by Lee Bond
“Fuck my life.” Politoyov leaned against a bulkhead and started preparing himself for the eventual boarding party. “Sideways.”
King o’ Th’ Hill
Agnethea knew better than to reach out and touch the odd shimmering shield surrounding the hillock a third time, but at the same time she simply could not resist; there were little doubt in her mind that the thing were being generated by Book and knew damn well why it were there and that she'd undoubtedly suffer the same as before, yet…
i do not think this is wise
"In your ear, Jarvis, and twist it sidewise 'til your brain does come out t'other end." Fingers trembling 'gainst the impending agony as would spark out 'ere they brushed e'er closer, Agnethea could spare no concern for brain's worry. It weren't alive in the proper sense o' things and therefore, any suffering it might endure were also not worth considering.
Agnethea, self-styled Pirate Queen of Arcadia, reached out and touched the odd lights with the merest tip o' finger.
The pain flooding through her from that oh so brief touch were quite, quite unique. It were as though she were biting on summat as arced some kind of lightning from each pearly white and all up through her brains, whilst elsewhere inside her body, it did feel as though some kind of particularly vibrant acid were being poured right down the center o' her veins.
The worst part o' it all, though, were the fact that she couldn't e'en let go; the bitter shield birthed by Book had her snared in it's vicious grasp and did keep on going on as if it were intentionally punishing her for her temerity in trying to grab hold o' it 'ere her brother and sister Arcadians made their way to hill.
She weren't going to scream. She weren't going to buckle and she weren't going to weep nor beg for release. This were all her doing and she'd ride ...
Book's Barricade relented, finally pushing her back wi' a surge of swift reprisal, so hard and fast that she bit her tongue on the way down. Her head were all rattled, her teeth did ache summat fierce and the acidic taint to inside o' her veins were slow in departing.
that seemed to be considerably worse than the other two times
"Oh aye," Agnethea rubbed her bruised posterior as she scrambled painfully to her feet, "like as not, Book has taken considerable exception to my efforts at breakin' down the barrier."
"Welladay!"
A caustic voice cried from a bit aways, prompting Agnethea to look over her shoulder. What she saw were ... unexpected, and if she were to be honest wi' herself as she drank down the whole scene as only someone with her years 'neath belt, somewhat on the heartbreaking side o' things.
"'ere I saw you last, Dominic Breton, you and your chum Chevy were bracing yourselves to deal wi' King's madness born in the form of giant, lumbering beasts." Agnethea were no fool, and so kept prepared for anything as might come her way; this version o' Dom, he were blood-soaked, grim-covered, soot-blanketed and sporting a number of vicious wounds, the worst of which were a festering, angry looking burn crusted o'er wi' scabs. "It does seem the Outside has not been terribly kind to you."
Dom scratched at the terrible wound on his shoulder. It burned like the dickens, it did, and though he were healing considerably faster than he ever had on the Inside, the thick scar tissue building up 'neath the scabs and all were pulling oddly 'pon the muscles there. All t'other wounds he'd accrued here within Stack 17 weren't of consequence when compared to that which had been shot into him.
E'en so, Dom weren't about to let an abomination like a mere Golem get a word in edgewise, so he went right to it, saying, "Aye, Queen, p'rhaps I hain't had the best o' times here on the Outside, least I hain't strollin' around in what appears to be a used dress stolen from a dead body."
One of Agnethea's hands stole to the collar of the dress she were wearing, fuming slightly, then fuming more as she realized Dom had managed to score a point on her, whereas her barbs had fallen 'pon deaf ears; the dress she wore weren't stolen from a dead body -she'd become quite convinced during her trek to this point that the people of this level had all been consumed by Book's dread hunger- but it had come from the battered shell of a store mannequin all the same, so … too close to the mark for comfort.
"I have found," Agnethea replied, easily adopting the hauteur the rich and wealthy -and more importantly, the powerful- of Arcadia used when dealing with lesser people, grinning inwardly when she at last saw a flicker of inbred contempt stealing 'cross Dom's pinwheel eyes, "that the Outside is, in it's own way, considerably less hospitable than from cities on the Inside, yes. My time here has been marred with an unfortunately high number of setbacks and all else, but at least I am not covered in the blood and effluvia of others."
Dom decided to drop the verbal sparring in favor of sidling up towards the mountain. They could go at it all night and well into the next morning, taking and giving points 'ere the Reaper his own self showed up to take them to task.
Keen eyes picked out the odd disturbance surrounding the hill atop which Book fairly shone like it were some kind of holy trinket awaiting proper hands to open it.
"There it is, hey? My Book." Dom rubbed his hands together eagerly.
"Hain't." Agnethea dropped the word bluntly, shrewd eyes gleaming wi' excitement as greedy Dom's hands stretched e'er closer to deadly barricade.
Dom reached out and out and out towards the odd lights surrounding the hill, only to snatch his hand back at the very last moment. He whirled to confront Agnethea, a smirk creasing his filthy face.
"Do you think me daft, Golem? There's nowt in this world as I trust wi' me own two blue eyes. All as stands before us is harmful in one way or another, and nothing more so than this here Book; think you this criminal destruction covering the landscape on all sides came from nowhere? Think you it coincidence we all stepped forth onto this level within but a few moments of each other? Think you ..."
"I think you is do little in the way of cognition, young Dom." Chevy stepped forward onto the scene, heart heavy as a Big 'Un's unseemly tackle, woe threatening to drown his lungs.
By the King's Greasy Beard and Unkempt Hind Region, the once bright and noble lad as had been wise and kind enough to be called leader o' the Book Club Regulars had fallen. Fallen so far, and so quickly, and the worst o' it were, Chevy knew it weren't e'en young Dom's fault; the blame for the lad's condition rest solely 'pon deposed King's pate.
"Oh and here 'e is, ladies and gennamen, the high an' mighty Pointer his own self, come down from lofty heights to palaver wi' them as he imagines wallows in the very dirt and mud!" Dom clapped his hands sarcastically, poisonous wit bouncing around the area. He took in what Chevy wore, hooting caustically as he delivered a full court bow. "All the way on the Outside, free of Kings and Nannies and Will and Gearmen and the first thing 'e does is build 'imself a new long coat. So very typical of our Chevril, hey? So very Gearmanly. We's free of all that out here, Pointer, and e'en were we not, there's no need for't."
You'd need to be beyond blind, deaf and dumb to miss the seething hatred-fueled lightning flashing 'tween the two ex-Gearmen, leaving Agnethea to wonder just what had happened to cause such ill will; as the secondmost Eldest thing 'neath The Dome, Agnethea had long and long known of the friendship between secret Gearmaster and notable Book Clubsman.
'twere sad to see, in an odd way.
She wondered if they'd react similar when Mirabelle made her ravaged way to where they were stood.
"Still though," Dom resumed, eager to fill the silence, tilting his head in admiration, "this coat does seem to fit you better than the last. I do see you made space for the e'ergrowin' waistline as is one of many gifts delivered unto the elderly."
"Were we not the only people alive here on this level," Mirabelle's soft voice -made a tiny bit off-putting thanks to the permanent wounds upon her face- drew a start from the other Arcadians, "your puerile attempts to rile your old friend would draw much in the way of heat."
"Alas, fair ghoulish one," Dom made a broad, lascivious wink at the wretched Golem, taking time
out to leer quite obviously at the signs of her malaise, "we are indeed the only ones remaining here, and so it does fall me to me to make enough noise for all. As you can see, the Old Man o’ The Woods falls still and silent ‘pon your arrival and your old Queen does look upon you wi’ shocked disgust. As the youngest by a fair margin, I take up the mantle of Exuberance for all to see.”
“You natter on like a fly bashing it’s fool head ‘gainst a window in the summertime.” Mirabelle countered smoothly, well pleased none of t’others –most of all, ‘Exuberant’ Dom- had failed to sense or otherwise detect the presence of her Clan.
It were unlikely either Chevril or Agnethea would do aught ‘gainst the huddling masses, but this fiendish new Dom Breton … if she weren’t completely convinced she were unkillable, Mirabelle would find him terrifying.
As it stood, though, she still sought to treat wi’ all t’other Arcadians with something approaching civility.
“By New King’s Filthy Mouth,” Agnethea drew closer to Mirabelle, unable to take her eyes off of the other Golem’s ravaged, suppurating face, “what in the hell happened to you?”
“New King did happen to me.” Mirabelle supplied helpfully, heart hammering as she felt genuine sorrow and concern from the old Queen Agnethea.
“Ohoh!” Dom’s voice bounced once more off hills of dirt and mounds of shattered lives. “Is this what we are calling the black and blue eyed demon who tore down The Dome and killed all them people? New King? As one of four remaining Arcadians and perhaps the most scholarly amongst you,” here, Chevy snorted ‘gainst better judgment, eliciting a look dry enough to empty rivers from Dom, “I do maintain my right to insist ‘pon a vote for our new King. I throw my hand in for the next available earthworm. Nay, perhaps e’en better, a mayfly. Summat I can grind ‘neath booted heel.”
“Force majeure, my son.” Chevy stepped forward, noticing that while Dom neither flinched nor made it obvious he were watching, it were fretfully obvious his blood soaked old compadre were ready to fly off the handle and into a gory whirlwind at the drop of a hat. “I been thinkin’ o’ Nickels in this matter ‘ere I did wake up. But fret not. ‘tis a title with little power and I think we can all agree that ‘tis one our man won't voluntarily don in a million years. So non-existent throne and invisible country will remain Kingless for all time to come.”
“We’ll all see about that.” Dom muttered darkly.
While Dom and Chevy descended into bickering that were just this side of all-out war, Agnethea quested into Mirabelle’s eyes and saw permission to move closer, so that’s what she did, slender, delicate fingers reaching out but not quite touching the endless wound. “This has got to hurt unlike anything!”
“’tis nowt.” Mirabelle replied stiffly, heart hammering inside her breast fit to burst all on it’s own. “Beyond that, ‘tis least I deserve.”
“Why say you this?” Agnethea watched the healing cycle crack and break, turning into a fresh run of almost-tears, marveling in a darkly sick way at the profound whiteness of Mirabelle’s skull that gleamed through the translucent liquid running down her face. The flesh and bone of a Golem … there were miracles at work here, though gloomy ones.
“I am a sinner.” Mirabelle whispered, mind full of her Clan, just on t’other side o’ the hills behind her. “I did Arcadia such tremendous wrong. I fell in wi’ them as wanted Luther to live, hey? That were evil beyond all consideration, Q… Agnethea. Nightmare in the dark, whisperer into homes to frighten children, inventor o’ so much despair and author of terror as you might’ve been, that which we … I … did to bring Young Luther into the world … I deserve a death that shall never come.”
Agnethea was astonished. Nearly rocked to her heels at the sound of genuine sorrow and the epic regret flowing from the Golem before her. She rest a hand gently on the other woman’s hand, felt the skin there tighten in preparation for fight or flight.
“’ere I saw the end of Arcadia, Mira, I did learn the truth o’ the nature o’ the world in which we lived, and it were no good story.”
Chevy cleared his throat and tossed in his two cents; Dom were more interested in gazing hungrily up at Book than he were in achieving some sort of gentleman’s agreement, and he were more interested in keeping the impending combat at bay as long as possible. “I am certain you speak too lightly, Agnethea. Tell all.”
Agnethea nodded slowly, still gazing into sorrowful Mira’s weeping eyes. “King fell sick the moment he and Chad Sikkmund did draw blades and dance for the delight of all Arcadia lo those many thousands of years ago, Mira. Will Itself had a dream, you see, o’ bein’ the one to make all ‘neath Dome follow it’s wisdom, and did set about to do so by infecting our once great ruler. Wi’ a special kind o’ Dark Iron madness, I reckon you could call it. Weren’t noticeable, hey? From that moment forward, all King did, ‘twere at the secret behest o’ Will, and that includes creation o’ Big Kings and Kingsblood prize at the end, birth o’ Golems, invention o’ Bolt-Necks and Shamblers and Shaggy Men … ‘ere your efforts at Luther came to light, ‘twere all downhill. I say to you now, had King been in the right frame o’ mind, your demonspawn would ne’er seen light o’ day.”
Mirabelle nodded, accepting Agnethea’s attempts at soothing her aching soul but finding no reason to dispel that which ailed her. ‘tweren’t time yet. There could be only one way to find the path to self-forgiveness.
“I do see and hear what you say, but that hain’t the worst o’ what I did. I did do something more terrible. ‘ere the end of Ickford, before birth of those monstrous metal horrors that swept through your town, I danced with our King. I didn’t know it at the time, of course, but dance I did. I waylaid him o’erlong, I did, prevented him from being where he were needed most, and in so doing, I aided in the demise of your Ickford, had a guiding hand in the passing of so many souls. ‘twere he as gave me this,” a free hand stole to the endless suffering on her face, “and it’ll remain there ‘til I do find some measure of redemption.”
“Aww,” Dom called out from his place by the forcefield, “hain’t that sweet and tender and all manner o’ blah blah blah. We’s here for other reasons entire, not to listen to sorrowful tales of madness seeking to be put right, or of New Kings who’re nowt more than usurpers destroying rightful King’s life before he were given a chance to do things proper, nor of old men in silly metal coats clinging all desperate-like to ancient and pointless procedures.” He turned and pointed at shimmery Book high atop the hill. “We’s here to play a game of King ‘o the Hill, Golems and gormless twat, not to trade stories.”
“Oh.” Agnethea added quite primly. “As to that …”
“Aye?” Dom asked slowly, already knowing the road.
“’tis mine and no one else’s.” Agnethea brushed the tatty ends of her acquired robe in preparation. “After all, ‘twere I and I alone who did risk life, limb and more important, sanity in freeing it from Shaggy Man’s hands so many years ago. Were it not for me, yon Book’d be buried underneath thousands of tons of animal waste. Mayhap e’en home to a nest o’ mice or some such.”
“Hah!” Dom’s scornful laughter was as abrasive as the man’s new personality. “Such a rich story. How think you this? Book by rights belongs to them as carried one ‘ere now. And as the only man in the room, so to speak, as had a hand in developing Book’s processes for Nannies to hammer out, ‘tis mine by divine right. Not the property of a Golemnic whore.”
Chevy quickly looked to Agnethea to see how the ex-Queen fared ‘gainst such impolite words and saw that none of them were quite at the point where blows would become a thing. “Now that is rich coming from your own mouth, Dominic Breton, when only a moment ago, you did mock me most resoundingly for my garments.” Here, the Gearmaster plucked at the metallic links at the sleeves. “And of all here, I am the only one who seeks Book for impersonal reasons.”
“Oh?” Mirabelle demanded softly. “And what, pray tell, would you do wi’ Book, old man in the coat? Sit it on a shelf s
omewhere, ne’er looking inside to the pages? To what’s surely written there? I do know down in my bones that it were held by New King, and in some way, all that he was … or most, leastways … is now contained wi’in metal bound covers. The thought of any of you,” here, Golem were mindful enough to shoot her old Queen an apologetic glance, for which she returned and understanding –if brief- nod, “holding it fills me with a dread unlike anything I can put into words. Especially Bloody Dom o’ the Rags o’er there, acting like he’s a man when we can see the beast within.”
“Oh.” Dom rolled the phrase around. “I do like the sound of that, don’t I just? Bloody Dom o’ the Rags. Aye. Aye, I confess, and why not? Why would I not want to know all that Usurper held in his head? Never did I meet a man such as him before, and I warrant there hain’t a single one like ‘im out here in the Outside, neither. He grew to legend ‘neath Dome in record time, displayed talents and techniques greater than anyone. How could I turn down such a boon, hey? Holding Book in my hands would complete that which has already been started. And Chevril o’er there, looking all awkward and nonplussed o’er my words, he is the same, only he won’t admit it.”
“How do you mean?” Agnethea and Mirabelle asked in unison.
This were something new, and though they weren’t telepathic, both Golems had the same thought in their heads at the same time; if Book were already responsible for changes in both Gearmen, there could be in no way a second time for either.
Chevy looked at Book and felt, in some way, that it were looking down ‘pon all four o’ them, quietly assessing their worth.
“Aye.” The old man said heavily when he looked back at the other three. “’tis as Dom says, though I do wish he’d kept his mouth shut. ‘ere the end o’ Arcadia, he and I fought most vicious o’er possession o’ Book. And during that fight, in the middle of all that calamity and before we, er, died, summat o’ the man who endured his most amazing transformation were passed into each, he and I. Were I to take a guess based on my old friend’s appearance, I would hazard he’s picked up the King’s martial prowess and mayhap his strength and all. Most worrisome, though, is the emotional state.”