirates ride probably has me beat dead to rights. Even little Matthew and Abby were taken aback by that one's performance.

  And it's
not like you can spank your kids when they're being brats anymore. You'll get thrown in jail or have them taken from you. I got acquainted with a switch more than once, and so did Jerry, my son. We turned out okay.

  All the same, I'm sure I shouldn’t say I'm totally unhappy. Being surrounded by family is a very nice thing - and to have a whole week with them is worth every penny that I've shelled out.

  The grandkids, heck they're all adults with grown up kids of their own, Helen and Jerry Jr. are a double treat to be around, because they're the last generation that know me for who I really am. Same with their spouses, Steven and Rebecca. To the great grandchildren and beyond I'm distant cousin Arthur, named after good 'Ol great grand-dad.

  Of course, it's also a reminder that Sil's gone. She helped plan this thing and, I thought, really wanted to be here to see family. I keep expecting her to pop out, wearing a trench coat and a big floppy hat, looking like some kind of spy. My eyes are constantly scanning for her. But my scans reveal nothing. Not seeing her worries me. I hope she’s alright.

  It’s funny. Not that long ago, Arixtumin was my best buddy and Silithes was the problem child of our entourage. Now Arix is the black sheep and I have deep feelings for Sil.

  The other thing is that my return to the “office” has my phone lighting up. Edgar's involvement with Znuul has him in deep doo-doo, and he's been cast out from his own guild. Apparently, Znuul has done wrong by Karen and has turned her into a what they call a “blooded servitor.” From what I read during my stay at Grey manor, the servitors are both physically and spiritually bound to their masters - sort of like bigger, stronger, more ruthless Kittens.

  And Kitten, herself, is intense when it comes to protecting her master.

  That news makes me sad. It makes me sadder to know that Greg and a hit squad are on the prowl for Silithes. I wish I had a way to warn her. I’ve tried calling; her phone is not in service. It's been almost two weeks. She'll be getting the hungers again, if flesh and blood Sil is anything like summonling Sil.

  Of course, that's assuming she hasn't been indulging in the local population already. If she has, I’m sure it’s been non-lethal – like her little hunting trips.

  I come back to the moment, my morning routine almost done. I've healed, cleansed, and taken time with Yayne, as I promised Gunter. Still, I'm not sure Yayne cares for our morning conversations. They go something like, “Good morning Yanye, you piece of shit. You hurt me and Silithes badly. For what? Pride? You had to be right. Pride comes before the fall, right? Well, your turn to talk. Tell me that what you did wasn’t meant to be hurtful to both of us. Come on, let me hear it.”

  To date I have not been given a reply. I don’t expect one, either. The spirit of the swords don’t lie. I did feel some trepidation when I set it on my lap this morning, I’m sure Gunter would take that as progress. I could care less.

  I put Yayne away and bring myself back to the moment. Vets is waiting for me in the lobby. I’ve been taking early morning runs around the nature trails to get my head right before meeting with family.

  It’s best I leave any melancholy at the door, or they’ll never want to be around me.

  I lace up the shoes, head to the lobby and yes – Vets is there waiting patiently, sitting rigidly straight, taking in the surroundings.

  “Good morning Vets. Ready to run?”

  “Yes.” She looks around before standing. “Have you taken time to examine the details of our lodgings,” she asks me.

  That is world class conversation for the big girl, who is, after all these years, starting to become a bit more outgoing.

  “I haven’t taken time, but I have noticed,” I reply hoping to engage her a bit more.

  “Good. Where do we run?”

  Well give me an “A” for effort, I tried.

  The nature trail winds around the complex nicely, taking us through wooded areas. We head out at a brisk pace, but not so brisk that we can’t enjoy the surroundings – I make sure of that. If I left it up to Vets we’d be sprinting.

  I try to start up small talk again with a “Trail is pretty, isn’t it?”

  I get, “It is pavement,” in response.

  I won’t bother with trying to explain that I was referring to the whole experience of the trail.

  We round a curve in the trail and I hear the strangest sound – “thoop.”

  Vets stops and turns to the woods. I see someone quickly duck behind a tree.

  “We are under attack. Run. I will…”

  She never finishes the sentence because of the explosion that ends her time with me and leaves my ears ringing.

  Whoever it was in the woods is now running head-long towards me. I can’t make out his face as it’s bent down, and a grey hoodie is obscuring it. I reach to my arm, then twitch in pain and fall to the ground.

  Tazer.

  I try to flow into the neural training Sil had shared with me, to try and preserve some function – at least reaching to my glyphs to call for help. Whoever this is grabs my head and smacks it into the pavement.

  ⁂

  I come to while I'm being dragged into the woods by my arms. That sucks, because I can’t call my summonlings for help in this position.

  We stop, and he pulls out the tazer again, reacquainting me with what feels like a million volts.

  After coming to my senses again sometime later, I hear my abductor say something, finally.

  “Where is the demon Znuul?”

  “How the hell should I know?”

  One million plus volts tells me I gave the wrong answer. At least this time I don't pass out.

  “I have to know where he is. Where is the Demon Znuul,” the hoodie man says in an unnatural, rapid-fire cadence.

  I finally get a good look at this guy. He has a bizarre smile that displays graying gums and off-color teeth. His skin is jaundiced, and I can’t make the eyes out from behind the dark glasses. The hoodie is part of a cloak-like garment.

  He hits me again with the tazer and demands, “Where is he?”

  After collecting my breath, I figure I have to buy time to call for help. Call my hound, that is.

  “Wait, wait…” I say holding my hand up. “I can’t think with you doing that. I don’t know where he is for sure, but I may know where he might be.”

  The freak responds with a chittering laugh. With his other hand I see him pull out a large, curved knife. I know once I tell him anything of value, I’m dead.

  I gather my breath and roll over to my knees.

  “Tell me, or I shock you and take a hand. Need to know. Need to know now.”

  “Okay,” I hold my head down to appear as subservient as possible, and I breathe heavily. To add to that, I hold my hands out in front of me. Then I sweep my left arm down as fast as possible and tear the leads out from my chest. I duck down and spring forward to try to grab his legs and take him down, but he’s not there.

  He must have dove over me as I was diving for him – the bastard.

  It still gives me the time to run my finger along Hjuul’s sigil and send him to the white. Knowing that a tazer shot is coming, I feint a roll to the left then roll to the right. It works, his shot misses.

  I run my finger along Hjuul’s sigil again and call him to me. Hoodie throws down the tazer and reaches into his cloak for a tube like device. Then 400+ pounds of Hjuul comes crashing into him.

  I hear hoodie man make a sound like a screech, but that’s about all he gets out before Hjuul begins tearing him to pieces.

  Hjuul coughs and shakes his head. Hoodie guy has some kind of yellow blood, and obviously my hell-hound buddy does not care for the taste of it.

  “Sorry guy,” I say to my hound, “But thanks for the save. Thought I was a goner.”

  Hjuul is very happy to have saved me, despite the foul yellow blood. His tail is wagging in over drive; his eyes and panting speak volumes. The hopping and wiggling butt is a clue too.

  “Hey, I’ll have to send you back until I can get Arix to normal you
,” I tell him. “Won’t be long, I promise.”

  He slowly blinks his eyes in response. I give him a big hug and send him away. He knows I’m not going to leave him there.

  I regard the torn up mess that was hoodie man. The black glasses were tossed aside and I got a look at his peepers. They don’t look like eyes. They look oddly similar to camera lenses.

  He’s got to be some kind of cyborg. Damn.

  I leave him for someone else to find and make my way back to the trail and pick up Vets' ring, the item that lets her transform to human form, along with her clothes. I walk the trail back to the hotel. Once I get to the room, the first thing I do is re-summon Hjuul. Then Vets.

  Vets is pleased that I proved my superiority over this adversary.

  Next thing is to call Arix’s room and get him over here to wolf-size my hell-hound buddy.

  That done, I have to let Helen know I’ll have to catch up with them at Epcot – maybe.

  Arix arrives and transforms Hjuul to a proper wolf. He departs with Vets and a few words, including “how demeaning.”

  I’m sprawled out on the bed. Who was that? What was that? I’m some source of information about Znuul. All I know is what we hear in the media – that, and that there are bunkers in Kentucky and Dubai.

  Somebody’s got to be warned about this new menace. Greg is my go-to guy for those kind of things, for the simple reason I trust him. I dial up his number and wait.

  “What’s up Arthur? Why are you calling me on the Protectorate line?”

  That’s his way of reminding me that anything said is not secure.

  “We have an issue, maybe a new adversary,” I say back. “I just got jumped, beaten, and tazered by some cyborg thing who thought I knew where Mr. Znuul is. Like I would know”

  A moment of silence follows. Then Greg sounds very serious. “Jaundiced looking? Cybernetic eye implants? Yellowish blood?”

  Well maybe my news isn’t news after all.

  “Yeah to all.”

  “Damn,” he says, and I know something is very wrong. “Arthur, those are Protectorate creatures. Or at least they belong to one of the member organizations – maybe the League of Man. The hunters were supposed to be mothballed. The whole Nebraska thing was their screw-up. I’ll get a clean-up crew out to…”