by Rowan Casey
They were there, all three of them. Seated on a small pyramid of rocks that barely breached the surface. I recognized each of them, but they were different now. Their faces were wider, their mouths broader, the set of their eyes more proportionate than they had seemed before. They were naked from the waist up, their breasts firm and high, their skin smooth and slick. Scales began like a belt hugging their hips, and their legs were not legs anymore, replaced by a greenish blue trunk, glistening prismatically in the sunlight, each terminating at a translucent tail fin.
“It appears we may have underestimated you, Mr. Bishop.”
The singing stopped, but it seemed to echo in my ears, a veneer of sound punctured by the words. I felt myself sucked down into the water, dragged beneath the surface, a vortex inhaling me like a drain, plunging me deeper and deeper—
“Mr. Bishop.”
I opened my eyes, not aware they had been closed. I felt myself sway and had to catch my balance.
I was in the studio, standing in the same control room, a few feet from the same partition window. Cassiopeia and the other two were in the room now, though, no longer separated from me by the glass.
“I said, it appears we may have underestimated you.”
I struggled to find words. “What the hell just happened?”
“We took a few liberties. Had you embark on a journey outside yourself, to give us time to learn some things.”
“I don’t understand. How?”
She regarded me with patient, if condescending, eyes. “The Songs of the Sirens have entranced men for millennia, Mr. Bishop. While we do not possess their gifts, or their majestic powers, we have strived to master their arts. We keep alive their traditions, and honor them in doing so.”
The room seemed real. The women seemed real. Normal. Even their eyes didn’t appear to be set far apart anymore, as they had when I first came in. I looked around. It seemed obvious now. This was reality. What I’d been experiencing for I had no idea how long—minutes? Hours? Days?—suddenly smacked of a vivid dream.
I was still struggling to find a response when Cassiopeia added, “You have killed the Manticore Alonzo.”
She tilted her head, and I became aware of the pistol, still in my hand. If any of them were concerned about me using it, or what it could do to them, they didn’t show it.
“Yes,” I said, uncertain as to whether that was a good thing or a bad one in their eyes.
“He prized that weapon. He took it as a trophy for killing a man. I think he saw it as a symbol of victory, the promise of victory, in the coming war.”
“You mean, the Veil.”
“Yes. Do you know of another in which such creatures would have an interest?”
I straightened up, adjusted my sports coat. “And what, exactly, is your interest, if I may ask?”
“You are asking where the Sisters of Persephone stand? If we favored the rendering of the Veil, the unleashing of all it holds in check, on this world, do you think I’d be talking to you right now?”
Fair point. But it really didn’t answer the question. Not completely. I was starting to become of the opinion that there were agendas inside of agendas working counter to other agendas. It was like dealing with onions carved into Russian nesting dolls.
“If you’re on my side, why did you send Veronica to get close to me and put me out of commission?”
“Those are two different things. We tasked her with neither. She was only charged with gathering information about you.”
“Why?”
She shifted her head from one side to the other, her eyes quizzical, like I was an oddity. “Are you really that dense, Mr. Bishop?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Obviously not. Let me ask you something. There are a number of you, of Grimm’s little army of chosen ones, searching zealously for elements cast far and wide, elements that when combined, he believes will reconstitute an ancient power source that will fortify the Veil for centuries to come.”
“That’s not a question.”
“But this is. What do you, what do any of you, know of your leader?”
“Dante?”
“Yes. You are doing his bidding, aren’t you?”
I didn’t like where this was heading. And I didn’t like the feeling that I was the one being worked for information.
“You make it sound like I’m being whipped,” I said.
“But aren’t you? How do you know you’re not serving a what, but merely a who?”
I chewed on that one for a moment. “Are you saying that Grimm lied? That he’s not trying to keep the Veil from collapsing?”
“No. I’m sure he is. But I am asking you, is that his true goal? His only goal? Once you have given him such power, how can you be certain it will be dismantled and scattered again? Rather than used for some other nefarious, or at least, dishonorable, purpose?”
I had to admit that I hadn’t thought of that. “Fine. You don’t trust Grimm. I can understand that. His bedside manner isn’t the best. But it still doesn’t explain why you sent Veronica to investigate me, with or without instructions to stab me.”
“If you don’t trust the master,” she said, ignoring my last comment. “Wouldn’t it make sense to find out what you can about his servant? Especially one who will be looking for the key?”
Now I was really confused. Grimm had told us that each of our items would combine to form a key. Why was she implying that I was the one looking for it?
“What key?” I said.
She shook her head, her mouth spreading into a little non-smile smile. I heard her clear her throat, and before I could react my thoughts began to float, my body leaving my body, soaring on a song, three voices showering my ears with sonic kisses, one of them whispering in sing-song, barely audible.
Run, little Bishop, as fast as you can
Your father was the Lion, you are but a Lamb…
When I opened my eyes, Pip was standing in front of me, touching my cheek. The sudden change in surroundings made my head swim and the room tilted. Next thing I knew, I was on the floor.
“Sir Regis! Sir Regis, are you okay?”
I sat up, glanced around. I was still in the audio room. The women—Sirens, or whatever they were—were gone.
“Peachy,” I said.
“I lost contact,” she said. “The connection just dropped. I tried connecting again, but nothing worked. I got up here as fast as I could. You were just standing here, staring. I waved my hand in front of you. You didn’t even blink until I touched you.”
“I’m fine. Did you see them leave?”
She shook her head. “No one passed me. The building might as well be empty.”
I pushed myself up. I was still holding the Colt, a fact that didn’t go unnoticed.
“I must renew my objection to your use of such a weapon, Sir Regis. It is not appropriate for the types of encounters you may expect.”
I slipped the pistol behind my belt near the small of my back. “I didn’t point it at anyone. And I’m not sure, but it may have just saved my bacon.”
“I am eager to hear all about it, Sir Regis. At the moment, however, I do not think staying here is wise.”
I agreed. I took one last look around the room, then we left. I half-expected the door to be locked, but it wasn’t.
At the elevator, Pip said. “You should probably get something to eat. Have you decided what the next step in your quest will be?”
I pushed my hat back with a finger, resting it more on the crown, and shoved my hands into my pockets. Something crinkled at my fingertips.
“I was wondering,” she continued, “You said you might have to reconstruct Professor Kirk’s last day at his school and try to pick up his trail. Is that still an option?”
“Not really,” I said, pulling a folded piece of paper from my trousers. The elevator doors parted and we stepped in as I opened the sheet. “Son of a…”
“What is it, Sir Regis? A clue?”
�
��More like, a parting gift.” I handed the piece of paper to her. “In lieu of a recording contract.”
She looked up at me after reading it. “Do you really think…?”
“That they’d give me the location of the artifact that easily?” I shrugged. “I think given how incredibly charming and irresistible I am, coupled with my track record regarding women, the odds are around a hundred percent…,” I paused as the elevator beeped and the doors parted.
Standing in front of us, blocking the path, not to mention the sun, was a giant of a man, if you could be certain he was a man. He was definitely male, but he looked about five-feet wide and around eight feet tall with one long rope of woven hair growing from the top of his head, curling around the back of his skull and draping over his shoulder.
“That it’s a trap,” I said.
9
I stood there looking at the colossus in front of me long enough for the elevator doors to start to close. The hand that shot out to stop them was the size of a grizzly paw.
The head that sat on his shoulders was the size of a mid-range beach ball. Wrapping my hands around that neck would have been like trying to choke an oak.
“You are Bishop,” the man said.
He wore a large cloth with a hole in it for his head, hanging loose past his hips like a tunic, laced at the sides to keep it from flapping. His trousers were bright red and loose. Parachute pants, maybe? Whatever the style, they looked homemade, and the eighties were definitely calling. On his feet were what I could only describe as calf-high moccasins, made out of some soft animal skin and cinched with leather laces.
The way he was staring at me indicated he wanted a response. I swallowed. “That’s my name. Any chance I’m not the Bishop you’re looking for?”
Two hands shot out and grabbed me by the lapels of my sports coat. He moved fast, much faster than I would have expected. It doesn’t do much good to have fast reflexes when there’s nowhere for you to go. The elevator was barely wider than the doors, and he took up the entire expanse of the opening.
He lifted me in the air maybe ten feet, which is a lot higher looking down than it sounds. I thought he was going to twirl me like a baton a few times and then make a piece of modern art out of my body by throwing me against the wall, but instead, he started turning in circles himself, laughing.
Okay, I admit, it was pretty damn emasculating. He tossed me a bit as he started and shifted his grip from my lapels to my upper arms, squeezing me. Not that it made a difference. Even at full extension, I wouldn’t have been able to reach his elbows.
“HA HA HA HA HA! You are Bishop! I am Golgameth! You are such a tiny man! HA HA HA HA HA!”
“Yes, and also not an Englishman, if that might, uh, affect your appetite.”
“Ho HO! Golgameth is always hungry!”
He spun in circles a few more times, apparently one of those guys who likes to play with his food, and I shot several glances into the elevator as it carouseled by. Pip was not inside.
As if reading my mind, her voice popped into my earpiece. I’d forgotten it was even in.
“Sir Regis! I escaped while he was distracted! I am retrieving your armament!”
“Thanks,” I said, keeping my voice low. “If you could pick up a tank while you’re at it, that would be great.”
“Golgameth can pick up anything!”
His hearing seemed fine, which was a disappointment.
“HA HA HA HA HA! Come! It is time! We must take your carriage and depart!”
“Depart?”
He started laughing again, and it dawned on me that he wasn’t going to eat me or snap my bones, at least, not intentionally.
“Golgameth, would you mind putting me down? Golgameth!”
“Ha! Yes! You are so light, like a baby bird! It is easy for Golgameth to forget he is even holding you!”
I suppose it was possible he could have put me down more roughly, but there was no doubt he could have done it more gently. My knees bent and I strained a muscle or two keeping them from smashing into my chest.
“Thank you,” I said, straightening up and trying to push my heart back down out of my throat. “Now, could I trouble you to tell me what’s going on? Who the hell are you?”
“I am Golgameth! The Giant!”
“Yes, your name I got and the ‘giant’ part I figured out myself. But, I mean, what are you doing here? And what do you want with me?”
“Golgameth is to be your escort! You seek a treasure that will lead to battle. Golgameth lives for battle! It has been a lifetime since the last true battle. But Golgameth shall not have to wait much longer!”
“Wait, hold on. My escort?”
“Yes! You are small, Golgameth is large!”
“Are you saying, you’re supposed to be my bodyguard?”
“HA HA HA HA HA! Golgameth is not a guard! Golgameth is a champion!”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
“Come!” His hand grabbed me by the collar of my jacket—which felt more like the scruff of my neck—and he began to walk. The tips of my shoes occasionally touched the ground.
He squeezed through the doors into the afternoon light and stood triumphantly on the sidewalk with the fist at the end of his free arm pressed against his hip as if the sun were shining in celebration of his gianthood.
“It is time for us to retrieve your treasure and complete your quest! The battle awaits!”
“Golgameth, do you even know what I’m looking for?”
“Of course, Little Man!” He set me on the ground and clapped his massive palms together in a way that made my ears ring. “You seek the Key! And Golgameth shall use it to initiate the battle that will make him Champion!”
I had no idea what he was talking about, but explaining what I was really looking for seemed pointless to someone who refers to himself in the third person.
“A champion of what, Golgameth?” I asked.
He looked at down at me, eyes the size of small dishes. For a moment, I thought he was going to become angry, but then he began to laugh again.
“HA HA HA HA HA! Of everything, Little Man! It is the battle for everything that awaits!”
CONVERTIBLES belong to that group of things that sound great, but in reality aren’t very practical and end up going mostly unused. The convertible part, that is. The wind at sixty miles an hour is loud and violent, doing downright hellacious things to your hair, not to mention the fact that in southern California the sun beats down on you like an abusive step-parent, and wherever you park for even a few moments you have to take the time to put the top up if you would like to have any interior—let alone your radio—left when you get back. I’d owned mine for two years, and I don’t think I’d put the top down once after the first month or two.
But it was down now, because it was the only way Golgameth was ever going to fit. He sat in the back, taking up the entire bench seat. The hood seemed abnormally high as I drove. It felt like I was popping a wheelie.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Pip’s voice burrowed into my ear against the background drone of airflow in every direction.
“Yes,” I said, taking advantage of a break in the wind to answer as I navigated a side road and slowed for a stop sign. “I’m fine.”
“Please be careful, Sir Regis. I heard much of the conversation. The Sirens clearly intend for him to be your minder. But do not let your guard down. Giants have awful tempers and can be unpredictable.”
“I’ll watch my step. And hope he watches his, so I don’t get squashed.”
“I am following you, Sir Regis. According to the GPS display, I am two point two miles behind you.”
“Okay. I’ll try to let you know how it looks when we get there.”
“To whom are you speaking, Little Man? Do you confer with a spirit? A sprite? Are you communing with the God of Abraham, as so many of you do?”
“Just mumbling to myself, Golgameth. Bad habit I have.”
“You need not be embarr
assed, Little Man! Golgameth often speaks with the Ancient Ones.”
“It’s okay if you call me by my name, instead of ‘Little Man,’ you know.”
“Very well! Golgameth shall call you by your name, little Bishop!”
The gentle light of the early evening cast its glow from the west, bathing everything east of us in a golden brilliance. Above us, the sky spread like a vast sea, not a cloud visible at any compass point. Almost every day in SoCal was like this. Perfect weather, beautiful landscape. This, I thought. This is how the universe mocks us.
My teeth rattled as a hand the dimension of a shovel blade landed on my shoulder and gave me a shake.
“What is the matter, little Bishop? You look troubled.”
“On second thought,” I said. “Go back to calling me ‘Little Man.’ ‘Little Bishop’ makes it sound like I’m wearing a beanie and sucking on a lollipop.”
“HA HA!” That hand clapped me on the shoulder again, about one pound of pressure short of dislocating it. “You believe you do not measure up to your father! This, Golgameth understands!”
I looked back at him, stared at the toothy grin of that gigantic head. I’m sure for at least a few seconds I completely forgot that I was driving.
“You knew my father?”
“HA HA HA ! No, Little Man! But Golgameth knows of fathers! They are who we fear, until it is time to fear who we are!”
I turned back to face the road just in time to swerve back over the center line into my lane, the horn of an oncoming car dopplering past us like a screaming beast.
“Do not lose control of your chariot, Little Man! Your father would not approve! Ha HA!”
“My father is dead,” I said.
“Ho HO! No wonder you are so uncomfortable! You will never prove yourself his equal, or ever prove him wrong! He is forever the victor!”
My teeth were clenched so tight I felt something in my jaw pop. Believe me, there are few things more demoralizing than being psychoanalyzed by a philosopher-giant seated in the back seat of your Mustang.
He was right about one thing, though. I sure as hell was uncomfortable. That Colt was digging a hole in my back, determined to grind a chunk out of my spine.