Rogue Ragtime

by K Alexis

  "What is it?" Agra queried.

  "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. But if you do want to talk to me, even for a little bit, follow its pulses once we land. I'm sure you'll figure it out; you're a smart one." Jetta reached up and tapped his nose. "Sometimes charming as well."

  Agra did not change his expression. He glowered at her as she walked to the door and opened it. She put one foot in the corridor and then paused, half in and half out of the room. "I've changed my mind about Stehlan. I think he's alive, and I'm going to find him."

  The instant she finished her sentence, she walked out, and Agra chased after her. As he bounded into the corridor, he found it empty with only a faint trace of celestial magic lingering in the air.

  9:37pm: Junko [Channel 37A4R]

  Not sure why you're having a party so soon after a friend committed suicide. WTF is wrong with your group? (¬_¬)

  Anyway, I doubt Steh was a Starfire. Even the worst of them can teleport, and despite his celestial powers, he couldn't open a portal. Sorry, Az. That sucks. (>__<)

  Thurs, 23 Oct 65 P.C.T., 3:49pm: Junko [Channel 37A4R]

  I know you're still grieving, but I have some news for you. Good news! We're looking for the same Navigator. So, once you get here, we can team up and solve the problem together. And maybe … y'know …

  5:36pm: Junko [Channel 37A4R]

  Az, I'm not kidding around. I'm undercover here and hanging out for a bit of stress relief. There's even a watcher working the hotel in RAK who is willing to join us for a bit of threesome action … if you're cute. (>o<)

  8:17pm: Azra [P. Watcher 18034568X]

  I thought threesomes were off limits now that we're dating.

  Anyway, thanks for the messages.

  Twenty: The Pebble

  TATH, MEA AND Agra exited Nucia's gondola and regarded Kakinada. Unlike Samarinda, the city had not been rebuilt since the Cataclysm. Its unlit neon signs and crumbling concrete buildings revealed a place that had once mattered but no longer did. Even though most shops appeared open, they were relics of a life when eight billion humans had roamed the globe. Their provisions had expired decades ago, making them worthless to bandits and scavengers. Only a few places were still conducting business, and in them, exhausted people browsed a meager selection of goods.

  Yet, despite how slim the pickings were around the zeppelin, everywhere two hundred or so steps from the landing area was far worse. Similar to Hamilton, crystal-like statues of people lined the cracked, bitumen roads and mud alleyways. From babies seeing the metropolis for the first time to weathered women dispensing their wisdom to those who would listen, entire generations of Kakinadans had been entombed in a magical stasis forever.

  The zeppelin's morning arrival roused very few of the town's residents. The survivors, or migrants, looked upon the passengers coming down the gangplank as more of an intrusion than an opportunity. Only an old man wearing a cotton shirt and lightweight pants made it clear they were not welcome. He yelled at them in Telugu before scuttling off to his house.

  "Elia's stopped at more remote places," Mea commented, her focus mostly on the book she held in front of her.

  "Name one," Tath said, heading to the only restaurant visible from the gondola's landing zone. It had pictures of its dishes plastered all over its windows. "How long's it been since the Great Celestial Fucking?" she asked. "Seventy years?"

  "Sixty-five," Agra answered, "but it affected communities differently."

  "And what other keen insights are going to drop on us today?" Tath retorted. "What a man and a woman do after they shut the door to their cabin?"

  Mea glanced at Agra and then went back to her novel.

  "In my world, they talk," he said.

  "You could've fucking talked to me," Tath said. "I scaled the goddamn ship for closure."

  "I hear it's a nice view from the top," Agra said.

  "A great view … but not when you're sobbing like a boy on the losing team. Elia's got your wet shirt, by the way. You should go and ask her for it."

  Agra pushed the restaurant's door open. The inside was laid out simply with nine tables, a cash register and checked tablecloths. The woman-owner was in her late thirties and stood at the back talking with a man holding a young child.

  "I don't speak Telugu," Agra whispered.

  "I speak Common," the woman snapped, stepping forward. "It's a requirement if you want to be part of the Neomer Alliance … as if those symbols mean anything after you've drawn them." She wiped down a table. "You with the balloon?"

  "Ah, it's a—" Agra started.

  "I know what it is," the owner interrupted. "I don't need you to explain what I see every month." She signaled for the three of them to sit down. They did. "You want to gawk at the menu like the rest of the tourists and then ask me what's good? Or … would you prefer to trust the chef and I'll serve you our best dish?"

  "Sorry about earlier," Agra said. "I was a dick."

  The woman scoffed. "No more than the rest of the folk Elia 'Lacy Frills' brings here. You might be the first to apologize though." She smoothed down her apron. "Maybe I misjudged you lot. We do great Mysore bondas and dilkush biryani. And not to brag too much, but our naan is fluffy too. There's also the menu."

  Mea put her book down. "Avannī dayacēsi, reṇḍusārlu," she said. "Mariyu bīr dayacēsi."

  "Khaccitaṅgā," the owner replied. She walked toward the kitchen and spoke a number of commands to the man. He headed up the stairs at the back of the restaurant. The clanging of pots and pans being pulled down in the kitchen filled the tiny establishment. It was followed by the "whoosh" of a fire lighting up.

  The man clambered down the stairs missing a baby but carrying three tall, glass bottles filled with beer. None of them had a cap, yet they were cold despite the thirty-degree heat outside. He put one next to each of the group members.

  "Dayacēsi Ānandin̄caṇḍi," he said.

  Tath chugged half of hers in a single gulp. She slammed the bottle on the table, eliciting strong words from the kitchen.

  "She said not to test her patience," Mea interpreted.

  "I got that without help," Tath replied. "But there's going to be lots more banging and cussing until lanky here tells us what he's doing with Jetta." She mumbled the next part, "As if that's her fucking name."

  Agra held the beer between his fingers and swirled it around. "Making mistakes like I always do," he said.

  "Steh's dead, Ag," Tath replied. "Why are you caging like it's a round of poker and I'm winning? I'm playing at being pissed; don't fucking make me cross the goddamn line."

  "I was with her because … life's complicated," he answered before taking a sip of his beer.

  "Is this where we give an appreciative nod for the second wisdom-dump you've taken all over us?" Tath skulled another quarter of her bottle. "You know what? I'm too tired to give a thirteenth of a fuck. Do as you please, 'J-girl' ass-fucker."

  Mea picked up her beer. "If I may, we're here to honor Steh," she said. "We came here to celebrate him as an ally and a man of principle … and not fight amongst ourselves."

  "Here, here," Tath said, clacking her bottle against the two others. "A man of principle. He was so honorable that he corked his feelings till they murdered him." Tath banged the table, extracting another rebuke from the owner. "Goddamn it! He promised me he was fine. He said he'd come to terms with that torture shit …. Fuck, he even told me about it, you know? I was stupid and kept asking what they'd done to him and what would happen if we got caught and sent to a resynch facility. He said they'd used some type of pebble Clarice had invented to torture him. To make you talk, they push it into your—"

  "Pebble?" Agra interrupted.

  "What the fuck is wrong with you?" Tath spat. "Are you really begging for me to reach over there and grind my fist into your handsome nose? I'm pouring my heart out here, and you think now is the best time to—"

  Agra searched his pockets and took out the stone Jetta had given him. He placed it
on the table. "Was it something like this?"

  Mea shoved herself away from pebble. Her beer spilled on the floor, wresting even stronger words from the kitchen. She ignored them. "How do you have that?"

  Agra peered at Mea, Tath and then back again. "I don't think that's important right now."

  Tath was sweating. "You're right, you fuckhead," she hissed. "Putting it the fuck away is more important. That's not a goddamn torture stone. It's fucking evil. That's what it is.

  Agra swept it up. "Do I get an answer?"

  Tath replied, "Is this a second-tier sketch show? There was the mother-of-all streams about it after Sacramento. That's a goddamn Punch. A used one, thankfully. You get caught with that in a Grinner tract and you'll have booked us a ticket to an execution square."

  "I don't remember the stream," Agra said.

  "How can you fucking not? A Punch is the only thing they found at the explosion site. That piece of shit Clarice had stamped the stone. She'd stamped it as if making Starfires was something to be swinging around in public."

  Mea inched back to the table. "Where did you find it?"

  Three more passengers from the ship stumbled through the door. They ripped a poster off the wall as they entered. "Sorry," a male in his twenties said. "I'll fix that." He tried to put it back, but the paper kept falling down.

  The owner exited the kitchen with the first group's food and slid it in front of them. She wiped her hands on her apron and stomped over to the young men. "You will pay for that," she barked. "And each of you will order three dishes, or I will have you arrested."

  "S … s … sure," the young man stammered.

  "Sit in the corner," the owner commanded and stormed back to the stove.

  Agra put his beer on the table. "I think I have some questions for a person on the airship," he said.

  Tath bit her bottom lip and shook her head. "Does her name begin with a 'J'?"

  Agra smiled and patted Tath on the head. "No, a 'T,'" he replied. "A 'T' for truth and the Neomer way." He waved his N-Comm over the square pay-reader on the side of the table. "Meal's on me."

  "Jetta gave you the Punch, didn't she?" Mea asked.

  "Yes," Agra confirmed. "And I have to know why."

  "We need you to meet with a 'J'-woman as much as Ahab needed to marry Jezebel," Tath added resignedly. "Try not to get locked in a jail this time." She picked up one of the round flour balls from a dish in front of her and popped it in her mouth. "I guess that makes it more for us," she said to Mea.

  8:17pm: Azra [P. Watcher 18034568X]

  I thought threesomes were off limits now that we're dating.

  Anyway, thanks for the messages.

  Fri, 24 Oct 65 P.C.T., 7:23am: Junko [Channel 37A4R]

  Dating? ⊙_⊙ How much of a Grinner are you? I can't date my trainee, and you can't seem to get promoted. So, I don't know where you got that idea. ¯_(ツ)_/¯

  Twenty-one: The Navigator

  AGRA'S STOMACH GROWLED as he followed the pulse of the pebble. He felt foolish. Jetta had tried to guide him toward the truth about Steh being a Starfire. Yet, he had rejected her insight even though it had aligned with his original assessment. Why did he want Jetta to be wrong so badly? Why was he scared of her? Was he concerned Jetta's other guesses would turn out to be correct as well? Had he slunk from the obvious because she had made him feel inadequate at times … or because she had deduced everything about him and he had not been able to bluff his way out of his insecurities? Why had he not gone looking for Jetta after she had said Steh might be alive?

  A beam of light shot out of the pebble and formed a flickering door. Agra looked around, but there was nothing and no-one else in the street—no-one alive, at least. The area was packed with Cataclysm statues and broken-down machinery. He put the pebble in his pocket and opened the door. It led to Broken Pieces.

  The inside had completely changed since his visit a few days ago. Hundreds of unopened packages sat in the entranceway while other odds and ends were crammed next to them with heavily slashed prices on their respective sticker tags.

  The storekeeper was cutting open a box with a craft knife. He wheezed as he did it.

  "Are you closed?" Agra asked.

  The clerk grunted. "So, you came," he said. He shoved his blade into a package and wiped his hands on his jeans. Sweat dripped down his face, indicating he rarely exercised. "That is unfortunate."

  "I'm sorry," Agra responded to the discouraging statement. "But I was given this pebble—"

  "I don't need to see it." The storekeeper leaned over and rummaged around in the opened box. After a while, he pulled out a glowing, red rapier. It chirped as the clerk touched it. "Jetta's in tapestries if you're going to carry on with your foolishness. Alternatively, you could leave and finish your meal with your friends. They want what's best for you more than she does."

  Agra looked on as the storekeeper awkwardly swung the weapon through the air. "I only want the truth," Agra replied. "That's not foolish where I come from."

  The man discarded the rapier to the right of him and snorted. "And what do you know of truth, the most dangerous commodity of all? I stopped selling it long, long ago after too many folks thought it would right all the wrongs in the world." He raised himself up to his full height of five feet eight inches. "However, I doubt you are here for the ramblings of an old man. Go straight past the blue box; you'll find what you seek there. And many other things as well."

  "Thank you," Agra said, glad to escape from the conversation as he headed in the directions given. Three steps later, Jetta stood a few paces away from him, and the storekeeper was nowhere to be found.

  She had a basket packed with oddities dangling from one arm and was staring at a worn tapestry. It depicted a woman being burned at the stake. The woman's face was contorted and screaming at the heavens as silhouettes at the bottom of the picture carried torches flickering in reds and yellows. Despite it having been sewn, there was enough realism in the scene to make Agra uncomfortable. The picture felt alive and as if what was happening in the tapestry was not in the distant past but in the now and forever. The lady had never died but had never lived either. She was unceasingly reliving the events depicted and unable to forget them. Her eyes seemed to confirm this when they changed from green to yellow and then back. He had never seen a tapestry quite like it. She also looked exactly like the Navigator Kekeriwai had requested the group locate.

  "England, forty years ago," Jetta said matter-of-factly. She pointed to the title of the work: "The Vanquishing of a Navigator."

  "I know they're real," Agra replied as he neared her. "I made a joke about them on the Nucia. Hell, I'm even looking for one. But being right about Steh being a Starfire doesn't transform Mea into an interdimensional sorceress, no matter how much you want it to." He took out Clarice's pebble and held it next to the painting.

  "You shouldn't do that," Jetta said. "Punches are volatile around void magic."

  "I don't think you would've met me here if we were in danger," Agra countered.

  Jetta winced. "How can you fail to understand how inconsequential you are to this universe?" She snatched the Punch from Agra's hand and placed it in her pocket. "And you're not listening; I'm not trying to convince you Mea is a failed-murderess. I don't even know if it was an assassination attempt or an unlucky accident that almost killed Steh. All I want you to do is accept she's a Navigator who fell in love with Steh at some point. Why is that so mind-boggling difficult? They've spent over ten years together."

  "Mea … wanted Steh?" Agra questioned.

  Jetta glared at him. Her eyes were no longer redwood; each one had a wheel of colors circling around their iris. Sometimes a hue would fade and be replaced by a different color. "Not romantically, obviously," she replied. "Is everything heaving bosoms and seductive whispers to you?"

  "No," Agra responded. "I like to imagine a firm butt as well."

  "I stand corrected." Jetta reached into her basket and pulled out a book. She shoved it into
his gut, winding him. Agra recognized it as the Corsair apocrypha of all monsters and spirits. He had probably gone over every page at least thirty times when he had been eight, and it was the same one Junko had refused to send him for years. "You can keep this copy," Jetta said. "You should've been given it anyway."

  "I'm not allowed," he countered.

  "Ah, the Junko France problem." Jetta put her spare hand on her hips. "I was hoping to avoid it."

  "Are you going to report our relationship? You don't seem like a person who—"

  "Hold the book," she commanded.

  Agra did as he was told while Jetta put her basket on the floor. She patted herself down until she found an old and battered C-Komm. Using one hand, she typed furiously and then scrolled down until she had located whatever she had been looking for. Jetta held up the communicator so Agra could see the text. It was a list of all the items a provisional watcher was required to have before taking on their first assignment. He did not doubt its authenticity, but he had never received any of them.

  "No commander is going to send an ill-equipped teenager into the field," Jetta said. "No channel is going to keep their watcher undersupplied if they want them to live. That should tell you all you need to know about how much you can trust Junko." Jetta put the C-Komm back in her pocket as if that was the end of the matter.

  Except, for Agra, her statement was not the conclusion but the beginning. He felt bewildered, as if the path he had always been able to rely on for safety and guidance had been shattered into shards. He was certain what Jetta was saying could not be true; however, it also explained the inconsistencies in how Junko the Channel and Junko the Lover had treated him over the years. In the nights, she had promised him everything including the stars—yet whenever he had asked for any tools, files or assistance—she had always denied them.