Fugue, page 120
I really hope this is a psychological problem, not a psychic one. Still, as my altar ego keeps telling me, it’s not my problem. Not anymore. I’m always happy to help, but he keeps telling me to mind my own business.
I suspect this is his way of encouraging me to get on with larger issues.
There wasn’t really much left to do, all things considered. The track of the Empire was headed toward reunification and reformation. The valley and everyone in it was safe from systematic violence. The House of Lucard was established and—if people had any sense at all—not to be trifled with.
Could I stay and work on more stuff? I’m sure I could. But the automated functions forming the roads would keep running for another week. The castle had the model version and Leisel had the key-wand to make any changes she wanted. The under-harbor was open for business. Now all we needed was ships of our own, but Leisel could handle that.
I worried a little about the elevators, but I gave detailed drawings and a couple of miles of enchanted, self-repairing cable to Hazir. He’s not an engineer, but he knows people who understand waterwheel construction. They’ll figure it out.
Phoebe is doing her thing, living her life. I’m not interfering, aside from kicking her Uncle Dusty into the role of guardian angel. He’s better equipped for it. I make a better guardian demon. Between the two of us, maybe it’ll all turn out okay.
Damn it, I’m out of excuses.
It’s time to say my farewells, collect my bliss-addict victims—excuse me, “test subjects.” It’s time to collect them, haul them off to a voidstation, and get set for a long stint as Mad Scientist.
And here I thought I could breeze out. Leisel had half a dozen minor issues for me to settle. Hazir had some questions about the House. Even Bronze wanted to know if she should give driving lessons to someone so they could use her truck while we were out.
I’m surprised. Bronze doesn’t particularly like to share her clothes with strangers. I told her not to bother. They would run out of fuel all too soon. Without her, it wasn’t a practical vehicle in any sense.
I have a sneaking suspicion my altar ego gave people hints I might not be coming back. He’s right. I might not. I probably will, though, if only because they ask me to. I might even miss one or two of them enough to drop in. More likely, I’ll show up to look for Phoebe and Gus. Gus likes it here.
I fielded everything they threw at me, answered all their questions or referred them to the sand table and Dusty. There was just one more thing to do before I left, and Leisel was insistent about it. It took all afternoon, too.
I’m beginning to think she likes me. She still wore her chain around her waist, though.
The night was young, less than an hour after sunset, before we had the prisoner chain lined up. Velina took charge of them in the courtyard for me. They were kept in line by iron collars. A short rod with cuffs on each end was attached to the link in front of each collar, forcing the arms in close to the body and the hands up near the face. A short chain also connected the ankles, reducing them to a shuffle. I didn’t mind. They weren’t going for a long walk.
They were pretty subdued and listlessly obedient. Still, just in case, Velina carried a long rod. At one end, there were a number of leather thongs, like a lash. The other end tapered to a point. When I came out to the courtyard, she had them lined up and ready to go anywhere I wanted.
Velina may not talk much—not around me, anyway—but she communicates extremely effectively.
“All ready?” I asked. Velina did the unfolding-hand gesture as a salute and grunted an affirmative.
“Good,” I answered. “Into the barn with them, please.”
She turned to look at the poor bastard at the front of the chain. None of them were clean, happy, or well-fed, but a comfortable dungeon is counterproductive. He started shuffling immediately, without further prompting. The whole line slowly lurched into motion, like a line of cars at a slow traffic light. Velina led them into the barn.
Bronze stood by the door, as a horse, watching them intently. I found it interesting the prisoners paid her less attention than they gave to Velina. Rumors of godlike power are one thing. A tough woman with a stick is a reality. Bronze gave them the reddish, glowing-eyes stare, too. She was amused at their attitude.
We pressed them up along one wall, folding the line back when we ran out of wall. I marked off an area of floor for the transport, aiming for the prisoner hallway in the Spherestation. Since it curved a bit, there were some interesting geometrical conversions involved.
“Thank you, Velina. You’ve been a great help. I can take it from here.”
“If you please, no,” she replied, looking me squarely in the breastbone.
“No?”
“I will go.”
“I can’t allow that.”
“Why not?”
I wanted to simply snap back the answer, but it was a surprisingly good question.
“This is not your job,” I tried.
“My job is to serve you,” she pointed out, glancing at one of the prisoners. He swallowed hard and tried not to look terrified. “You will need a jailer.”
My first impulse was to deny her again, but my uncommon sense raised a point. If I’m going to be a full-time vampire while dealing with angels, would I have time to see to the care and feeding of prisoners? Or was I going to do all my research on bliss-addiction first, then focus only on angels? Or would they be concurrent and overlapping projects? Eventually, I’d want to stuff an angel in a living person, not merely an empty clone, so I’ll need to do the bliss-addiction experiments afterward, which means someone needs to feed and clean the animals. What if I needed a living person to handle some angelic radiation? I can sizzle in the light of celestial beings, but it doesn’t bother living humans. I’m confident, with proper preparation, I can shield someone from angelic possession, too.
How bad would it be to have a human assistant?
No, better question: How bad could it get without a human assistant?
Normally, I’d ask Phoebe for help, but she has her own projects. And Velina was volunteering. If nothing else, it would save me a lot of R&D on building an Igor.
“Have you been talking to the sand table?”
“Yes.”
“I see.”
This is your doing, isn’t it? I asked.
Not entirely. Where you go, she wants to go. I had nothing to do with that.
You expect me to believe she’s volunteering to accompany me into strange worlds just so she can be helpful?
Yes.
I didn’t know what to say.
And you haven’t…?
I haven’t.
Firebrand interjected, Boss, she really does want to go.
I thought it over some more, but I already knew I should let her come. It might be dangerous, but she knew it and didn’t care. And having her there might remind me to be a better person than I might otherwise be. If I spend a year in solitude, playing Mad Scientist, with no real human interaction besides feeding and watering the animals—
The human test subjects. Test subjects.
Yeah, maybe someone to regard as a human might be the most important thing she could do for me.
“All right,” I said, aloud, “on one condition.”
“Yes,” she stated, flatly.
“You don’t even know the condition.”
“I still agree.”
“You can’t agree to something if—never mind. Here’s the thing. If you feel you’re having a tough time of it in any way—if you are suffering, afraid, or tired—anything at all—you are to tell me immediately. To assist me, you’re going to be dealing with places and forces a warrior has no business dealing with. I want to know if you’re able—not willing. Able—to deal with any task I assign you. Understand?”
“Understood. I agree.”
Still with some mental reservations, I resolved to keep a close eye on her. She didn’t know what she was getting into.
Well, damn. The same could be said for me.
I engaged the shift-spell and we vanished from the world.
Postscript
The voidstations are locked down. The firmaments are dialed up to full power. All the cloaking and stealth spells I normally use to hide from celestial scrutiny are on-line, along with some new ones. I’ve done everything within my considerable power to make my two tiny universes as indetectable and impenetrable as it is possible to be.
Velina is armored against angelic influences and well-protected against celestial energies. It took a lot of work, but it was also an opportunity to further refine some of my anti-celestial spells. Maybe she won’t need it on the Spherestation, but I’d rather have her ready for trouble in advance.
On the Flatstation, I have two blank-minded clones ready, full-grown, covered in containment spells, and fastened down like an illustration from a how-to book on bondage. I have more growing in the cloning tanks on the Spherestation. I anticipate needing them.
I have freshly-enchanted armor. I have Firebrand. I have dozens of personal protection spells. I have one hell of an angel containment diagram. I have a belt full of power crystals. I have an orichalcum power line directly run from a reactor to the summoning room. I even have Bronze. She’s wearing the whole damn Flatstation like some sort of enormous suit of metal clothes.
I didn’t realize she could do that. I should have. She’s worn a whole starship before. It never occurred to me she would want to wear a body without a drive system. I told her not to get used to having a matter-conversion reactor, just like I told her not to get used to having a fusion plant when she was a starship. She assures me she doesn’t particularly care for being either a voidstation or a starship.
I have a massive block of osmium with a small hole drilled in it for my gate. It’s not iridium. I picked osmium because I don’t care about magical gate efficiency as much as I care about the gate surviving the influx of celestial energies.
I haven’t thought of everything. I’m not fully prepared. I can be ready for anything, but I’ll never be ready for everything. Maybe I’m prepared enough.
Excuse me. I’m about to summon, bind, and dissect an angel.
I really hope I have the opportunity to write up the results.
Enjoying the story so far? Great! Help others find the story by leaving a stellar review!
Nightlord: Fugue
In the meantime, if you need some free stories to read, check out my Author Page!
Garon Whited
Other books:
Dragonhunters
LUNA
Nightlord, Book One: Sunset
Nightlord, Book Two: Shadows
Nightlord, Book Three: Orb
Nightlord, Book Four: Knightfall
Nightlord, Book Five: VOID
Nightlord, Book Six: Mobius
Short Stories:
An Arabian Night: Nazin’s Dream
Clockwork
Dragonhunt
Ship’s Log: Vacuum Cleaver
The Power
The Ways of Cats
https://garonwhited.com/art/
Whited, Garon, Fugue
