Black Blade Blues

by J. A. Pitts

  The Hummer did not show up again, and I merged onto Highway 2 toward Everett and the movie shoot. If they’d wanted me dead, I’d have been shoved off the switchbacks up on the high portion of Ley Road. They just wanted the artifact. What artifact? They couldn’t mean the sword? I glanced over my shoulder toward the case in the back. How the hell had this been about that blade?

  Thirteen

  WHEN I PULLED INTO THE LOT AT THE SHOOT, I WAS THIRTY minutes late. Carl stood by the stage door, chatting with Jennifer, the DP, and checking his watch. I opened the door and sand spilled out onto the parking lot. I’d be vacuuming that out for weeks, I just knew it. I climbed out, shut the door, and opened the hatchback.

  “About time, Beauhall. You got my sword?” Carl called from the door.

  I waved at them. “Yessir.”

  “Better late than never,” he said before turning and stomping into the building.

  Great, now Carl was pissed at me. Lovely day I was having. And it had started with such promise. I grabbed the case out of the car and crossed the parking lot. Jennifer watched me, a clipboard in one hand and a patient look on her face.

  “If you are going to be late in the future,” she said, falling in step with me as I passed her, “could you call?”

  “Yeah, sure,” I said, annoyed. “Did I mention some jerk ran me off the road?”

  She stopped in her tracks, startled. “Are you okay?”

  I waved my hand at her, the sword’s case in my left hand. “Did some damage to the car, but I’m okay.”

  “Did you report it to the police?”

  I thought of Maggie and Susan out at Jimmy’s and felt my stomach flop over. “Not yet, but I know someone.”

  She patted me on my shoulder, nodding. “You just be careful, single girls like us, all alone in the world—we gotta look out for ourselves.”

  We walked into the studio to the sound of my grinding teeth.

  Single gals, yep. That was us. Bitchy, neurotic balls of tension and fear, unable to commit. I am woman, hear me roar.

  The transition from Everett industrial to goblin encampment really wasn’t that big of a stretch. We had a run-down cityscape to work with, the third movie Carl had shot with that set. Recycle and reuse, he said with laughter when it was brought up. I think the faux Vegas ruins far outstripped the bombed-out London and the earthquake-decimated Los Angeles of the previous two movies.

  Maybe this one would make a bit of money, even.

  But not until the film was in the can. I quickened my step, crossing the soundstage like a metronome.

  Of course no one was ready. I’m just the prop girl and the goblins had been putting on those costumes for weeks. Surely they could’ve gotten started without me. Instead half of them were talking on cell phones, while several sat around playing cards. Amateurs.

  I stormed to the prop unit, stashed the sword on top of a trunk full of elephant ears, and began grabbing big rubber hands.

  “Come on, people,” I barked at the milling extras. “Goblins, get your asses in here.”

  The usual crew came in and gathered their gear. I helped several of them with the gloves, then the rubber feet. The smart ones pulled the suits on first, then put on the feet. The rest had to take the feet off because the jumpsuit costumes wouldn’t fit over them.

  I was getting a headache.

  Of the thirteen giant goblin heads that normally lined the costume cage, twelve had been handed out among the low-paid extras. Hell, they were practically volunteers. I knew I should be kinder to them, but I was in a foul mood.

  “Who’s missing?” I asked the assembled goblins.

  One of them pointed over at the offices. Rolph stood next to Carl, the two of them with their heads together over something on a clipboard.

  “Come on, Rolph,” I called. “Got a shot to get in before dawn.”

  He didn’t move, just glanced my way and continued his talk with Carl.

  I made a big production of slamming a cabinet, but the two did not stop their secret meeting. This was asinine. Here I was fussed at for being late, and Carl was keeping one of the goblins from dressing out.

  After twenty minutes, I started swearing. Hanging out with blacksmiths can really color your vocabulary. Add in cops, jazz musicians, SCAdians, and movie folk, and you come with a string of epithets that make a sailor swell with pride.

  Both of them looked my way a couple of times when I pitched some choice word at the right volume, but neither made a move to break up their coffee klatch.

  Goblin number three, a young man with a bad case of acne and a nasal voice, began to cry when I ripped out the C word. Goblin seven, an elderly woman who just loved to feel needed, shushed me, wagging her giant goblin hand at me.

  That was it. I was not going to be shushed by granny goblin and the amazing wunderkind.

  I stormed out of the prop cage, slamming the steel door shut with a loud clang. I’d just built up a righteous head of steam heading toward the two of them, when Rolph broke away and walked toward the offices.

  “What the hell, Carl,” I called. “Rolph needs to be dressed if we are going to make this shoot. Some of us have lives, you know.”

  I knew that crossed the line, but damn it, I was tired and still reeling from the earlier fiasco.

  Carl turned, his face red with frustration. “Back off, Beauhall. This is my movie. I call the shots.”

  He was right, of course, but it still galled me. “I thought you were in an all-fired hurry?”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up onto his forehead. “I have a headache, which you are not helping, and a series of issues that goes beyond your current abilities, Sarah.”

  I took a step back. He never called me Sarah.

  “Rolph is making a phone call,” he punched his finger at me, “that is very important to the continued existence of this production.” He started toward me, each step forward a moment of panic, his voice rising in volume with each word. “Can . . . you . . . just . . . back . . . the . . . fuck . . . off?”

  I matched him, step for step, horrified. Carl never raised his voice. Hell, he had to use a whistle to calm the chatter at times.

  I raised my hands, surrendering. “Sure, boss. Whatever you say.”

  “Just get the goblins in position, will you, please?” He turned away, his shoulders slumped, and walked toward the offices.

  Something had kicked Carl in the breadbasket since I saw him last, and it was not a pretty sight.

  I mumbled apologies to the extras, gathered the twelve of them in a neat little line, and finished their costumes one at a time. Every now and again I glanced over at the office, watched as Rolph talked into the phone and Carl paced, his ball cap in his hands, his thinning hair disheveled and askew.

  Something bad was happening, I could feel it. There was a solution being applied that was worse than the problem. Carl radiated it, Rolph practically had it written on his face. If this was about money, I’d bet they were borrowing from a loan shark.

  Nothing I could do. I concentrated on doing my job.

  A cudgel here, a short axe there—eventually I had them all outfitted for battle, in the meager, rat-on-a-stick way goblins survived. They’d look great on the screen. Number eleven had real rats in a cage, courtesy of Jennifer. I just had to make sure they didn’t escape, or eat the foam costumes.

  Finally they got into their positions, number three and number seven comforting one another and settling onto their taped marks in front of the ferrocrete hill JJ, the wonder-mule, would mount later to decry their foulness and such.

  Rolph hung up the phone, finally, and shook Carl’s hand. In fact, Carl grabbed Rolph’s with both of his own and pumped them like he was expecting oil to shoot out of Rolph’s ears. Carl was suddenly very happy, and Rolph looked like he’d just sold his mother’s kidneys. I didn’t like it one bit.

  When he finally walked across the soundstage to get dressed, Rolph let an impassive mask fall over his face.
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  “Hello, Rolph,” I said, handing him his jumpsuit.

  “Smith,” he said, nodding at me. His eyes were distant and cold. Nothing like the gleam of excitement and hope I’d seen the night before when I forged the sword.

  “What was all the hullabaloo about just now?” I asked.

  He donned his jumpsuit and said nothing.

  “You mad at me?” I asked as he buckled the dirty, matted pelt across his shoulder and hefted his rubber head.

  “You heard my plea last eve,” he said, looking down at me as I buckled his feet.

  “Yeah, well. That was a bit out there.”

  “You are a child,” he said without anger. “You have no idea the powers arrayed in the world—no idea the ripple you have made in the little pond of our lives.”

  I looked at him. Little pond? “I know you have ten seconds to get your goblin ass in line with the others so we can shoot this scene again.”

  He nodded, his mouth a hard line of frustration and impotence. “Are we done here?” he asked, stepping back, one final buckle undone on his ankle.

  I ran my hands through my sweat-soaked hair and sat back on my feet. “Rolph, I’m sorry if I can’t do as you ask, but be reasonable. Dragon?”

  “Your inability to see beyond the nose on your face is a weakness for a smith,” he said, kneeling and fastening the ankle. He still towered over me, as I was practically sitting on the floor. I was not comfortable with the positions, so I stood.

  He glanced upward as I rose, a look of determination and resignation on his face. “Things are out of my hands,” he said, showing me the palms of the rubber goblin appendages. “The dice have left the cup.”

  “Dice cup?” I asked. “You spend some time out at the casino or something?” Did Carl have gambling debts?

  “Nay.” He shook his head and stood. “I pulled the runes today. Things are amiss in the world.”

  Runes? I knew a girl in college who had a necklace she wore with a favorite rune on it, but that’s it. “What exactly does that mean?”

  He stood, bowlegged, with the goblin head perched on his head like an ill-fitting crown. The calm look fell over his face again. “Perthro is in overview, Tiwaz is the challenge.”

  “Whoa,” I said, holding my hand up. “Dude, buy a vowel.”

  “Algiz calls the action. Kenaz guides the change.” He slipped the head over his own, and the last was muffled. “But Wunjo. That is where we are bound.”

  He turned and walked to the group of goblins, high-fiving the crybaby and patting several of them on their round foam heads.

  Runes? What had he said? Wunjo?

  One more thing to ask Katie. At least it gave me something to talk about. That pang in my chest returned. She was so damn beautiful. Why did I have to make this so hard?

  I gathered up the remaining scraps and props, wrangling them back into the cage as Jennifer got the lighting techs in gear.

  There were several long stretches of time where the goblins had to be positioned just so—continuation shots were the worst. Carl sat at the monitor watching the run from Monday and the grips moved the goblins to and fro. Finally Carl threw up his hands and called a break.

  We’d been at it for an hour and a half and he calls break?

  I sidled over near Carl and Jennifer, straining my ears to make out their conversation.

  “Just shoot the whole scene over,” Jennifer was saying. “Remember Tri-Wizard’s Blood? The crap we took for the incongruities in the battle scene.”

  Carl scowled and thrust his hands in his pockets. “Shit, that will cost us most of tonight. We’d have to push JJ’s big scene off until tomorrow night. We’re already behind schedule.”

  I winced. Katie and I had plans Thursday night. We were supposed to go out with Melanie and Dena. I’d already canceled on her twice. Not that I would be too upset. Melanie and Katie had been roommates in college, and sometimes lovers.

  Melanie was okay, really sweet and all, but I had a problem with her. Didn’t hurt she was doing a residency over at Evergreen Hospital. Emergency room doctor, hot blonde with a smile that melted butter. I wasn’t jealous. Not a bit.

  We reshot the goblin scene from the beginning. Frankly, it was a better scene this time around, but we didn’t wrap until after midnight. JJ had gone home around ten, when it was apparent we wouldn’t get back to his big climax that evening.

  He did have a day job—used car salesman or something slimy, I was almost positive. Maybe a lawyer; he had the bottom-feeder vibe. That and the trailer trash that he hung out with kept my opinion of him just above live rats. I glanced over at the caged vermin we used in the shoot. Well, at least dead rats. It fluctuated from day to day.

  Job one was to get the extras out of the goblin suits with no damage, and get the gear back into the cage before we left. It took me until two to get all the gear packed away. Then I had to get the paperwork settled with Jennifer. We were running low on gauze and tape. Really couldn’t secure the foam without supplies, and she was sympathetic. She wrote down everything I asked for and nodded accordingly. I’d get half of what I needed, but it would get me through the next few shoots.

  This was no way to run a railroad. And I decided to have a little early morning chat with the chief conductor.

  Carl sat at the desk, going over the books. We hadn’t had catering the last few shoots, and the extras were grumbling. We’d come to expect those horribly dry sandwiches and muffins.

  I knocked on the door frame and put on my best pixie smile. “Hey, boss.”

  Carl looked up. I could see the strain on his face. “It’s been a long night, Beauhall. Is it important?”

  The fact I was back to Beauhall was a good thing, but the way he dismissed me hurt. I thought I was his favorite. So much for my girlish charm.

  “Sorry. I was just going to ask about tomorrow night.”

  He put down his pen, crossed his arms, and looked at me. “Please don’t start. We are all pissed we have to do another night, but that’s how the movie business runs.”

  “Is everything okay?” I asked. “Anything I can do to help?”

  He thought about it for a moment. I could see the need in him to tell me something.

  “This got anything to do with Rolph earlier?”

  That was all it took. The moment passed and his face got hard. “Just be on time tomorrow night, will ya?” he asked, picking up the pen and staring at the papers in front of him.

  I sighed. There was something important here and he didn’t feel like he could trust me. Another little shard of ice slid into my chest.

  “I’ll be here,” I told him quietly.

  Somehow.

  This would be the third time I bailed on dinner with Melanie and Dena. I had good reasons. Work was a good reason, right?

  Katie was going to be majorly pissed.

  Fourteen

  ANOTHER SCREAM, LONG AND FRIGHTENED, BROKE QINDRA’S meditation and brought her to her feet, her thoughts lost in the between places. How many had gone before? One, two? Why would someone be screaming in this house?

  The fumes of recently burned incense rushed back to her as she found herself conscious for the first time in hours.

  She’d almost found the source of last night’s disturbance. Whatever it was, Nidhogg had been in a state. Qindra had been following a ripple in the aether, trying to find the source. She’d been so close. A few more minutes perhaps.

  Alas, more immediate needs beckoned, unfortunately.

  She took the red dressing gown down from the nearest post of her bed and wrapped it around her naked form. Stepping into slippers, she strode across her suite and into the foyer, careful not to ruffle the silk shawls that hung over the mirrors on either side of the archway. She kissed her fingertips and touched them to the threshold as she passed through, nodding her head sharply twice. When she reached the door from her suite to the main house, she hesitated, placing a hand on the door to check for heat.

  Living with a dragon pres
ented all sorts of interesting options behind that scream—fire being the quickest to fall prey to if the mistress was angry, or confused again, which had happened more and more of late.

  The door remained cool to her touch, so she opened it quickly and strode down the short hall to the grand entrance. Maids of various ages rushed about, several heading to the long staircase that wound upward to the conservatory, library, music room, and the suites for special guests.

  At least they kept their wits about them enough not to run into her, nor to rush headlong back into the ballroom, where the scream sounded a third time before being abruptly silenced.

  Qindra pulled a birch wand from the pocket of her dressing gown and drew an intricate rune in the air, where it hovered in an icy blue trail of smoke. After a moment, the rune began to dissipate, the smoke drifting toward the ballroom before it stopped and faded to nothing.

  No one lived on the other side of those huge double doors . . . that is, no one but her mistress. She glanced to her left and spied the young maid Jai Li.

  “Where is your twin, little flower?” Qindra asked the child.

  Jai Li bowed deeply before averting her gaze, but managed to point toward the ballroom.

  “I see. Why were you not with your sister? Do you not serve the mistress together?”

  A look of horror crossed Jai Li’s face and tears sprung onto her cheeks, but she did not cry out. Nidhogg had their tongues cut out at birth, to prevent any unnecessary chatter. It was barbaric. But Qindra knew it was not a subject broached with the mistress. Not something one would risk their life for.

  “Has something happened?” Qindra asked.

  The teapot sat behind the large potted plant, where Jai Li had set it when she went to hide.

  “Ah. The mistress asked you to fetch her tea?”

  Jai Li nodded once and bowed her head.

  This would be so much easier if she could just speak. Qindra spoke Mandarin. It wasn’t as if there was a language barrier among those who served the eldest of the dragons.

  She’s in a rage for some reason, Qindra surmised. And killed one of the twins. She will be most unhappy when she returns to her senses. They were special-bred to serve her. Trained since birth. Quite the delight of the mistress’s little menagerie of misfits and cripples.