by David Morgan
Chapter 6
His trench coat and sword were well hidden under the tunic, which flowed all the way down to his boots. It was an appropriate disguise with the exception of the Fedora—which seemed, Edwin thought, not quite in line with the medieval theme of the rest of the costume.
They walked up to the large wooden pillars, surrounded by a high fence made of sharpened spars.
“C’mon—we’re going in.” Edwin motioned to him.
“Shouldn’t we just buy tickets?”
“We’re not plebes. I know who I need to know.” Edwin strode forward confidently, not minding his enormous gait in the least. After all, it didn’t stand out in this place.
He walked up to the keepers, a busty woman and a pirate apparently. She was squeezed into a corset that was tightened until it was farcically narrow, giving her the appearance of quite literally an hourglass, and he had long, fake dreadlocks crawling out from underneath a tri-corner hat, complementing his many fake earrings and heavily shadowed eyes.
“Good Morrow, sir Knight!” The woman greeted Edwin in a rich falsetto.
“Good Morrow, M’lady” he responded in similar, faux-old English, the accepted parlance of the place.
“M’lady, may I say thy bountiful bosom becometh thee greatly!” He began. “Thou couldst feed nigh many of the young ones with such girth!”
The woman’s face turned bright pink, giving her face the resemblance of a tomato in the summer’s sun.
“Why thank you, my dear White Knight.” She said, “Thy lady would most enjoy an ale with you hence noon, if thou permit.”
“Indeed I do permit!” He played his part well, Dex had to admit.
“M’lady,” and Edwin lowered his voice, “This White Knight doth require truest refreshment, if thou dost comprehend my intentions,” and he shot her a wink, “where might one find it?”
“Ohh.” She responded as though some flattering innuendo had just been uttered to her. She covered her chest and face with a large Victorian fan, feigning modesty while prying a small slip of paper from her corset. “If kind White Knight mightn’st be so chivalrous as to entertain thy lady’s fickle love and kiss her hand, she might be so inclined to offer you refreshments of the truest nature.”
“My lady,” he responded as he pulled her hand to his mouth, kissing it and sliding the slip of paper into his own palm before tucking it into his belt.
“And with that M’lady, I must be going—but I do hope our paths might cross but for a second time.” And he shot her another wink.
“Ohh my,” she said, “Thank you, oh Whitest of Knights!” She shouted before returning to her greeting duties.
Edwin ushered Dex onwards through the Faire, through costumes of all shapes, sizes, and types. A Darth Vader pushed through them at one point, with a Princess Leia, in full slave regalia, being towed behind on a chain.
They bustled through the oceans of pirates, tourists, severely misplaced science fiction characters, and far-too-revealing fake-Victorian garb.
“What did she give you?” Dex demanded of the White Knight.
Edwin handed him the slip of paper, unfolding it to reveal a single black circle.
“What’s it mean?” He demanded.
“It’s our ticket,” Edwin responded, unfazed, apparently feeling completely at ease amongst these sad, sad humans.
They walked from stall to stall and tent to tent, stopping occasionally for the white knight to speak with thieves, peasants, and buccaneers—occasionally asking a question with the result of a helpful finger being pointed in a vague direction before they went to their next location.
When they came to a large gallows fixed in the middle of the grounds, Edwin began to meticulously search the wooden frame.
“What are you doing?” Dex asked. “What are you looking for?”
Edwin didn’t respond, carefully inspecting the wooden beams from top to bottom.
“Ah-HA!” The white knight exclaimed, having apparently found his mark. Dex walked up to see what he had found.
“Look.” Edwin pointed to a beam on the southern side of the gallows, and Dex saw a large black dot. Edwin then raised his arm directly opposite the dot, and pointed to a small tent next to the blacksmithing area.
In a ragged cotton vest and a faded wool kilt, with a large claymore sword hanging over his back, stood a guard with half of his face painted in blue and the other in white.
“There’s our destination.” Edwin said, to Dex. “Let me handle this.”
He walked over and tipped his helmet to the Blacksmith, then leaned into the Scotsman guard, whispered something inaudible and pointed down to the black dot. The Scotsman swung the tent door to the side and motioned the men to enter.
What appeared to be a small, 8ft x 8ft tent from the outside was actually just an entryway. The tent was empty except for a large wooden chest occupying the entire length of the left wall, and a large hole in the center, descending down a steep, circular staircase.
Dex presumed to enter the tent but was abruptly stopped as the Scotsman slammed his hand on his chest, blocking the way. Instinctively, Dex ripped the hand off of him and began to bend the Scotsman’s arm backward—preparing to break it. Edwin rushed over, stepping in.
“Dex! Relax!” Edwin tried to break him off, but Dex’s strength was too great. He had to explain. “He’s just doing his job! Leave your weapons at the door! House rules.” And he nodded to a sign on the back wall of the tent.
“I’m not going in there without my weapon.” The Scotsman winced in pain under the crushing power of Dex’s grip.
Edwin leaned in, “If you go in with your sword, no one will utter a single word to you.” Edwin’s breath reeked, confirming again why Dex usually insisted on keeping his distance when dealing with these specimens. It wasn’t Halitosis-bad, but Dex recoiled, releasing the Scotsman from his vice grip, prompting the guard to let out a sigh of relief.
“If I take my sword, I’ll get information from them the way I got it from you…” Dex preferred to do things his own way. “…with violence.”
“There are more of them than there are of you.” He noted.
The pill gave him strength enough to defeat six men, but not twenty, and not knowing what he was getting into, he decided it might be best to play it safe. Reluctantly, he placed his sword in the chest as the guard shut the lid using his good hand, fastening it shut with a large lock.
Edwin descended first, and Dex cautiously followed the narrow circular stairs, step by step, below the ground. After reaching a depth of what Dex supposed to be twenty feet or so, the tunnel opened into a large cellar. The air was cold, marked with a dank musty smell. Torches lined the walls, casting a dim yellow light throughout the room.
Once his eyes adjusted from the sunlight above he saw that the place of “truest refreshment” was far larger than the entrance let on; in fact it was an entire restaurant. They were greeted by a cloaked figure, wearing a deep hood, masking the face in shadow.
They followed a long brick corridor with an arched roof, which then turned into an open space that resembled a tavern. A long wooden bar was on the far right side, and busty wenches carried silver pitchers—splashing and dripping on the floor as they walked.
The occupants ranged from the Renaissance regulars that they’d seen at the entrance, to characters of a seemingly much more dubious nature. Many were completely covered in dark cloaks, while others resembled pirates, knights, and other slightly more familiar characters.
Edwin greeted a few with a nod and whispered something to a stray waitress who then led them towards the back end of the tavern hall, down a few steps into a closed room that had a single table large enough for maybe six people to sit around.
“For more private affairs,” the busty waitress said to Edwin with a wink. He slid a large silver coin in between her breasts and gave her ass a quick spank as she walked away.
Something about it didn’t feel quite right, Dex noted. The beha
vior of the occupants seemed, he thought, artificial. At times he thought that every eye was on him, but when he would look around---all eyes were to their own. He dismissed it as part of his overly precautious nature, having never ventured into such a strangely perverse place, he didn’t know quite what to expect of its denizens.
It felt safer in the private room—at least he had his back to the wall. They took their seats and waited in silence, occupying their time by watching the wax trickle down the candle stick on the center of the table.
Presently, the door opened and in walked a large, bald man with bulging muscles and a gut to match, bearing a tray with three silver mugs. Dex recognized him as the bartender he had seen when they first walked in.
He apologized for intruding, set the mugs on the table and then dismissed himself. The door squeaked and closed with a clack. Edwin drank greedily, quickly finishing his own pint and starting on the one that was supposedly for the guest.
“Do you want some snacks?” He suggested, wiping the foam from his chin hair.
“No.” Dex said. “I want answers.”
“You’ll get them--” He took another swig from his mug, “—if anyone knows, it’s the Palantir.”
Within several minutes, the barkeep returned with fresh ale while again begging pardon for the wait. The snacks came and before long Edwin had further decorated his Knight’s costume with a healthy portion of fried breadcrumbs and scattered drops of honey mustard.
He had downed several pints of beer and was getting fairly talkative when the bartender swung the door open once again. Except this time, it wasn’t the bartender. A cloaked figure with face hidden deep under the shadow of a hood entered the room. There were so many in the main Tavern hall, he couldn’t be sure if he had seen this one already.
Edwin stood up—nudging Dex to do the same.
“My Liege.” Edwin took as deep a bow as his heavily stressed joints allowed him before bumping into the table. Dex mimicked the gesture—though not quite so deep. His eyes remained fixed on this mysterious person in whose presence they found themselves.
With a single motion of its hand and a flick of its wrist, the Cloak both dismissed the barkeep and bade Edwin sit. Dex remained standing.
“Please,” the hood turned to Dex revealing nothing of the face underneath, “take a seat, won’t you? You’re honored guests this afternoon.”
The voice sounded distant, as though through a loud speaker turned down low; muffled. The Dakimakura had many minions and Dex could not abandon his feeling that this might be one of them. He remained on guard.
“I understand you have some questions,” the voice continued. He leaned back and rapped gently on the door. Within seconds, the barkeep appeared, leering in at the trio.
“It seems our libations have run thin—bring three ales, post haste.” The cloaked figure ordered with a clap of his hands and the bartender nodded in affirmation, disappearing without a word.
“I do have questions. Firstly, I’d like to know who I’m talking to. Who are you?” Dex was cold, he couldn’t betray too much information until he was certain that this new character could be trusted.
“That is, my Most Honorable Host,” Edwin gave Dex a quick jab under the table with his foot, “I believe my friend has not had the opportunity to make your acquaintance, nor learn of your past.”
“Ahh, yes.” The hood nodded in response. “Allow me to introduce myself.”
The door opened once again and a waitress—more beautiful than any female he had yet seen at the Faire—shuffled in with a tray full of three silver mugs, each one about three times larger than from what they’d previously been drinking with one bearing a conspicuous difference: it had a large glass straw protruding from the top.
The waitress did not wear a life-squeezing corset like all the others he had seen, but she was dressed as a more/less normal barmaid (albeit from the 18th century). A salient blue stripe ran down her hair from the crown of her head, disappearing into the masses of silky black locks. One by one, she set the mugs down: naturally serving His Lordship first, offering the mug with the glass straw. She then proceeded to place another directly in front of Edwin, and finally the remaining mug went to Dex.
When she set the mug down she rotated it. He looked up to thank her and she shot him a wink and raised her eyebrows. Flirting, of course. The Faire girls are shameless.
After the waitress had left them, the Hood began to speak once more.
“First, before we begin, a toast: to old and new friends—to those gone from us and those yet to come,” And he picked up his beer, tilted it over, pouring a bit on the ground, and then raised his mug to the center above the table. Edwin did the same and, in compliance, so did Dex.
They chinked mugs and began to drink. Dex stared fixedly at the hood, hoping to catch a glimpse of the face underneath as the top of the straw disappeared into the darkness of the cloak. Edwin drained almost half of his mug in one gulp and began to fish around the remnants of the snacks basket for loose morsels he might have overlooked during his first several rounds.
“Now,” the Hood began, “You want to know about me,” he said, turning in Dex’s direction.
“I am known by different names to different persons. Many here know me as the Palantir—for I see all. Your friend undoubtedly knows me by this name,” he nodded to Edwin. “For you, however, Mr. Dex, I shall go by a different name.”
Dex looked to the mysterious figure as the voice continued, “For you, I shall be known as Jiggles.
“Jiggles?” Dex asked, expecting something a bit more sinister.
“Jiggles,” he confirmed.
The expression on Edwin’s face made it clear that he was just as surprised as Dex at the name—but Edwin knew to keep his cool in this place. He said nothing, not wishing to offend his host.
“How do you know my name?” Dex sat back, immediately regretting the question, worried that he might betray his own emotions. Negotiations—and that’s what this really was: a negotiation of information—boil down to emotions. If you reveal your hand too quickly, you lose. Dex sat back in his seat, picking up his drink and taking a deep draught, relaxing.
“I am the Palantir, Mr. Dex—I have many eyes and many ears.”
As Dex put down his mug, he noticed something strange. On the inside rim, facing him were the words “STOP NOW”. He glanced away quickly, hoping not to draw suspicion, wondering what the odd message might mean. Inside a locked room with only one way out, cornered by a mysterious figure and unknown number of servants—maybe it was time to start thinking about escape.
“As I was saying,” Jiggles continued. “I am simply a wanderer. I watch and listen and I know those around me. I am a merchant of sorts, but I and my kind trade in information. What interests me, Mr. Dex, is what information you need and how you might be willing to…” and here his voice lingered, searching for the perfect word, “…compensate for it.”
Dex leaned in over the table, again trying to steal a glance at this creature’s face. “I don’t like to deal with strangers whose faces I can’t see.”
“You insult me, Mr. Dex.” He responded, artificially indignant. He paused for a moment, then spoke again, “I wear this cloak to hide my condition.”
“Look,” Dex was getting nervous, and the best defense is a good offense, but he couldn’t let them think he wanted to leave. He would just have to gradually make his way to the exits, lest anyone might suspect…maybe dismiss himself to the bathroom.
He proceeded, “You said you’re a merchant—a trader—well if we’re going to make a trade, it means there’s something you might want. So we both can help each other. Now I want to see your face, and then, let’s talk.”
The hooded Jiggles let out a sigh, “Very well, if you must—then you must. But I warn you to brace yourself—my kind, we rarely show our true selves to outsiders.”
“Wow,” Edwin commented out of nowhere, “this is a strong drink,” he hiccupped, apparently
fighting to stay upright. Dex shook his head, “Well you shouldn’t have drank seven of them, then.”
“No…” Edwin shook his head, “…no…’snot that.”
“Here,” Jiggles said, “I bare myself for you, Mr. Dex, please consider it an honor,” and Jiggles raised his white hands to the edge of his hood and so drew back the aged cloth.
“Holy Shit!” Edwin exclaimed. “You’re a…” And he hiccupped, interrupting himself, “Man---this ale is really strong.”
Whatever Dex was expecting, it was not the creature that sat before him. He had seen some repulsive things in the nests of the Dakimakura—but this, it didn’t compare.
A pair of abnormally large, unblinking plastic eyes stared at him from across the table. Two enormous, plush ears jutted out from an oversized head, and from deep within this living nightmare the voice again spoke.
“Now you see me for what I truly am. I trust you comprehend the gravity of this honor.”
“Furry!” Edwin ejaculated before dropping his head on the table, completely passed out.
Furry indeed—Dex had heard of these vile things, he’d even suspected some of her victims to have affiliation with the world. More than once he’d stumbled upon a life size doll of a humanoid fox or horse with holes in all of the…human places, crusted and stained. But he’d never met one like this before.
So there he sat at a wooden table in an underground tavern drinking from a pewter mug, talking to a giant bunny costume, which called itself “Jiggles.” Dex was not definitely ready to leave.
“Now let’s talk, Mr. Dex,” the bunny costume spoke, “Information has reached my very long ears that you are searching for a certain female. Did I hear correctly?”
Dex looked at the inanimate bunny head, which nodded as it spoke to create the illusion of emotion. It would have been comical, Dex thought, if he wasn’t cornered in what basically amounted to a dungeon. He thought carefully before responding, cautiously weighing which information he should or shouldn’t divulge before deciding that the only way out of this mess was to go through it.
“Yes, you’ve heard correctly.”
“And what was her name? Diana?”
“She, like My Liege,” Dex nodded his head low, “has also gone by many names.”
“Devon.” The buck teeth sat motionless as it sounded the word, and Dex felt like the unblinking plastic eyes baring down on him.
“Indeed, Devon is a name that she has used in the past—to ensnare her victims.”
“Victims, you say?” And the head tilted slightly to the side.
“Yes, victims—willing victims, but victims nonetheless.”
“Victims can hardly be willing. No means no; yes means yes.”
“Not for her. She has an influence on hers…a seduction of sorts.”
“I see.” The voice echoed within the giant, fake head.
“Do you?”
“I am the Palantir, Mr. Dex—I see many things.” And Jiggles started again, his tone refreshed, “Then perchance we are on the same team after all. You see, we, too--the furries—have spent many hours hunting for her. Some have lost their lives. You say she goes by many names, but we know her as only Devon. We have…a history with her.”
Jiggles sighed remembering some unpleasant memory and bowed his oversized head—giving the impression he was looking into the bottom of his drink.
Presently he began to speak, “The furries weren’t always like this,” he mused, “there was no need to go about in these ridiculous cloaks—we could be who we are. Free to express our true identities without fear of being led away from the flock.”
Dex sat, listening attentively.
“In those days, I was not the Elder Fuzz. There was another.” His voice betrayed a deep sadness, lowering almost to a whisper. A hard swallow echoed from within the plastic chamber. “You know we Furries are not like you CIS-oriented breeders. We have different needs, deeper desires, which cannot be filled by the company of humans. We are more in tune with the nature of our animal selves and so desire something more…primitive.” With this he looked up at Dex, staring—just staring.
Dex leaned in, “Continue.” He added in an afterthought, “please.”
“Very well. There was another before me—Quillson—a rodent-kin. He wore the veil of a hog of the hedge. It was who he was…on the inside, and he wanted so desperately to reflect it on the outside. He led us—united us—gave us reason and drive. With Quillson at the helm, our people could navigate mighty waters indeed. He was the one who secured our safety in this place,” and he raised his paws, gesturing to the room around him, to the tavern, and to the Faire.
“Here they understood us.” He continued, “Outcasts amongst outcasts—they could relate.”
“You speak of this Quillson as though he is no more. What has become of him?” Dex had a strong suspicion that this Quillson might be the key to unlocking a crucial door to destroying the Dakimakura.
“Rainbow Dash.” Jiggles said.
“What?” Dex was confused.
“We have needs, Mr. Dex!” And he slammed his paw on the table in frustration, causing the mugs to rattle around Edwin’s unconscious head. “Rainbow Dash—he loved her. They were in a beautiful, committed and monogamous relationship…until she appeared.” Jiggles stifled his emotions, quietly whimpering from within his mask. Small drops of liquid rolled down through metal cage in the mouth of the costume.
“Excuse me, please.” He turned away and lifted the mask for a moment, wiping away the tears. He turned back to Dex. “Then she appeared. She was beautiful, I’ll give you that---but not my type.” He paused for a moment then corrected himself, “Not our type—and not Quillson’s either, at least so I thought.”
“I know this story well,” Dex added—I’ve seen it so many times in so many men.
“There was something strange about her—we would only see her at night,” he said, “we at the Faire have quite the evening celebrations, you know—and she would come…But then people started going missing.”
“Who?”
“Various background characters—pirates, thieves, and peasants.” He sniffled, “no one important. But we didn’t put it together until later…until it was too late. Alas, I digress. Mr. Dex, Quillson sought to woo her. I was shocked at first, of course, seeing as Quillson’s sexuality was of the purest furientation. But she could change forms, take on something more beastly—at least so I’m told.”
“A cat.” Dex interrupted.
“A kitten,” Jiggles went on. “She could turn into a kitten. I haven’t seen it personally, although I hope to whatever god sits on Heaven’s Throne that that is what drew him to her. Perish the thought that he might have changed. Over time, Quillson became more distant—at first neglecting his duties as the Elder Fuzz, letting pups and cubs go without their needs met. Then one day, he just…wasn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean we lost him—he disappeared. And so did this Devon.” And Jiggles’ voice regained its former strength as this tale of woe came to an end.
“I’ve done my best to hold the herd together, but I’m no Quillson. It is…” He paused, “It is our biggest loss. He left Rainbow Dash to copulate with human flesh. Oh perish the thought!” And his sadness turned to rage, swiping his giant furry paw across the table, sending mugs clanging onto the floor.
“But then word of his whereabouts came to my long ears once again.” He suddenly announced.
“Where is he? I must speak with him!” Dex demanded.
“Oh you’ve missed your chance.”
“You yourselves know the power of Devon—I must destroy her! Why can’t I speak with him?!”
Jiggles sat silent.
“WHY!?” He repeated his demand.
“Because he’s dead, Mr. Dex.” And the Jiggles rose to his hind feet.
Then Dex realized that Edwin was right—it really was a strong drink. Or maybe it was the shock of encountering thi
s furry aberration. Or perhaps his growing anger at the Dakimakura. Either way, the room began to spin.
“Dakimakura—Devon?” Dex asked.
“No.”
“Then how did he die?” Dex wanted to leave, he needed to get out of there—but he needed to know.
“You killed him, Dex.” And the bunny raised an accusing paw at the now inebriated Dex.
He tried to walk, but only got so far as standing up before he fell to the floor. His vision blurred the images in the dim light of the tavern room. A memory lodged itself in his head as Jiggles continued.
“You decapitated him and stuffed his disembodied head full of garlic.—and you think we’re ill?--You lit his house on fire and ran into the night.” The Bunny Jiggles stood over him, listing Dex’s crimes as the giant eyes baring down like those of some hideous Pagan demon of an ancient culture.
The wretched, plastic eyes disappeared into darkness as he replaced his hood over the massive head. Dex recalled his recent raid on the lair—the lack of bite marks. Was there a hedgehog poster on the wall? A quilled outfit hanging on a chair in a corner? He couldn’t be sure…the lairs were always so disgusting.
Dex struggled and writhed on the ground, trying fruitlessly to regain his balance as more cloaked figures shuffled into the room, huddling around himself and the unconscious Edwin. In a final moment of clarity he recalled the Rainbow Dash plush, enshrined on a wall of his victim, then all of the lamps went out and Dex was abandoned to the black.
Dim lights flickered from the walls as the spinning ceiling slowed to a halt, leaving the ceiling and floor in its proper place. Dex guessed he was on the floor of the tavern, but something wasn’t quite right—the room felt colder, mustier and the walls were made only of stone. He lay on his stomach and tried to sit up but he couldn’t move. He was bound.