Anima – The Writing of Matthew Lang

Anima: The Marque’s Manor

Matthew Lang — Mon, 11 Jan 2016 11:33:05 +0000

Photo by Kilian Schönberger

“So, he knows we’re coming,” Tebryn said, as they walked along the road that led up to the Marque’s manor. They had exited the forest and crossed the fields of cabbages and potatoes that filled most of the island, and the gravel road left them all feeling a little exposed.
“Apparently,” Max said.
“Right, right,” Tebryn said. “How many of the townsfolk have gone missing, Catherine?”
“About eight,” she said tightly. The woman had gathered herself after fleeing from Selene, and her jaw was tightly clenched. Max suspected she was holding herself together through sheer willpower.
“Three left then,” Tebryn said.
“What?”
“We fought three darklings, Allette surprised and defeated two more, so that leaves three more.”
“Four including Father Scott,” Max said, softly.
Catharine’s breath caught. “I suppose so,” she said eventually.
“And Zoltan,” Keith cracked his knuckles
“Who’s Zoltan?” Allette asked.
“The Captain of Caval Canti’s guards,” Max said.
“Humourless bastards, that’s what they are” Tebryn grumped. “I put on a seriously good show for those numbskulls and you know what I got? Blank stares and polite applause! I mean, it was like they were dead inside… or something.”
“How many guards did you say there were again?”
“I…wasn’t counting,” Tebryn said.
“You what?”
“You try keeping up patter while palming cards, distracting with your spare hand and remembering exactly where in a fifty two card deck things are!”
“Nine,” Max said. “It’s part of the training,” he said with a shrug.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Keith asked Catherine, whose face had gone white.
The woman nodded. “I’m through with hiding.”
“Good,” Tebryn said, “Because I’m pretty sure he should be able to see us from those windows.”

The manor was on a rocky outcrop, across the River Corvinus, which cut through the Corvinus Gorge. It would probably be fair to say that Corvinus Manor really sat on the far side of the Corvinus Gorve, given that the river itself thundered some forty or fifty metres below the Corvinus bridge that Max and the others found themselves on the far side of, squinting up into the sunset.
“They really weren’t inventive with names, were they?” Allette said. “And you’d think they’d have locked the gatehouse door.”
Indeed, staring across the bridge to the small gatehouse on the far side, Max could see that the door was open and the portcullis raised. Squinting against the setting sun, he stared up at the dark windows of the manor. “They should be firing arrows at us from those windows by now. I would be.”
“Maybe demons from the pits of hell don’t think tactically?” Allette suggested as she crept up to the low stone wall that guarded the drop on either side of the bridge’s width.
“Zoltan should,” Max pointed out. “He’s a soldier.”
“Zombie soldier,” Tebryn said lightly as he followed Allette across the bridge.
“Not better,” Max grumbled as he followed after them, unslinging his shield and raising it to block any incoming projectiles that might target his face.
“Do we have a plan?” Allette asked as they pushed through the gatehouse door, and stepped into the courtyard at the front of the manor.”
“Kill everything that moves,” Keith grunted, as he crept along the inner wall, keeping in the shadows as much as possible.
“Simple,” Allette said. “I like it. Easy to remember. So…how do we get through the door?”
Reaching out, Tebryn tried the handle. “Not locked,” he said.
“Really?” Max asked. “You didn’t have to do anything to it?”
“Aye. Do you really think I’d be volunteering to take on more work than I have to?”
“Point. So we should go in through the window, right? It’s obviously a trip.”
“It should be,” Tebryn agreed.
“They should have fired on us from the windows as well,” Allette pointed out.
Keith snorted and pushed his way through the front door.
“Or we could just do that,” Tebryn said. “That works too, you know, assuming we don’t die.”

The entrance hall was exactly as Max remembered it—well lit, and simple, but finished to a standard that was of a much higher quality than anything else on the island. Oil lamps, devoid of decoration, but not used anywhere else on the island, lit the corridor, and a faded red carpet ran its length past the waiting room from the coachyard. As he looked around the hallway he felt it—a tug that reached down into his body and settled in his stomach, clamping down and squeezing until it almost hurt. It was here.
“All right boys, let’s get this over with,” Allette said, drawing her daggers and stepping forward. “You’ve been here before, right?”
“Up the stairs and to the left to get to the dining room,” Tebryn said. “Don’t have the foggiest past that.”
“We’ll try that first,” Max said, taking a deep breath and giving himself a shake. He had a mission to fulfil before he could reclaim what was his.
“Mmhmm,” Keith said, twirling his blades as he headed down the corridor. “You know the best thing to do with a trap?”
“What?” Max asked, half dreading the answer.
“Spring it.”
The moment they were out of the the entrance hall and in the main staircase there was the sound of metal on metal as the doors locked themselves. The lights here were dimmer, casting shadows along the double staircases that led upwards, and a double doorway into what Max assumed would be a ballroom of some kind. A snarl drew their attention to the left and a grey faced man in the armour of a guard captain stood where the corridor turned around the base of one of the staircases and headed off into the darkness.
“You shouldn’t have come.”
“And…he’s a zombie,” Tebryn said. “Explains everything.”
“Darkling,” Max corrected.
“Whatever,” Tebryn said. “Red eyed, humourless bastard.”
Keith took a step towards Zoltan, but four darklings rushed forward.
“Hug the walls!” Tebryn snapped, and Max stepped to one side reflexively. The carpet runner along the wooden hallway rose and fell as it was yanked backwards, and the darklings stumbled, falling over in heap. Looking back he saw Tebryn and Allette let go of the runner, but Keith was already moving, leaping over the fallen creatures and heading straight for Zoltan himself. With a satisfied grin, Allette dashed after him, pausing only long enough to slice through the hamstrings of one of the darklings with her heavy dagger. Max stepped forward, and was able to dispatch two more before the third clambered to it’s feet, squaring off against him. Ahead of him sparks were flying as Zoltan’s deliberate movements fended off the attacks of four weapons, although both Keith and Allette didn’t seem as graceful or fast as they normally did. Max didn’t have time to take that in though, as the thrust and block of his own fight drew in on him. He heard the dull thud of something hitting flesh and bone and figured Tebryn was taking out the fallen. Soon, only Zoltan was left, but outnumbered four to one, he was soon cut down.
“Are you all right?” Max asked as they stepped away, panting.
“It’s just a cut,” Keith said, holding a rag to a gash across his forearm.
“Let me,” Max said, and laid his hand over the other man’s. He felt a surge of energy and then he stepped back. Keith stared down at his arm, which although bloody, was whole again.
“You can…” his voiced trailed off.
Max nodded. “It’s hardly an important secret here, is it?”
He saw the larger man glance in Tebryn’s direction. “No.”
“Rushing us around a corridor corner,” Tebryn said, striding up. “They had locking doors, they could have rushed us on three sides, but they all charge out on one side. That makes no sense.”
“They could have fired at us through the windows,” Max pointed out. “Darklings don’t seem to be very tactical.”
“Good,” Allette said brightly. “I like stupid enemies.”
“Catherine?” Keith asked suddenly, walking back to the blonde woman.
“This was Father Scott,” Catherine said, reaching out with trembling fingers and closing the corpse’s eyes. “I don’t think he…he…” she swallowed. “Let’s go.”
They moved through the manor, finding the ballroom cold and locked, and finding closed off guest rooms and the spartan, musty quarters where Zolton had lived out his unlife. Everything other than the rooms Max, Tebryn and Keith had already travelled through was covered in a thick layer of dust and there was a stark demarcation on the carpet as they rounded the corner on the first floor towards the dining room—a line showing where the lived in, presentable areas stopped and the reality of Corvinus began.

The dining room was empty, as was the sitting room they’d retired to after the meal, although Keith grabbed a case of the man’s cigars, each one sporting a silver paper band with the imprint of a man’s face on it. He shrugged when he saw Max’s eye on him.
“Where is he?” Catherine asked.
“Not here,” Max said helpfully.
“You know,” Tebryn said, peering out the windows into the darkness beyond. “I’ve never seen a manor house with a giant tower in the middle of its courtyard.”
Allette chuckled. “A tower. Of course there’s a tower. Is it red and demonic?”
“Don’t know really,” Tebryn said. “But if it makes you feel better we can pretend it is.”
“Ballroom?” Max asked, looking down at the flower beds below.
Keith lifted a coil of rope from his shoulders and tied it around one of the large, bulky armchairs. “Nah. We’ll just use this.”
It took them a while, but they made it to the tower door without any incident. “Wait,” Tebryn said once they reached the door.
Lighting his small lantern, the smaller man checked the door over thoroughly, peering at its hinges, inspecting the lock and sliding a slim piece of metal between the door and its frame. “Not trapped as far as I can tell,” he said, puzzlement evident in his voice.
“Why would he trap it?” Max asked. “He might as well have lit candles and rolled out the welcome mat for us given the defences we’ve encountered so far.”
Tebryn cocked his head. “You know how you become a corpse, guardsman? You check one hundred steps, look at the last one before the next floor and say ‘oh they haven’t trapped the last hundred, they wouldn’t trap the hundred and first…”
Turning the handle, Tebryn pushed open the door. “After you.”

Anima: Her

Matthew Lang — Thu, 03 Dec 2015 14:01:22 +0000

Original Artist unknown.

The soft snick of turning ivory cylinders rang loud in the silence of the cathedral.
“Would you mind not staring so hard?” Tebryn asked, the tip of his tongue sticking out the side of his mouth as he delicately turned the tumblers. “You’ll bore holes in me with your eyes soon enough.”
“Get on with it,” Keith growled. “I’d like to get this over with and have a good night’s sleep for once.”
Tebryn stilled. “What do you mean by that?”
Keith shifted uncomfortably, shrugging his pauldrons into a more comfortable position on his shoulders. “Bad sleep, bad dreams, sluggish feeling after waking.”
Tebryn blinked and flicked the last tumbler into place. “Right, yes. Let’s go shall we?”
There was a sharp crack and Tebryn jumped back from the pillar as it shook, sending clouds of dust and grit raining down upon them. There was the grinding of ancient gears and the large pillar slowly descended, sinking into the ground and revealing the still intact stone dome of the cathedral itself. The pillar was topped with mosaics that matched the floor, as though it would have normally been level with the floor when the cathedral was in use.
Shrugging, Keith stepped onto the platform and raised an eyebrow at the others.
Tebryn sighed. “All right.”

Even later Max could never say what made the pillar rise when it did, but when they were all standing on top of it, the structure shuddered. Somewhere beneath them, gears began to grind again and it rose towards the ceiling. When the pillar locked into place beneath the dome, the last of the sunlight winked out as the gap between the floor and the dome crunched together, and for a brief moment the only light in the small room came from Tebryn’s lantern. As the sound of stone moving against stone died away, pale runes flickered across the wooden surface of a door hidden in a recess in the dome, and two lanterns began to glow with a pale, unwavering blue light.
“Magic,” Catherine breathed as she stared at the glow.
“Yes,” Max agreed, and stepped forward, the door swinging open before him without him even touching it. “I know this place.”
The room beyond was long rather than wide, stretching all the way along the length of the chapel if Max’s sense of direction was anything to go by. Banks of red candles lined the corridor, merging into mounds of red wax and the resulting heat was almost as strong as an open fire. At the far end a girl was sitting on a pile of cushions by the windows, her long black hair matching her eyes, which were completely black.
“You came!” she said, jumping to her feet and clapping her hands together enthusiastically.
Max could feel Tebryn’s gaze on the back of his head. “You two know each other?”
“She told me to find her, in my dreams,” Max said. “I told you about that yesterday over breakfast, remember?”
“Oh right, sorry.”
“You come to defeat Caval Canti and free the village,” Selene said.
“Actually, I just want to get off this island,” Tebryn said. “Defeating Caval Canti just seems to be the only way to do it.”
“Yes,” she said simply. “You might escape in time, but he has turned his mind towards you, and time is now a luxury you do not possess.”
“Who are you anyway?” Max asked. “And why are you helping us?”
“You can call me Selene,” the girl said calmly. “And Galeal holds me here. Until he is defeated, I cannot leave.”
“Galeal,” Max said. “There was a cage for Galeal on the Tol Rauko shipwreck we found here.”
“I thought you wanted us to defeat the Marque, not Galeal—what exactly is Galeal anyway?”
“Caval Canti is just a shell for Galeal. It does not have the shape of a man. So he gives it that. You must force him to show you its true shape if you hope to win free of this place.”
“And what about the Flauros? Is that actually important?”
Turning, Selene looked sadly out the window. “Galeal uses it to steal my power and keep me confined here. He has made himself nearly invulnerable to weapons and keeps itself alive by feeding on the horrors of his victims.”
“Well, if he’s invulnerable we’ll just ask him for it nicely then, shall we?” Tebryn griped.
“Can you help us?” Max asked. “You must have some way to hurt him, or he wouldn’t lock you away.”
Selene smiled. “I can. You will need a weapon coated in my blood. It will lend a portion of my power to your arms—enough to break through the wards surrounding Caval Canti that protect him—and it.”
Max hesitated. “We have to…”
The girl held out her hand. “Give me your blade.”

Shrugging, Max handed over his short sword, placing it flat across Selene’s palms. Gripping the hilt, she drew it through her body, the blade passing effortlessly through the folds of both her cream silk kimono and her body, emerging blood red from pommel to tip without cutting her or the fabric of her clothing. Her hands were clean and after a moment, the crimson faded away, as if it had never been there. With a half bow, the girl held the blade out to Max, who accepted it with a bow of his own that he couldn’t help thinking was slightly awkward. He was a city guard, not a poncy palace breastplate buffer and he was more at home with a crisp salute than bowing or genuflecting. Ducking awkwardly out of the way, he watched as Selene blooded both of Keith’s short swords, and then all of Allette’s daggers, which turned out to be five in all. Then Tebryn grimaced and handed over one of his fans. It was only then that Max really looked at the weight of it, noting the iron tipped ribs with sharp, triangular points at the fans top, and way the closed based of the fan’s head created a heavy club of metal. As Selene drew it through her body, he stared at the other fan Tebryn was carrying, and saw it was made of a lighter wood and only painted to match the other fan in style.
Cunning.
Then Catherine turned towards Catherine, and the woman gasped, clutched at the holy pendant around her neck and held it out towards Selene, backing up along the corridor.
“Stay away from me, demon!” she said, and even Keith’s assurances were not enough to calm her.
“And on that note, we should probably be going,” Tebryn said brightly. “Thank you for your help.”
“He will know you’re coming now,” Selene said calmly. “You must move against him before he has a chance to prepare.”
“He’ll feel what you just did?” Max asked.
Selene nodded. “And he is not the only evil here.”
“There’s more?” Tebryn asked.
“You need to get the Flauros,” Selene said. “If the other shows himself, bring it to me and I can…deal with him.”
Max stared at her for a moment. “You’re not a little girl, are you?”
Selene smiled winsomely at him. “Only when I want to be.”

Anima: Allette

Matthew Lang — Mon, 27 Jul 2015 13:52:56 +0000

Darkling by dloliver (DeviantArt)

“Did you find anything?” Catherine asked, calling down from the top of the cliff as they made their way out of the ship.
“Not sure,” Tebryn called back before anyone else could answer. “Tell you when we get up there.”
Keith was first up the rope, scrambling up the rocks to the grassy top in what seemed the blink of an eye to Max. Tebryn was a bit slower, but finished his ascent with a showly flip, leaving Max to struggle up behind them in chainmail, after he refused an offer to haul him up on the rope.
“…know where that is, yes,” Catherine was saying when he reached the top, red faced and sweating. “It’s in the middle of the island though, closer to the Marque’s manor than the village really.”
“So we go tomorrow then,” Tebryn said, looking up into the grey sky. “It’s about mid afternoon now and I don’t fancy running around a ruin in the black of night.”
Catherine nodded. “All right. I’ll see you at my place after breakfast then.”
“After an early breakfast,” Max said, coiling the rope up.
“Agreed.”

The sun was low on the horizon and the fields of cabbages, turnips and potatoes were visible in the distance when Keith held up a hand.
“What’s wr—”
“Shh!” Keith’s reply was both soft and sharp and cut Max off mid query.
The big man drew his blades and turned just as the first darkling attacked.
They were human—or had once been. They moved with a swift economy of motion that was human in form but inhumane in the way it completely disregarded the safety of the mover. The first one crashed out of a thorny gorse thicket, covered in scratches from the needle sharp thorns, some deep enough to bleed painfully. Or should have been deep enough to cause painful bleeding. Only the darkling didn’t bleed blood at all. Ichor the colour of midnight dripped from their wounds, dissolving into the air in trailing streams of darkness. Still, Max was sure that these had once been people, sunken eyesockets, jet black eyes and hollow cheeks included. They moved forward deliberately and without vocalisation, the only noise of their approach their footfalls and the whip slap of springy gorse branches being pushed out of their way. Their long, blackened fingernails were more akin to talons than fingernails, and they closed in with hands raised, ready to strike.
Keith dodged the first attack, spinning out of the way and sending the darkling crashing off the road with a well placed kick to its behind, and struck out at the a second, but it pulled away, only a tiny line of of dark ichor on its torso any indication that it had been hit at all.
Damn, these things were fast.
In the background, he heard Catherine scream and saw Tebryn hesitate a second before drawing out a large, oriental fan. A fan. Thinking back, he hadn’t actually seen the man use any blade larger than a belt knife, or pick up anything resembling a weapon. Gritting his teeth, Max drew his shortsword from his belt, his shield from where it rested on his back, and squared off against the third darkling. This one had been a woman once, if her tattered garb was anything to go by. Now her lank black hair hung in thick matted snarls, most of them plastered to her face and neck. She stared at him without any trace of recognition or acknowledgement as another human being. It wasn’t a look he’d really seen before. Well, maybe once when his patrol had come up against a den of mushroom juicers, the brain fogging combination of blackcap mushroom powder and strong spirits had turned a normally placid, drugged out juicer den into a cave of blood thirsty maniacs.
Two of his squad had died that night.
The first blow came from his left and Max barely got the shield up in time. The force of the blow was as hard as his captain’s back home, and was being delivered by a five foot something, wiry darkling that had once been an inoffensive peasant woman. His own over shield blow missed its mark, and it seemed that Keith wasn’t faring much better. The normally nimble warrior was having to fend of too of the creatures, and his blades were being turned toward defence and misdirection of attacks rather than landing killing blows themselves.
Suddenly, a small rock hit the side of the woman’s head, and it turned to glare balefully in Tebryn’s direction, only to be hit up the side of the head with the butt of the trickster’s fan. The thud of metal on flesh mixed with the crack of bone and Max took advantage of the distraction to run the woman through, his blade slipping between her ribs to her heart. Black mist bubbled out of ther mouth and blew away in the sea breeze as her body collapsed to the ground, nearly yanking Max’s blade from his grip. Stepping over the corpse, he thrust at the second of the darklings attacking Keith. Drawing its attention allowed the Kushistani to go on the offence, cutting down the third creature in a hail of blows that left its head detached from the rest of its body. Max himself wasn’t as fortunate, trading fruitless attacks with his opponent when a twisted root caused him to stumble backwards, his guard dropping momentarily as he was pushed backwards into the prickly gorse.
Tensing in anticipation the guardsman prayed his armour would prevent any serious damage, but instead of an opportunistic blow there was a slick grating sound and a burst of cold air blasted past his face. Looking up he saw a lithe young woman, dressed in leather leggings and a jerkin covered by a sunshine yellow dress. She was holding two heavy daggers, which were currently jammed to the hilt into the eye sockets of the final darkling, the once stocky man’s body now lying twitching in the grass. Wrenching her weapons free the girl cleaned her blades on the rags the darkling still wore, and then sheathed them in a harness on her back.
“Hi,” the girl said, pushing her hair back from her face. “I’m Allette. Are you the new people I’ve been told about?”
Max blinked and hauled himself to his feet. “I’m Max, that’s Tebryn and the big guy’s Keith. And you could say we’re new around these parts.”
“And…” Allette looked over to where Catherine was kneeling by one of the fallen darklings.
“That’s Catherine,” Tebryn said softly, ushering Allette away from the woman. “She’s a local. How’d you get here?”
“I woke up in a tree,” Allette said. “With a note pinned to my dress saying ‘Sorry for the inconvenience, but I’m running out of time’. You?”
“Went so sleep in Archangel, woke up here,” Max said. “Keith and Tebryn were on a crashing airship—”
“You crashed here?” Allette asked, turning to Tebryn.
“No,” the trickster said. “There was a sorcerer, everything went dark and we were here.”
“That was…kind of him,” Allette said.
“How do you figure that?” Tebryn asked.
“You didn’t crash and die?” Allette suggested.
Tebryn sniffed. “I suppose. But given that I think he was the cause of the crash, I’m not sure how much of a mercy that was.”
Over by the bodies, Keith was squatting down beside Catharine. “Are you all right?”
“I knew him,” Catherine said, one slender hand resting on the shoulder of the darkling Allette had stabbed in the eyes. “Edward was a farmer. He was the first one who vanished and everyone thought he’d gone…lost at sea.”
“Come. We should leave,” Keith said, offering her his hand.
Catherine accepted his hand and rose gracefully to her feet. “Yes. And I need to get you all to the ruins of the old cathedral. Cavalcanti won’t get away with this any longer.”
“You didn’t really just say that, did you?” Tebryn asked. “Nothing good ever happens after someone says that.”
“Um…who’s Cavalwhatsit?” Allette asked raising her hand.
“The Marque of the island,” Max said.
“A demon,” Catherine replied. “He feeds on your fears and turns you into…those,” she added, turning away from the darkling corpses.
“Well, in that case, maybe you shouldn’t be telling people that he feeds on fear, because—”
“He gets into your nightmares,” Tebryn said. “Or gives them to you. Or if not him something. He’s just our best suspect right now.”
“That sounds a bit…supernatural.”
“Very,” Tebryn agreed. “But don’t take our word for it—see how you feel after you get a bad night’s sleep tonight.”
“Also, if you don’t defeat him, you’ll never get off the island,” Catherine said. “We’ll never get off the island.”
Allette paused. “But Goodie Wallace said that a merchant ship is due in port any day?”
“That ship’s been due any day for several years,” Catharine said.
A rumble startled them all and Allette blushed. “Sorry, I didn’t eat lunch. Fill me in over dinner?”

~*~

“That’s her story?” Captain Melville asked, looking over to where the youth sat on the deck, wrapped in a thick blanket and leaning back against the mast.
“Appeared out of nowhere, saved my life and nearly got killed in the process,” Tebryn said. “Truth be told, she threw her lot in with us without so much as a second thought, and not a lot of evidence to go by.”
“Lucky for us,” Max said. “Not so much for her.”
“Perhaps,” Tebryn said. “But she’s alive, and that’s more than we all might have been if we hadn’t confronted the Marque.”

~*~

The Cathedral was in a coniferous forest in the central area of the island, deeper into the forest than the villagers ventured with their axes. It stood tall and mostly intact—the last building remaining from what must have been a much older settlement of thick hewn stone—far older than the brick and thatch cottages of the town.
“Erabus,” Tebryn said, running his fingers over the faded chisel marks on a stone marker. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know,” Catherine said. “Father Scott didn’t know who built it or how old it is.”
“It’s massive,” Tebryn said quietly.
And indeed it was. It was easily three stories high with a belltower that must have held a bell taller than Max himself, one which surely had been claimed by rust. It had a familiar cross shape, or near cross shape, with a still standing stone wall that enclosed what must have once been a graveyard or garden of some nature. The yellow-grey stones were covered in green mosses and lichen, and vines had grown up about a third of the way up the walls. The doors were easily nine feet tall and held together with black, wrought iron bands.
“You’d think there’d be rust,” Tebryn said, from where he was inspecting the hinges. “I don’t even think this will squeak when you push it open.”
“We push it open?” Allette asked.
“Well, mostly Keith,” Tebryn said with a shrug.
Allette rolled her eyes. “Come on big guy,” she said, striding forward.
The doors did indeed slide forward noiselessly on smooth hinges, revealing a scene of remarkable preservation. Max wasn’t sure if the place had always been this austere, or if the people who abandoned the dwellings had managed to take all their soft furnishings with them, but the two lines of stone pews were still intact, an aisle between them leading up to a large round column that reached up into the stone dome that was visible from the outside, and curiously devoid of ornamentation. There was no pulpit, and only the stone altar remained at the far end, only empty wall where Max would have expected a wooden cross. Where he would have expected seats for the choir on the left was an archway, a blue-white light shining steadily out from it. To the right was empty space, with just a small, plain door in the corner. Piles of rubble from a partially collapsed wall rose some eight feet high along the right hand side of the cathedral, and the grey light of the sun still cast colourful patterns through the stained glass windows which showed scenes from the War of the Cross.
The central column was…odd. It looked far too big to be there, and as Max stared up into the vaulted ceiling above, it looked like it wasn’t supporting anything. At the front of the columns were three vertical lines of tiles. Or tumblers, as Max found upon closer inspection, each tile rotating around through a series of letters and numbers, although at the moment they were all blank.
“Three names, huh?” Tebryn said, twiddling with the tiles. “Seems straightforward enough—just have to find them.”
“Okay,” Allette said. “Where do we start?”
“Ah,” Tebryn said. “The not straightforward part.”
The glowing light turned out to be coming from a granite sphere that scintillated with a white glow, despite not appearing to be cut with facets. It lit the walls with hundreds of bright white dots, that danced in random patterns and swirls. Max paused in the doorway, only to have Tebryn push past him, reaching out to lay his hand on the rock.
It was hard to explain, but it almost seemed like the lights were drawn to Tebryn’s skin, causing the palm of his hands to light up, fleshy and red, while the top of his hand remained dark in the shadows. Tebryn looked up at Max, his eyes wide.
“Yeah,” Max said. “I know.”
“What? It’s just a rock,” Allette said.
“A glowy rock,” Tebryn said, picking it up. It was about as large as the man’s chest and he needed two hands to carry it. “Do you think we can take it?”
“You can try,” Keith said with a shrug.
Grinning at Max, Tebryn carefully carried the rock over to the door, but once he stepped over the threshold, the lights that had lit its surface faded, and the feeling of power faded. Frowning, he stepped back into the alcove, and the stone lit up again, or at least, one half did. The side outside of the room remained dark and dead.
“Can’t take it out of the room,” Max said.
“Yeah,” Tebryn agreed. “Oh well, we know it’s here if we need it,” he said and carried it back to the plinth and set it down gingerly. “Pity,” he added.
“You can get another pet rock somewhere else,” Allette said as they headed towards the door on the other side of the room.
“But it won’t be as good as that one,” Tebryn said with a sigh. “Never mind.”
It was nice to know he wasn’t the only magically gifted person around, but he hadn’t seen the juggler do anything remotely magical so far. To be fair, he’d done nothing magical since meeting Tebryn and Keith, so perhaps the other man was just being cautious.

The far door led out into a cloister, or what would once have been a cloister, if the forest hadn’t reclaimed the grassy garden. Most of the covered walkways had collapsed under the ministration of the elements, but the stone paths were still there, and the group trekked right around the trees, hugging the cathedral wall. Through another door they found a long corridor that seemed to run alongside the inner wall, although it seemed superfluous from Max’s perspective. Maybe it was a storage area. It certainly seemed like the equivalent of a cathedral shed, although it didn’t hold much bar a few moth-eaten scraps of fabric and sacking and the rusted remains of of gardening tools. At the end there was a number of carved busts, although of who exactly Max didn’t know.
“These have been moved,” Tebryn said. “Look at the discolouration on the stone.”
Looking down Max saw the square print on the stone that was lighter than dirty discoloured areas around it. “They were blocking the end of the room.”
“Let’s see what’s behind it, shall we?” Tebryn asked, raising his lantern as he led the way between the statues.
“Marble,” Keith muttered as he followed after the juggler. “Heavy.”
“And empty,” Tebryn said. “Well, except for this.”
Following the others between the heavy statues of religious icons long forgotten, Max found Tebryn looking up at an engraving in the wall. “A puzzle,” he said flatly. “I hate puzzles.”
“One puzzle, three names.” Tebryn said.
“And numbers around the outside of the letter square,” Max said. “Wonderful.”
“Keith?”
The big man shrugged and leaned up against the wall. “You’re the thinker, you figure it out.”
“Hey look, Erebus. Isn’t that what was on the sign out front of the cathedral?” Allette asked.
“Aye,” Tebryn agreed. “And it was on the documents we found at the shipwreck.”
“There was a shipwreck?” Allette asked.
“Didn’t we cover that over dinner?”
“Mostly you talked about potatoes. And how much you never want to eat one again.”
“Oh, right.” Reaching into his backpack, Tebryn drew out the oilskin wrapped parcel of documents out of his backpack and handed it to her as he stared at the numbers. “Here you go.”
“Uh, thanks.”
“Could it be the numbers pointing towards letters?” Tebryn muttered, half to himself. “Each set of numbers provides a letter?”
“That doesn’t provide anything resembling names and doesn’t give us Erebus at all.”
“And how would the zero come into things?” Allette asked.
“Hey look, Abaddon,” Max said. “Would that be one of the names?”
“If we’re just picking names, there’s Julia, Jedah and Maria if you go backwards,” Allette pointed out.
“Erebus, Jedah and Meseguis,” Tebryn said.
“Meseguis? That’s not a name!” Max objected.
“Maybe not, but it’s all eight letters in that column,” Tebryn said.
Max stared at the square of letters for a moment longer. “Oh,” he said.
Keith straighted up from where he had slouched against the wall. “All right. Let’s go do this then.”

Tebryn – New Art!

Matthew Lang — Sat, 27 Jun 2015 17:31:25 +0000

So after several months of gaming in the Anima world, I finally have an idea of what Tebryn looks like in the flesh. And the fantastic Annah Lang (no relation, sadly), and player of Arkara has created this amazing piece of artwork for me! She’s already taken on the all the art for the Mass Effect Collision serial that I’m writing at the moment, and as you can see, she can do fantasy (or I suppose renaissance art) as easily and as superbly as science fiction. This is the low res web version–click the image above for the high res version.

Annah is currently crazy busy doing cosplay, more Mass Effect art and possibly another Tebryn piece eventually, but she does take commissions, and I suggest you get in now before her to draw list gets too massive. You can find her online at eevia.net.

Anima: The Ship that Came In

Matthew Lang — Thu, 14 May 2015 14:48:06 +0000

The Church was abandoned—that was really the only way to describe it. The doors were shut tight and only a track from the road to the belltower through the waist-high grass showed the place to be visited at all—and probably by Catherine if Max was reading the situation correctly. The small graveyard was around the back, in a stretch of grass between the church and the low shrubs that marked the beginning of the beach dunes. There were two mausoleums, one so old and weathered that they couldn’t make out the inscription on the lintel, and the other now overgrown but clearly stated the name of the occupants within.
“Quintus,” Tebryn said. “The one place on the island the Marque wouldn’t look is his own family tomb?”
“Well, no one’s cared for this place in a while,” Max said. “You don’t need to be a gardener to see that.”
The book was exactly where Catherine said it would be, although at first—and even second—glance the bricks at the back of the room looked identical to each other.
“Why wouldn’t they? A good secret hidey hole isn’t good if it stands out,” Tebryn asked when he counted the rows, and bricks and then tapped several bricks in sharp succession.
“What, you didn’t know which one it was?”
“She didn’t say which brick to start counting at and whether the corners count,” Tebryn said. “I think it’s the middle one though, just let me…”
There was the scrape of brick against crumbling mortar and Tebryn shone his lantern into the little cavity. “Got it, he said, pulling out a battered, leatherbound journal. “Come on, let’s walk slowly out of here and back to the Small Castle,” he said, shoving the book inside his jacket and snuffing out the lantern.
“Walk slowly?”
“Rule one after a heist. Look inconspicuous. Walk. Slowly. Talk. Laugh. If you’re really wanting to be inconspicuous in a crowd, hold hands with a lover, hug, whisper intimate nothings. Or just pretend to, nothing screams innocent bystander like two lovers smooching.”
“Are you saying we should make out?” Max asked. “Cause no offence, but—”
“No one would buy it,” Tebryn said without turning a hair. “Everyone watches the new people and notes who stands close to who and who shares secret, lovey dovey glances. So let’s just do the slow touristy walk, aye?”

Back at the sign of the Small Castle, the men retreated upstairs to pore over the journal, or at least, the latter entries of it as most of it was fairly generic entries around tending to an isolated island parish.

26th of January
That night, I really felt it. For three years I lied to myself, convincing myself that it had been nothing more than a bad dream. But as they say, dreams area a reflection of reality. I write the lines to process through my ideas and in case I fail, hoping that in the hands these notes fall into, they are of use.

9th of March
Today I visited the remains of the boat. It was not just a simple freighter, nor a military ship. It was a floating prison. They were carrying something…something that was freed when it became shipwrecked. The ship’s log has disappeared, but I found some texts in which they talked about two captives and of an artifact used to contain one of them . The more dangerous one. There were also a few notations on its operation, but I heard a strange sound and…panicked. I hid them under some loose planks below the commander’s cabin and left, running.

18th of March
The Marque walks like a man, but is not. It feeds off of our fears and our desperation, which make it strong and powerful. It is trying to drag us to someplace, neither hell nor purgatory, but wherever it is, it is full of the darkness. The entire island is sinking slowly into that nightmare and sooner or later, there will be no possible escape for anyone.

3rd of April
I have suspected it for a long time, but I have confirmed my fears. It enters people’s dreams, and it swallows them in the darkness, turning them into its servants, into ‘Darklings’ as it calls them. It waits and watches and bides its time but it seeks to take control of the strongest of us, and Catherine and I have become its new prey. I do not know the reason why, but she does not seem to be affected, although it is costing me more and more to sleep in peace. I do not know how much longer I can stand it.
I must hurry.

8th of April
I do not believe that it can die by conventional means, but I know that there must be some way to completely destroy it. I have not yet discovered how, but if it is still possible to avoid the fate it intends I need to find the way.

12th of April
Its secret is in the old Cathedral. I know it. Somehow, I have always known it hid something that is of extreme importance to it there, but that it is also afraid of. I have have surreptitiously observed it with my telescope as it entered the ruins on more than one night, although it always goes alone and carries a strange clock in its hands. The clock looks slightly like the device that appeared in the schematics that I found on the boat, but now that I am being watched, I cannot return there to gather them.
My time is running out.

15th of April
I cannot wait any longer. Marque Cavalcanti—if that is truly what that thing is called—has realised what I am doing and has sent its Darklings after me. I have spent several days studying the notes that the Inquisition made of the Cathedral; I must enter it to discover how to end our danger. If I have understood the notes correctly, the numbers on the panel of the central room indicate which are the correct letters needed to find out what the three names are that open the entrance to the inner sanctuary. I have decided to leave these notes for Catherine in case I fail.
If you are the one who reads this, little one, always remember that I loved you like a daughter. May God guide my hand.
Scott Johannson

The sudden snap of pages slapping together roused Max from a fitful doze. “Did you find anything?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Tebryn said. “There’s a shipwreck, and some documents on it that might tell us how to defeat whatever it is we’re up against. Also something about ruins and a Cathedral. We have to go there after.”
“Cathedral? That’s a bit grand for a church that has it’s belltower as a separate building,” Max said, clambering to his feet with a yawn.
“I think Father Scott meant a different building. He calls it the ‘old’ cathedral where something’s hidden. I doubt he meant his own church.”
“We should give the book to Catherine,” Keith said, who had been reading over Tebryn’s shoulder.
“Yes, I suppose we should,” Tebryn said after a moment’s pause.
“He wanted her to have the book,” Keith pressed.
“And she might know where the shipwreck is.”
“Do you do anything that isn’t out of self interest?” Max asked.
“Not if I can help it,” Tebryn said, flashing Max a smile. “A man’s got to eat, you know.”

Not only did Catherine know where the shipwreck was, the insisted on coming with them.
“I’m in this now,” she said. “And I can’t hide anymore. But what happens to me when you’ve defeated the Marque?”
“Whatever you want,” Tebryn said. “It’s your life and you’ll be safe once the Marque is gone.”
Catherine looked around her small cottage, and at the small, worn book in her hands. “I don’t know. There’s so many memories here. And not good ones.”
“Then you can come with us,” Keith said.
Putting the book down on a small table, Catherine nodded thoughtfully. “Let me get my cloak.”
The stretch of rocky beach that Catherine led them two was several hours away to the northeast, taking them through farms, grassland and then along an overgrown trail through the woods to a cliff of dark rocks, the high tide line demarcated by red and green seaweed that hung in hairy bundles and limp strands in the cracks and crevices of the seabed.
“Good timing,” Catherine said as she stood just shy of the clifftop, the wind tugging at the hem of her undyed woollen dress. “I’d suggest tying your rope around one of the rocks over there,” she added, pointing to a pair of rocks that jutted out from the cliff like a pair of horns. “I’ll wait for you here.”
Looking over, Max could see what would be a rough path leading down the cliff and through the wet rocks and rockpools to where the ship sat. Or part of it. It had broken into two main parts, and the bow was almost completely rotted through, leaving only the blacked, barnacle clad ribs giving any indication that it had even existed. The length of the mainsail was mostly intact, and jammed at each end into protruding rocks. Waves crashed against the artifical barrier, thundering against it with a force that dissipated by the time it reached the ship, and probably had prevented them from knocking the ship itself more than they had. The stern thrust up into the air, perched so that the rudder swung freely some ten feet above the waterline.
“I think we can get in through the hole in the side,” Tebryn said. “It must have smashed in on the rocks.”
Max shook his head. “No, something smashed its way out. Look at the way the boards are broken.”
“Something?” Keith asked as he finished tying off the rope and threw it down the cliffside, tugging on it before starting his way down.
“Someone,” Tebryn said.
“Are we actually saying a mild mannered cigar loving old man bashed his way out of the side of a ship?”
“Are you actually saying you appeared on the beach this morning after falling asleep in his barracks in Archangel and are now searching for a red book?”
“Not just any red book,” Max objected.
“Uh huh, family heirloom miraculously lost somewhere in your dream teleportation,” Tebryn said with a grin as he started down the rope. “You sure you’re going to be okay with all that chainmail?
“I’m used to it,” Max said. “Besides we might need it.”
Tebryn shook his head. “If you fall and drown, I’m telling.”
Max grinned. “I’d better not drown then.”

The interior of the ship was dank, and smelt strongly of salt and rot, but not nearly as much as Max had expected. Two grooves were scored into the floor leading to the hole, running parallel to each other and up along the tilting walkway towards the stern of the ship. Ahead of them was a stairway leading upwards, covered in the white and black of seagull crap, about the only thing remaining on this level of the deck. There were also closed doors off to the right at the end of the ship, which, in Max’s experience, wasn’t normal for ships. Of course, most ships weren’t this large or squat. It almost looked fortified, even in its broken down state.
“Something was dragged out,” Max said, staring at the grooves in the floor that ran up to the closed doors. “I wonder what it was.”
“We should check the Captain’s cabin first,” Tebryn said. “That’s where Father Scott was.”
“Normally that would be on the main deck, right under the quarter deck.”
Tebryn nodded. “Let’s go up there, then.”
“And the doors?” Keith asked quietly.
“Later,” Tebryn said. “We know there’s something to find in the Captain’s cabin, so let’s make sure we get those before the tide comes in.”
The deck above was fairly dry, despite the salt spray and lack of strong sunlight. The wood creaked alarmingly under Max’s feet though, and he hoped the extra weight of his armour wouldn’t send him crashing down into the hold below. The cabin door was shut, but opened easily under Tebryn’s touch. Inside the cabin, most of the soft furnishings had been eaten away by moths of the tiny armoured beetles that seemed to live everywhere there was drying seaweed on any form of beach. Even so, there was enough of the heavy cloth banner on the wall that the double beaked, winged cross of the Tol Rauko was still visible, and Max saw Tebryn blanch.
“It makes sense,” Max said evenly.
“I take it you—”
“Aye,” Tebryn said simply. “But it may just be that hiding’s no longer and option.”
Max nodded. “Loose planks?”
“Aye. And anything else of use while we’re at it.”
They didn’t find much, and most of the trinkets were rusted by salt and worthless, but they did find a package of documents, wrapped in oilskin.
“Looks about right,” Tebryn said. “Definitely plans for something clocklike.”
“Do we have to make one, do you think?” Max asked.
“I don’t know,” Tebryn said, refolding the documents into their oilskin protector. “I hope not, as it seems to require magic that I doubt we can find here. Shall we check the rest of the ship?”
“You mean the doors in the hold?” Max asked.
“Aye. Perhaps there’s something in there that might answer our questions.”

The doors at the stern of the hold opened smoothly on hinges that should have rusted, but hadn’t. Glancing in they saw nothing but darkness, and that didn’t change even when Tebryn lit his lantern and held it up to cast its glow into the room. Stepping in they found the light from the lantern dimmed noticeably when it crossed the threshold, almost as if the flame was dying. What little light the lantern did cast showed that the walls, floor and ceiling were lined with sheets of a strange black metal that danced the dim light with swirling patterns of purple and green.
“Do you need more oil?” Keith asked as Tebryn checked his lantern.
“No,” the redhead said. “It has enough oil, the wick’s fine and the flame’s burning normally. It’s just…less bright.”
“Well, if this was a Tol Rauko ship—and a prison ship at that—then this is exactly the sort of thing you’d expect,” Max said, running his fingers over a circular indentation on a low pedestal that sat in the centre of the dark room. “I wonder what they were transporting?”
“Not what,” Tebryn said, staring at the twisted metal remains of a large cage. “Who.”
“Someone called Galeal?” Max suggested, running his fingers over a bent but still intact plaque on the cage.
All three men looked up at the collection of iron bars, each one easily the thickness of Max’s biceps. The ones at the front of the cage had been forced outward and bent at strange angles to provide enough room for a large person to slip out. The cage itself could have held a proverbial ogre and heavy bolts secured it to the walls and floor.
“All right then,” Tebryn said. “Next question: what was in the second cage?”
Looking along the wall, Max saw cage brackets hanging loose from the wall and holes where bolts had been ripped from the floor. This cage had been smaller, and two parallel grooves the width of the cage were etched into the floor, leading to the door and out towards the side of the ship.
“And where on the island is it?” Max asked.
“Locked up in the cathedral according to Father Scott’s notes,” Tebryn said.
“And where’s that?”
“No clue,” Tebryn said cheerfully. “Let’s ask Catherine, shall we?”
The lantern flickered and Max could swear the darkness was pressing in on the light—and on him—and the chill was putting his teeth on edge. “You want us to go find it? That’s very…brave of you.”
Tebryn waved a hand. “Enemy of my enemy, and all that rot, aye? Father Scott seemed to think the Marque is afraid of whatever’s in the cathedral. Hopefully it will help us—or want to help us.”
“What about the clock thing?” Max asked walking almost too quickly to the doorway out of the metal room.
“He needs it,” Tebryn said. “Let’s hope we don’t.”

~*~

This post was written by Matthew Lang, with additional text from Eike Germann

Anima Interlude: Shadows Within Dreams

Matthew Lang — Tue, 12 May 2015 13:38:05 +0000

An Interlude

Dieter Helsm entered the dark hall and looked across to the tall man at the far side, staring out the window over the dark courtyard beyond. At the man’s feet a black panther stretched languidly, raising his head to observe the intruder. It’s master, however, stayed as still as a statue.
“Welcome, number thirty and seven. How has your trip gone?”
The voice low was low, measured and hypnotic and it seeped down Dieter’s spine and sent cold shivers down his back. His eyes dropped to the ground of their own accord, they way they always did when looking at the man in black.
“Very well, Sir. Everything has happened as you predicted. I have left the the apparatus where you asked and you’ll see in my report that—”
The man’s right hand rose a fingerswidth into the air and Dieter’s voice died in his thraot.
“I was not referring to something as simple as that. I had no doubts that would turn out well. What I was asking was if you enjoyed your first trip on the zeppelin.”
“Yes, Sir. It was…interesting.” Sweat pricked at Dieter’s brow and he could feel it trickling down the back of his neck. It was a cold sweat that turned his hands clammy and dulled his mind in what he called nerves, but was more accurately terror. Not for the first time he wondered what went on in the other man’s mind. Neither the principality of Gabriel nor the Empire knew anything about his master, and even an entity like the Lord of Nightmares, Malekith was more a marionette when compared to the schemings of the man in black.
“I am glad to hear it,” his master said, the words slipping through Dieter’s brain like a rake. He wondered what that meant. Or what exactly his master was glad of. How far down did the labyrinth go exactly? Did he even want to know?
“Now we can proceed to the second phase of our preparations. It will be very…interesting to see how events will unfold.” The panther rose from the ground and rubbed itself against his master’s legs, and the man in black tapped its nose in annoyance, causing it to settle back down at his feed. Then Dieter heard the man turn and footsteps approached him.
He kept his eyes down but when the other man passed him he looked up for just a moment, and stared into his master’s eyes.
The wave of cold that washed over him had nothing to do with the terror that threatened to buckle him at the knees. Or maybe it did. It was hard to tell.

~*~

This post was written by Matthew Lang and Eike Germann

Anima: The Island of Corvinus

Matthew Lang — Sun, 10 May 2015 00:30:58 +0000

Maxwell DuPont woke up—if that is even the correct phrase—on a beach. At least, he thought it was a beach. There was sand, which his face was currently stuck to, and the smell of salt, and a piles of drying seaweed at what was probably the high tide mark. There was also a small crab trying to crawl into his nose, and he sat up, blinking. Brushing the sand off his face, he pushed his long hair back from his face, cursing at the snags and snarls that the salt water would doubtless have wrought.
Exactly how he got from the barracks in Archangel to this place was…well. He was here now. He was still dressed in his nightclothes, but off to one side he could see his breeches and shirt, and further down the beach he thought he could see a pile of misshapen metal that was probably his armour. Getting to his feet, he found the sand was cool underfoot, and he hurriedly dressed himself in what clothes he could reach, shaking out the sand and jamming first one, then the other foot through the legs of his pants.
“Hey!” he shouted, waving at a shorter man in workman’s garb. “Have you seen a red book around?”
The man paused, picking a fan off the ground and, snapping it open and brushing sand off the cloth fabric that made up the fan itself. “Um, no, I can’t say I have…um…” the redhead raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, I’m Maxwell DuPont, but people call me Max,” Max said, pulling his shirt on.
“I’m Tebryn,” the redhead said. “People call me Tebryn. And the big guy behind you is Keith.”
Max whirled around and looked up into the face of a large, dark-skinned man, dressed in leathers, a short sword held loosely in his hand. His features were that of a Khushistani, his skin weatherbeaten and his frame lean with muscle.
“Hi,” he said, the word ‘friend’ flashing across his mind.
“Were you on the ship too?” Keith rumbled.
“Ship? What ship.”
“Airship,” Tebryn said, from somewhere further down the beach, and Maxwell stepped carefully back from Keith until he felt comfortable glancing over towards Tebryn, who was picking up a backpack and a second fan. “Flying ship in the sky, it was crashing and we showed up here.”
“No, I was asleep in the bar- in Archangel.”
“You’re a guard from Archangel?” Tebryn asked.
“What? I didn’t say—”
Tebryn held Max’s surcoat. “I’m assuming this is yours.”
“Fine, yes, I’m a guard. You?”
“Tebryn the Magnificent of Bellafonte,” Tebryn said with a bow, casting off his hardhat and replacing it with a top hat. Shedding his coveralls, Maxwell was surprised to see Tebryn in an almost skintight bodysuit that looked more like the garb of a circus performer than anything else he could imagine. Then the man pulled a travelling coat over his clothing and buttoned the front.
“Aren’t you going to put on your armour?” he asked.
Max looked down at the heap of metal links, half buried in the sand. Oh well, armour wasn’t supposed to be comfortable.
“You said you were on an airship?” Max asked.
“Yes,” Tebryn said, looking around the beach with a frown on his face.
“And it was crashing?”
“Well, it was going down towards the water, yes.”
“And you ended up here?”
“That’s right.”
“Where’s the wreckage?”
“Don’t know,” Tebryn said. “I was wondering that myself.”
“And where’s Conan?”
“Who?”
“Big burly guy. He was with us on the ship,” Tebryn said.
“And Kane.”
Tebryn shrugged. “He’s probably off assassinating someone.”
Keith stared at the smaller man and raised an eyebrow.
The redhead rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on big man. Like I told Dieter: black cloak, two concealed weapons. Assassin.”
“You feel very strongly about that profession, don’t you?” Maxwell said.
Maxwell watched as the freckles on Tebryn’s face danced as the man grimaced. “It’s a job, I guess. I just…don’t like the idea of people doing other people’s dirty work. Hey does anyone hear bells?”
Maxwell cocked his head listened, and indeed, ringing out through the cool gray air was indeed the familiar sound of church-bells. “Yes, I do.”
They looked up and stared out over the grassy dunes and scraggy trees and the shimmer in the air that looked like it could be chimney-smoke. “Why is the sky grey?” Maxwell asked.
“Clouds?” Tebryn suggested.
Maxwell looked up into the cloudless sky. “Nope. No clouds.”
Tebryn paused and looked up, and Max wondered if it was the first time this morning—if it was indeed morning—that the man had looked up.
“Oh,” he said.
From horizon to horizon, the entire sky was a cloudless grey. The sun was shining somewhere overhead, in the direction Maxwell thought was east, but even its light was wan and lacklustre.
“Where the bloody hell are we?” Tebryn asked.

The three men followed the sound over the dunes, scrub, and eventual fields planted with various crops that Maxwell didn’t recognise. It couldn’t have been more than an hour before the low, whitewashed buildings appeared, along with the bell tower of a modest church. Following the sounds of activity and the smells of cooking food, they found their way to the town square, where a group of youths were busy erecting a maypole. Looking around the square, Maxwell could see a blacksmith’s forge, a shingle with a castle on it, and one with a carved wooden potato that was either laughing or screaming in terror. He also noticed that the three of them had attracted the attention of the locals. Sort of. Most of the people looked at them with disinterest, glancing up and then glancing away, but some of the children ran after them curiously, and several were pointing and giggling as Tebryn absently rolled a copper coin across his knuckles and then tossed it into the air, sometimes making it jump from one hand to the other without warning. Although by ‘jump’, Maxwell meant ‘seem to disappear from one hand and reappear in the other apparently without passing through the air between them’.
“Ho! Travelers!” a large, red faced man waddled with surprising speed towards them. He had a beard that was mostly sideburns and the bottom of his large nose disappeared into a bristle brush of a moustache. It almost looked as though the hair from the top of his head was migrating down his cheek. He wore a long quilted tunic that had seen better days, and a chain of office that Maxwell suspected was merely gold-ish. “Has the ship come in?”
The men looked at each other. “No, I don’t think has,” Tebryn ventured after a brief pause.
“Then how did you get onto our island?”
“Don’t know,” Keith rumbled.
“You don’t know?”
Tebryn grinned. “Well, I could tell you that we were on board an airship that was crashing into the ocean and woke up on the beach this morning, but you wouldn’t believe me if I said that, would you?”
“What’s an airship?”
“A flying ship. A ship that flies through the clouds,” Tebryn said solemnly.
“And did you?”
“Did we what?”
“Fly through the clouds?”
“Oh yes,” Tebryn said with a smile. “You should have seen it. The Pride of Miniginti, she was called and she cut through the air like a golden arrow. She was headed to archangel before a dastardly coup from the nation of Minzantos. The guards rose up and started to butcher the passengers but even they didn’t know why the ship was sent crashing into the ocean.” By this point some of the villagers had gathered closer to listen, and some had swept in to pull their children away from the mad man in a top hat.
“Why was it crashing?” a woman in the crowd asked.
“I have no idea, my good woman,” Tebryn said solemnly. “My friend…s and I were just about to enter the engine room to investigate when we found ourselves on yonder beach.”
For a moment the crowd stopped, uncertain how to take this sudden end to what had promised to be an epic narrative. Then Tebryn smiled and said “See? I told you you wouldn’t believe me.”
They laughed then, and the robed man with the gold-ish chain stepped forward and offered them his hand. “A fantastic story indeed. I’m Raymond and I’m the mayor of this town.”
“I’m Tebryn, the big guy’s Max and the bigger guy’s called Keith. Um… could you tell me exactly where ‘here’ is exactly?”
“You’re on the island of Corvinus,” Raymond said slowly as if he was still a bit concerned for Maxwell’s sanity. “You’re just about in time for our annual festival!”
“Festival of…” Tebryn asked.
“Corvinus,” Raymond said, in the same ‘I can’t believe you’re asking me that’ tone.
“Well, yes,” Tebryn said. “But what’s it in celebration of?”
“Corvinus,” Raymond said again.
Tebryn’s face broke into a warm, friendly smile. Maxwell was beginning to know that smile. It was the man’s default expression when faced with something confusing and he wasn’t sure whether to push harder or hug everyone into submission. “Of course,” Tebryn said, “That makes perfect sense. I don’t know what came over me.”
“Oh, we all have our moments,” Raymond said, although his smile dimmed slightly when he finished.
“When we first came here, you asked if we were from ‘the’ ship,” Tebryn asked. “What ship were you talking about?”
“The trading ship,” Raymond said. “It comes by once a year to trade with us—every autumn just after harvest time. It’s due any day now, and when you three came along.”
Maxwell shared a glance with Tebryn and Keith and the mayor noticed it. “I imagine you’ll be asking the captain for passage off Corvinus,” the mayor said. “I can’t blame you-it’s not like much happens on Corvinus.”
“Oh, I’m sure there’s lots to see on the island,” Tebryn protested. “Your beach, your fields…I think I saw a church?”
“We don’t have a priest though,” Raymond said. “Not since Father Scott passed on.”
A young woman with long brown hair walked up, her curls swept back from her face by a woven headband, and a basket of freshly picket flowers in her hands. “Oh, hello, new people! Did you come with the ship?”
“Sally! Leave the people alone,” Raymond said, flapping his hands as the woman pulled up a seat next to Tebryn.
“Oh shush, Raymond,” Sally said. “I run the general store. Well, the only store on Corvinus that isn’t the blacksmith’s forge. If you need anything, you should drop by.”
Tebryn turned his perfect smile on the shopkeeper. “Why thank you Sally, I’ll probably drop by tomorrow if that’s all right with you?”
“Oh, any time…”
“Tebryn,” Tebryn said, doffing his hat. “My friends are Keith and Max, but I’ve got the best name. And smile.”
Sally giggled. “Do you have any place to stay tonight.”
Maxwell grinned privately and thought he might have been the only one who saw the redhead’s smile freeze on his face and his eyes blink in incomprehension. The other man recovered quickly though.
“No, I can’t say we have. Is there an inn around here? There must be an inn?”
If the girl was disappointed she didn’t let it show. “Of course there is. Miriam’s place at the sign of the castle. Hey Miriam!” she yelled into the crowd.

Miriam was a middle aged woman who was heavily pregnant, and owned the inn at the sign of the castle across the square, and she beamed as they entered the small, warm kitchen through the front door. Sally had already told them that her husband had passed away under mysteriously circumstances partway through her pregnancy.
“He woke up early one morning before dawn and heard something on the roof,” she’d said, her voice hushed and conspiratorial. “Then the next thing anyone knew he was lying on the street and…” Sally paused. “I woke to her screaming,” she said sadly.
In any case, the rooms were plain, but dry, and the beds were firm and the linens old but well cared for. After finding out that Miriam’s room rates included breakfast, the men paid for two days’ rent, and settled in for the night. Max lay alone in his tiny room, and found himself drifting off to sleep in short order.
There are dreams that seem real. There are dreams that when you wake up you’re certain they’re memories until they start conflicting with your other memories. Then there are dreams that you’re certain are dreams. Sometimes you can influence them. Sometimes you have to watch and scream as things happen that you’d rather didn’t. In this case, Max knew he was dreaming. He wasn’t expecting to dream, and this one was different to the ‘normal’ dreams he’d become accustomed to since finding the book, but he knew it was a dream. He was in a stone corridor, facing an ornate wooden door, it’s panels carved with eldritch runes that glowed with power but swirled away when he attempted to focus on them or discern their meaning. Without willing it consciously he felt himself approach the door, his feet silent on a hard stone floor. Even bare feet should have made a sound. So should the hinges on the door as it opened before him.
The room beyond was both large and restrictive, and filled with the unwavering light of hundreds of candles. Looking around, Max couldn’t see the side walls, the edges of the room vanishing into blackness at either extreme to the left or right. The ceiling however, was strangely low and it almost felt as though it would fall and crush him at any moment. The far wall however, was close—so close that he was certain he’d reach it in a few steps.
Wan daylight filtered into the room through a large arched window, the panes that remained in its leaded frame darkened with dirt. The wind blowing in through the holes was cool and smelled of forest leaves and rich loam. The breeze billowed through the long black hair of the young girl sitting calmly on a rich red cushion before the window. Her skin was pale, her brown eyes wide and her smile was both cheerful and strangely knowing. Max guessed her to be no more than twelve.
“What took you so long?” She asked. “You should have come to visit ages ago.”
“Who are you?”
“You know who I am. This isn’t a good place to speak though. Too many ears. Come and see me before you run out of time.”
“But where—”
“I’ll be waiting.”
Max awoke to the crow of the cockerel at dawn—

“There was no cockerel in the centre of the village. And the ones that were around didn’t crow at dawn,” Tebryn objected.
“Artistic license, Teb, come on, it’s not like you don’t embellish every story you tell.”
“Only the unimportant ones,” Tebryn said with a grin.
“What, like your past?”
“My past is boring,” Tebryn said, flicking his curling fringe out of his eyes. “It’s always more exciting if you come from somewhere a long way away. No one wants to the see the not so famous card prestidigitator from the next town over.”
“So, is one of you actually going to tell me what did happen?” Captain Melville asked.
They were standing on the deck of the Sea Sprite, salt spray leaving little white flecks on the dark hair of Max’s forearms as some of the traders dickered over food and a the few tradegoods that Corvinus needed. The sun was out and warm in the blue sky. Max had got so used to the grey that he’d forgotten how cheering a blue sky was, white clouds scurrying across on the fresh winds that had breathed life into everyone. Well, maybe it wasn’t just the wind.

“What’s the oldest building on the island?” Max asked over a simple breakfast of bread, butter and a sticky strawberry jam.
Miriam poured him some weak ale and sat down in her padded armchair by the fireplace.
“Probably the Marque’s manor—or the Church,” she said. “Why do you ask?”
“If we’re stuck here waiting for this merchant ship to arrive, we might as well do some sightseeing. You’re both coming right?” he asked, looking pointedly at Tebryn and Keith.
“Well, I don’t have nothing better to do, so I don’t see why not,” Tebryn said. “Although if you’re wanting to see the Marque’s place you might want to get his blessing first, you know.”
And that was how they found themselves in a carriage on the way across the island to the Marque’s fortified Manor.

“Wait that was a bit of a jump,” the Captain said. “How exactly did that happen?”
“He invited us on account of our novel charms,” Tebryn said, and Max wondered—not for the first time—how the redhead managed to avoid getting sunburnt. Admittedly the man’s pale skin was a patchwork of freckles, but from what Max knew of northerners, the man should have been burnt to a crisp ages ago. Maybe it was magic.
“He invited you?” The captain said with a smile.
“Well, he sent his the Captain of his guard to invite us for dinner.”
“To dinner,” Max corrected. “I don’t think he actually ate people.”
“He may as well have,” Tebryn muttered darkly.
“But you didn’t suspect anything?” the Captain asked, toying with the end of the long braid of her hair.
“Other than him being urbane, having humourless guards and Keith thinking the man had good taste in cigars?” Max asked. “No, we didn’t have any reason to.”
“Well, the shopkeeper Sally said he was a vampire,” Tebryn said.
“Was he?” Captain Melville asked.
“Sort of,” Max said, just as Tebryn said “Technically, no.”
“All right, someone take it from the top?”
“We had a nice meal,” Max said. “A bit plain and simple for a nob, but there was pork and it was good. Then Tebryn did some tricks and the guards barely smiled.”
“Toughest crowd I’ve ever played,” Tebryn muttered.
“Now, I’ll be the first to say Tebryn just might not be as good as he thinks he is—”
“Thanks.”
“Welcome,” Max said absently. “But he was on fire that night and deserved more than polite applause.”
“That’s a metaphor,” Tebryn said helpfully. “I wasn’t actually on fire.” It was a lame line, but somehow it came out charming.
“Good to know,” Captain Melville said with a laugh.
From across the deck, the aged Bosun’s scowl deepened, and Max wondered if he should remind Tebryn that the giant, muscular man was the Captain’s father. Then he decided that not telling the rogue might be more amusing.
“So the next day went out into the fields to talk and found her,” Tebryn said, nodding towards teh blonde woman in a simple peasant dress who was sitting at the prow of the ship with Keith.
“She has an amazing voice,” Captain Melville said.
“That’s what we noticed first,” Max agreed. “She wouldn’t talk to us at first though. She was too scared.”
“How’d you get her to come around?”
Tebryn paused and smiled as the rippling notes from Keith’s lute played counterpoint to Catherine’s soaring soprano. “More or less that,” he said.

“You’re not affected, are you?” Catherine said as they sat around the hearth of her small house, Catherine seated on her bed, Keith on a chair and Max on a small footstool. Tebryn was sitting cross legged on the sweet rushes and appearing perfectly at ease.
“Affected by what?” Tebryn asked as Keith set his lute to one side, flexing his fingers with a smile.
“You must have noticed it,” Catherine said. “Everyone’s so wooden, so expressionless. They don’t laugh or smile anymore or…”
“We thought people might just be wary of outsiders.”
Catherine shook her head. “No, it’s the Marque. This all started when he got here, everyone started having the most terrible dreams. They say it’s like being smothered in a big, black blanket of nothingness leaving you empty and wanting to scream but with nothing to scream with.” She looked around the room. “You’ve had those dreams.”
“Can’t say I have,” Max said.
“Then you’re the odd one out,” Catherine said with a small smile. “Like me, or Father Scott before he…before he…”
“Before he what?” Tebryn asked.
“He went to confront the Marque. Said he had to before he ran out of time…and never returned. And then people started vanishing. First it was one of the fishermen, then a farmer’s boy and then the blacksmith’s apprentice—”
“Miriam’s husband,” Tebryn murmured.
“We found his body,” Catherine said. “The others just…vanished. Lost fishing, everyone says. Thomas Zamperoni had never set foot in a boat, he was scared of water.”
“So we hold out until the ship gets here and we leave,” Tebryn suggested.
“What ship?” Catherine asked.
“The Merchant ship that comes around festival time each year. The mayor told us about it.”
Catherine shook her head. “That ship never comes. They just think it will. The festival never happens either. They’re just planning for it, every day. Over and over again.”
“Ah,” Max said.
“And if you’re having the dreams you’ll become just like the rest of everyone. Empty.”
“Are you sure it’s the Marque?” Tebryn asked. “I mean, you’re basically suggesting the only way to get out of here with our minds intact is to go up against him and I’d like to be sure that’s the right play if we only have so much time.”
“Father Scott had a book but…”
“But what?”
“It’s not safe. If you all…and then you don’t… and then he knows it’s me and…”
Tebryn stared up at the thatched ceiling. “And when he’s gone, what do you want to do.”
“If you can—”
“When,” Tebryn corrected firmly. “Rebuild the town? Some one will have to help people adjust.”
Catherine shook her head. “I can’t stay. There’s too much…and with Father Scott gone…”
“So you come with us,” Tebryn said. “I’m sure the Marque has a way to get his cigars imported. Probably a ship holed up somewhere in a secret harbour.”
“You know how to sail a ship?” Keith asked.
Tebryn grinned, “One thing at a time, mate. First we have a nob to defenestrate.”
“To what?” Max asked.
“Toss out a window.”
“Well why didn’t you just say that?”
Tebryn shrugged. “I like fancy words. Now where’s this book you mentioned, Catherine?”
Catherine’s smile was both scared and triumphant. “He said it was the one place Marque Quintus wouldn’t look.”

Anima: The Airship Part II

Matthew Lang — Sun, 03 May 2015 20:00:20 +0000

The Airship doesn’t look like this, but it’s the best image I could find. I’m not sure who it’s by, but I think the artist is called ‘Mr Rainbow’.

It would have been a slaughter. It should have been a slaughter. By rights it would have taken a few minutes to put everyone to the blade and take the airship. And it would have been had the flustered Merchant who Tebryn had already christened ‘Weasel’ in his head hadn’t brought along his rangy bodyguard. Even so, the odds might still have been in the favour of massacre if the chainmail wearing warrior hadn’t kept his sword. To be fair, it also helped that the guards appeared to be exceptionally bad shots. Of three bolts fired only one hit its mark, striking Weasel’s wife in the thigh. One of the others disappeared into a pile of cushions on an empty chair, and the third stuck itself into the wooden panelling a good four feet above Tebryn’s head.
The burly warrior had already ripped a table from it’s bolts on the floor and tipped it over to provide some cover, and amongst the babble of screams he distinctly heard a cry of ‘Stop them!’ from Weasel, and the rangy man was vaulting a couch to hit the nearest guard in the stomach with both feet. The guard staggered backwards, but before he could regain his footing the acrobatic man had landed and spun with deadly precision, a short-sword leaving a red gash across the man’s neck.
Fighting his immediate instinct to crouch low, Tebryn saw that Sylvia had already hit the floor, and he dived and rolled into the cover provided by the upturned table.
“They have crossbows,” the burly warrior growled.
“Take time to reload though, aye?” Tebryn said.
The man glanced at him and nodded curtly. Then he lunged around the table and made a beeline for the man with the corporal’s stripes. Peeking over the top of the table, Tebryn saw that the short-sword wielding fighter had knocked one of the guards to the ground and was heading for a third. Cursing his inability to stay out of a fight, he stepped up onto the table, riding the top as it crashed down, four feet in the air and let its momentum carry him forward. His knee landed squarely in the man’s crotch, and Tebryn was grateful the guards appeared only to be wearing breastplates, gauntlets and helmets, rather than armoured codpieces. Then his left hand tilted the man’s head back and a blow from the right crushed the man’s windpipe. Given the wounds where blades had slipped into the unprotected flesh of the man’s left armpit, Tebryn knew it was only a matter of time until the man died. It would have been merciful to end his suffering.
Unfortunately for him, merciful was something Tebryn wasn’t.
Tebryn rolled to the side as a bolt threatened to take off his hat and rolled to his feet, grabbing the crossbow from the dead guard’s hands and smashing him in the face with the butt of the weapon. Unfortunately, this man was quick to go for his sword, and it was all Tebryn could do to dodge and duck out of the way. At one point he was rolling on the floor to avoid a downward blow and then the longsword was stuck in the wood of the floor and a heavy boot kicked in the guard’s head. There was the crunch of bone and then it was over bar the spasms. Tebryn looked up into the solemn face of the armoured warrior.
“Thanks,” he said.
“You’re welcome,” the man grunted. “You’re a scrapper for a circus man.”
“Well you know,” Tebryn said accepting a hand up. “Sometimes a crowd don’t like me talents.”
“What was that about?” the tall rangy man asked, walking up as he cleaned his blades.
“Island power struggle, I think,” Tebryn said. “I think they want the airship.”
Suddenly the floor tilted, nearly throwing them off their feet.
“We’re tilting,” the armoured man said.
“Seems like,” Tebryn agreed. “Hey weren’t we above the cloud layer earlier?” he asked as he stared out the porthole into a white mist.
“You sure they don’t just want to crash the ship?” the lithe man asked.
“Go and find out!” Weasel was suddenly there, pushing his way between the two taller warriors, looking almost absurd as he stood nearly a foot below their height. “Honestly what am I paying you for Keith?”
“Sir, please, you should see to your wife. You need to keep pressure on her wound.”
“We need to take the bolt out!”
“No, sir. If it’s hit an artery that bolt could be the only thing keeping her alive. Come, let’s see if there’s a doctor here.”
As Keith led Weasel back into the crowd, the armoured man held out his leather gloved hand. “Conan.”
“Tebryn,” Tebryn replied. “But you already knew that.”
“I should get my shield-and helmet,” Conan said. “They’re still in my quarters.”
“Well that should be easy,” Tebryn said. “That just means heading back through those doors…”
They both stared at the far doors that led into the entry foyer, where a few of the passengers were clustered, trying the handle without any success.
“There’ll be a key,” Tebryn said. “Why don’t you get those people back into the room and quiet, and I’ll find the key.”

The key was, as he suspected, on the corporal, whose head was currently lying several feet from his body and blood was still oozing into the carpet. Along with the key, Tebryn also found a few crowns, which he pocketed before making his way to the now cleared doorway.
Peeking out he blanched and shut the door quickly.
“What’s out there?” Conan asked, from just behind him.
“One of the guards,” Tebryn said. “He’s been…disembowelled by something with really big claws.”
“So we go together?” Keith suggested. “I have to do something anyway or hear about it for longer than I care to.”
“Sure,” Tebryn said. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The thing that the tales never told you about dead bodies was the smell. Of course, there isn’t really one on a fresh, clean kill, but if a corpse is gutted, and the intestines perforated… Tebryn hadn’t seen a dead body in quite some time but it wasn’t something you forgot. It snuck up his nostrils, stuck in his throat and tickled his gag reflex, but somehow he and his new companions managed to avoid adding to the mess. As Conan went into a passenger room to retrieve the rest of his arms and armour, Tebryn ducked into his dressing room to grab his backpack, which he quickly repacked with his makeup and travelling coat. Realistically the coat shouldn’t have fitted, nor should his top hat, but travelling light with a bag that held more than it should had been one of the first things he’d learnt how to do. That said, the top hat collapsed and the coat was usually being worn, so he didn’t have to do it all the time, but this was something of an emergency. As he stepped back into the corridor, he nearly ran into Keith.
“There’s someone in that room there,” Keith said, pointing at the plain wooden doors that led into the a crew area. “I just saw them look out.”
Conan looked at the two of them, nodded, and walked up to the doors, pushing them open to reveal a state of the art kitchen, with polished steel counters that were so new they were only slightly scratched, although the air was still hot from the residual heat from the stoves and ovens. Over at the far end a walk in pantry was open and Tebryn could just make out three people, one of whom walked out, gesturing to the other two.
“It’s all right,” he said. “They have weapons.” The man was dressed in dark clothing, and his black cape was a dull, dusty, utilitarian black rather than the stylish velvet that was favoured by foppish nobles hoping to look dashing. “That sounded better in my head.”
Tebryn relaxed as a chef and a waitress came out of the pantry. “You’re not guards,” he said.
“What gave us away, the lack of uniforms?” the first man asked, pushing his long blond hair away from his face.
“Did you see the monster?” the waitress asked, her lip quivering.
“Monster?” Tebryn asked.
“We heard something scream,” the blond man said. “It didn’t sound human.”
Conan, Keith and Tebryn shared a three way glance. “Whatever attacked that guard outside…” Tebryn started.
“I was thinking a bear,” Keith said softly. “Only I couldn’t find any trace of one. No fur, no claw marks in the walls or floor.”
“A bear?” the waitress squeaked.
“No, Lorelai,” the chef said. “That’s what the man just said.”
“Then what is it?”
Keith shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Oh my god.”
“Changing the subject, where are you going with all your weapons?” the blond man asked.
Conan looked at the others. “We…hadn’t planned that.”
“We should go to the bridge,” Tebryn said. “Whatever’s changed the course of the airship will probably be there.”
“Do you know how to get there?”
Tebryn shook his head. “I’m betting it’s on the main ship but I don’t know how to get there.”
“I do,” Lorelai said suddenly. “There’s a catwalk from the Crystal Ballroom. I used it to take tea to the Captain… oh god, the Captain.”
“You should get to the lounge area,” Tebryn said kindly. “The rest of the staff and passengers are there.”
The waitress nodded and the chef removed a broom from the handles of the double doors and they pushed through into the lounge.
“You should go too,” Tebryn suggested to the blond man.
“I think I’ll come with you if that’s all right,” he said.
“Can you fight?” Keith asked.
The man pushed his cloak back to reveal both a short sword and a longsword, one on each hip. “Yes. I’m Kane.”
“Keith.”
“Conan.”
“Tebryn, but I’m starting to think I should have a name starting with C or K,” Tebryn said. “Come on, we can get to the Crystal ballroom through there I think,” he said, pointing at a third set of doors.

The ballroom, where dinner had been served, was empty, and…sterile. It was as through dinner had never happened, the long tables were stripped bare of their porcelain plates, silverware and crystal goblets. The crisp white of napkins and tablecloths had been secreted away and the chairs were nowhere to be seen. Tebryn thought they’d probably been stored in some travel safe room, stacked up high and roped off to prevent them toppling should the ship tilt, much like it was at the moment.
Not for the first time, he admired the design of the room, with as much of the walls on both sides made of faceted glass which currently allowed a wonderful view of the fluffy gray interior of the cloud bank they were currently descending through. It also provided a view out over a metal gantry which led from their passenger gondola to the main ship. The gantry ran out over the top of one of the many steel struts that connected the two vessels, and Tebryn was fairly certain the arrangement would be mirrored on the other side of the ship.
“You can see the wind,” Kane said as they stared out the glass door at the exposed metal pathway. Even with railings it looked like a daunting crossing, where one could conceivably fall from a great height with no chance of survival.
“I think there’s someone at the far end,” Tebryn said, squinting at the for door. Unlike the one at this end, the door on the main ship was wooden, with a small porthole at roughly head height, and Tebryn was certain he’d caught the glimpse of a face.
“Me first,” Conan said, gripping his shield tightly and opening the door.
The warrior stepped out onto the catwalk, and Tebryn could see him brace his body against the buffeting of the wind. He was walking along, gripping his shield with one hand and holding onto the railing with the other. When he was about halfway across he looked back at them and gestured the universal sign for ‘where the bloody hell are you?’ and Keith shrugged and started over the windy expanse. Before he’d got very far though, the far door opened and some guards came out. Poking his head to one side to see around the larger frames of the men on the catwalk, and he could see the guards gesturing to each other and it looked like they were shouting, but whatever they were saying was lost over the roar of the wind. Then the guards all ran back inside the main ship, slamming the door shut behind them.
“I think they just locked the door,” Kane said.
Moments later, Conan reached the far side, tried the handle, and pounded on it. Then he turned and shrugged.
“Guess we’re going the other way,” Tebryn said.
“There’s another way?” Kane asked.
“I know there’s a second walkway at the stern of the ship. It’s probably on the far side of the lounge area.”
When Conan and Keith returned back to the Crystal Ballroom, the men quickly agreed to try the other gantry. When they unlocked the door to the lounge and stepped inside they were greeted with a makeshift barricade and three sets of nervous eyes staring at them down the length of captured crossbows. The two young men and middle aged woman holding them visibly relaxed when they entered. The screaming had clearly died down, and a one of the passengers was apparently a doctor, and was treating the wounded off to one side. Over by the kitchen doors, the bodies of the guards were lying covered by one of the expensive silk tapestries that had been wrenched off the walls.
A grey haired man with a bowler hat and a fierce looking moustache came up to them and stared at them out from under bristled brows. “Found out what’s wrong yet?”
“We’re crashing,” Tebryn said bluntly. “We’re going to have to get to the main ship and find out what’s going down on the bridge.”
The man nodded. “All right. If you want to go investigate things, so be it. We’ll be bunkering down here though and staying safe.”
Weasel had joined them by now and was puffing himself up with what Tebryn personally considered to be hot air. “You should find out what’s happening and stop it!” he snapped. “What am I paying you for anyway, Keith?”
The Khushistani didn’t reply, simply inclined his head and headed off to the far side of the room, the others following swiftly behind him. They found themselves in the corridor that the passengers had used to enter the airship. They found luggage strapped neatly into cargo storage rooms, and eventually followed the corridor around to a blocked door. It was plainer than the others, and had a staff only sign on it, and when Conan pushed on it, it gave slightly, but stuck on something piled up behind it. Clearly someone had built a barricade behind it.

A sharp shove opened the door enough for them all to slip through, and they found themselves in a much more mechanical area of the ship. The walls were of beaten metal and much of the floor was as well. Off to the left, where the corridor opened out into an irregularly shaped room, a machine rattled and whirred. It was a good eight feet in height and dense and Tebryn took it to be one of the engines of the ship. On the wall opposite them was a number of coveralls and hard hats, presumably worn by the crew.
Grinning, Tebryn, swept off his top hat and collapsed it, before pulling a slightly oversized pair of coveralls on and donning the hardhat. The others looked at him quizzically, but he shrugged and strode forward towards a doorway on the left of the engine block, Kane hot on his heels. He was hoping that crew wouldn’t be so quickly attacked, but two narrowly dodged crossbow bolts suggested otherwise.
Ducking back behind into the shadow of the engine, he let magic seep into his soul. It wasn’t difficult really, and he’d always wondered that others couldn’t do it. It wasn’t even something he had to think about really. It was just something he could do at will. He felt a familiar tingle and warmth at his extremities as he felt power filling him, and not for the first time he thought back to the meditative exercises one of his lecturers had used during their literature classes.
“Let your body fill with positive energy,” she’d said. “Picture it filling you like a warm golden glow, and breathe out any negativity…”
It had been a little bit strange and slightly crazy, but it helped him feel freer and more creative and it was, strangely, more or less how he felt about magic. He was dimly aware of Kane sneaking around the other side of the engine, and of a muffled cry of ‘Help!’ followed by the sound of a fist hitting flesh. Hard.
He felt the subtle currents of air spiral around his body as Keith rushed past, sprinting around some large crates, shortswords drawn. Tebryn’s magical shield worked on the principles of deflection, buffeting and cushioning more than anything else, but it was still very effective at keeping him from harm. Rushing after Keith he saw the swarthy man slice the man from shoulder to opposite hip, striking with enough force to cut through chainmail. The guard stood there for a moment, stunned, and then Keith pushed him over with a prod to the forehead. The second and final guard was currently duelling with Kane, but the black cloaked man was moving with the skill of a dancer, two swords flashing in a pattern that was both mesmerising and efficient. The guard had managed to get his sword out of its scabbard, but it was knocked out of his hands and a boot to the back of the knee sent him sprawling onto the floor, where he ended up with the tip of Kane’s longsword at his throat.
Taking the scene in before him, Tebryn slowed to a walk and strolled up to the guard on the floor, even as Conan went over to see to the third man who was lying in the corner, apparently after having been knocked out by the guards.
“Hello,” Tebryn said to the guard. “What’s your name?”
“I’m not telling you anything, dog!” the guard spat.
“Really? That’s a shame. “We’d just have to kill you then, you know.”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
Tebryn jerked his head towards Kane. “Really, take a good look at him. Black cloak, two concealed swords…we’d dare.”
“They’re mercenaries,” a new voice said, and Tebryn looked over to see the third man, who was wearing a pair of coveralls not dissimilar to the ones that Tebryn had borrowed. “They’re hijacking the airship but something’s gone wrong. We heard something scream. It didn’t sound human.”
“Oh, it must have been whatever ate the guard back there,” Tebryn said breezily.
“Ate?” the guard on the floor asked nervously.
“Oh aye, he was torn open and everything in his stomach cavity eaten. Guts, soft organs. It was rather messy, giant claw marks, big pool of blood. I hate to say it but it looked quite painful…”
Turning his head the guard started throwing up, a fairly dangerous proposition when there’s a sword tip at your throat.
“What’s your name?” Tebryn asked the man in overalls.
“I’m Dieter, one of the engineers. These men kept me alive to see to the engines and ensure we don’t crash.”
“But we’re descending,” Tebryn pointed out.
“Yes I know. You’d have to check out the bridge to see why. It doesn’t seem to have been part of their plan.”
“You know, maybe we shouldn’t kill the merc,” Tebryn said thoughtfully. “If he won’t talk we could just leave him out for whatever it is that’s going around eating his fellows.”
“No please, I’ll tell you everything I know,” the man said quickly.
“Okay,” Tebryn said cheerfully. “Now wouldn’t it all have been so much easier if you’d just said that from the start?”

It turned out that the guard didn’t know much at all. He and the others were bribed with a lot of money to take the ship and take it to Minzantos. The part where they were crashing into the ocean wasn’t part of the plan. “Commander Sadler took a team to the bridge to investigate himself,” the guard said. “That’s all I know, I promise.”
“You’d better hurry,” Dieter said, pulling out some rope and starting to tie the hapless mercenary to a nearby pipe. It ran from the floor to the ceiling and Tebryn noticed the man was trying to keep out of contact with it, and his skin went red where it touched. Dieter seemed to be taking a fiendish delight in tying the knots tightly. “I’ll have to stay and keep the engine going. When you get to the other side, there’ll be an access corridor. It leads all around the three main areas of the ship. At the prow is the bridge, in the middle is the crew quarters and the engine room’s at the stern of the vessel. You can get onto the bridge from either the port or starboard side of the ship.”
The four men left him tying the guard up to the hot pipe, occasionally pausing to punch the other man in the stomach when his struggles made it hard for Dieter to work. Their trip across the stern catwalk was windy, but otherwise uneventful, and the opened the door to an empty corridor. Looking to their left, towards the prow of the ship they saw only utilitarian wooden panelling and flooring, and large, unadorned lights affixed to the ceilings.
“Where is everyone?” Tebryn asked.
“Don’t know,” Kane said. “Did you notice we’ve flown below the clouds?”
Tebryn glanced out a nearby window and could just see the tiny, indistinct shapes of ocean waves below, the water swelling in the grey of the sea. “Yes, but I was trying not to think about it. Come on, let’s get to the bridge.”
“We should try to lure some of the guards out,” Kane suggested. “Even up the fight a little. If we can get them out the far door, our speedy friend can nip in behind and lock them out.”
“Doesn’t that mean we’ll just have to fight them later?” Tebryn asked.
“Later without their friends beating up on us, yes,” Kane said. “We’ll also have to lock the door on this side of the ship too.”
Tebryn nodded slowly. “I think I can get them out. You stand by the portside door. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Care to elaborate?” Kane asked.
Tebryn shook his head. “Not really. Let’s just say I have more than one set of tricks, and leave things at that, all right?”
They made their way quietly—or at least, mostly quietly—to the bridge, and while the others waited at the portside door, Tebryn padded up to the prow, where the corridor turned sharply around to the other side of the ship. There, just as Dieter had said, was the starboard door. Closing his eyes, he let magic flow through his soul and outside the door there was the sudden sound of a scuffle and footprints fading away down the corridor towards the stern of the ship.
It took a moment, but then the door opened and Tebryn ducked back around the corner. There was the sound of a door shutting, the jangle of chainmail and then actual footsteps followed after the illusory ones. Peeking back around the corner, Tebryn saw the retreating back of one guardsman.
Cursing under his breath, Tebryn signalled the others, who charged through the door, Keith darting down the stairs into the bridge and then up the stairs on the far side to bolt the door on the far side. Tebryn darted in after the others piled through the door, shutting and latching it behind him.
The scene below was not what he expected.
The captain was dead. Most definitely dead. He was still gripping the steering wheel, strangely styled to look exactly like the wheel of a sailing ship, and his hands were still clenched around two of the wheel’s handles. The captain’s eyes were wide and stared straight ahead, and it seemed as though the body was locked in rigor mortis. Had Tebryn been inclined towards melodrama, he’d have suggested the Captain had died of fright. Of course, Tebryn was a magician, and dying of fright really didn’t seem like an impossibility. The rest of the ship’s crew were dead as well, slumped around the room with big gashes taken out of them and the surrounding woodwork. There were also two armed guards and a man in slightly more impressive gear who Tebryn took to be Commander Sadler.
“So you’re the group responsible for killing my guards,” he said. He had close cropped brown hair, and had both a longsword and a short-sword belted to his hip. His chainmail was well kept and the white and green surcoat over the top of it was neat and pressed. “What sorceries did you release? No matter, we will…”
Conan rushed him, striking outward his his shield. Commander Sadler neatly sidestepped, and gave Conan a well placed kick as he passed that sent the warrior stumbling into a wall, where he fell to the ground with a clatter.
“That was rude,” Commander Sadler said, drawing his long sword.
“Get used to it,” Keith said, descending the stairs, both of his swords drawn.
Commander Sadler’s eyes narrowed and he raised his blade. Kane and Tebryn shared a glance and then rushed forward. Kane reached the bridge first, and struck out at one of the guardsmen, Tebryn moving to flank the man, even as the ring of steel on steel told of a battle of parries and dodges being played out behind them. Kane’s blades found their mark, but only barely so, and Tebryn knew his skill didn’t lie in combat. However, it did lie in trickery and deceit. Grabbing his deck of cards he riffled the pack and flicked the card pieces into the guard’s face. The man’s attack faltered, and Kane was easily able to dispatch the man, although a cry from behind them indicated that Commander Sadler’s blades had also found Keith’s flesh. Risking a quick look back, he saw Keith bleeding from a nick in his left arm, but the Khusistani warrior battled on.
Although out of cards Tebryn found the second guard easier to distract—a simple snap of a fan right beneath the man’s nose was sufficient to make him blink and he went down. The lad couldn’t have been more than sixteen, but Tebryn had no time to wonder about the soldier’s age, as another cry from behind them indicated Keith had taken another blow. Commander Sadler was fast, his sword a blur, and it was all Keith could do to keep away from his blade. Even concentrating on Keith, Sadler was easily able to avoid Tebryn and Kane’s attacks, twisting out of the way at the last second, just as it seemed certain that the blow would connect.
“I can see you coming a mile off,” Commander Sadler said, with an easy grin. “How’s are you finding this experience, Slaver?” he asked Keith. “See, I’m going to get through your guard eventually, and then I’ll finish off your rather useless friends and your bumbling excuse for an armoured guard.”
Tebryn shared a glance with Kane. “Don’t panic,” Tebryn said. “I’ve got one more trick left.”
“Only one?” Sadler said. “That’s not going to—”
Tebryn and Kane disappeared from view.
The thing about invisibility that most people forget when they think about it, is that you’re unable to see yourself. Hand eye coordination? What hand eye coordination? Moving while invisible requires you to be able to feel where your body is in relation to itself. Attacking requires you to know where your weapon is in relation to your hand and your enemy. On the bright side, your enemies never see it coming.
Saddler certainly didn’t.
Kane’s blades didn’t flash. They weren’t visible to flash. They simply opened up wounds in Sadler’s neck. The man fell to the floor, and Kane and Tebryn reappeared as Tebryn let the magic fade.
“You did that?” Keith asked, blinking.
Tebryn nodded. “I don’t like to, not often, but I figured if I didn’t we’d crash into the ocean and drown.”
They looked back out the windows of the bridge. The wavetops were clearer now, and larger.
A groan from the prow made them look down, where Conan was clambering to his feet. “Did we win?” he asked.
“Yes and no,” Kane said from the wheel. The assassin, or at least, the man Tebryn thought was an assassin, had elbowed the captain’s corpse aside, and although he could steer the ship, the gadget that was helpfully labelled ‘aeleron’ and even more helpfully labelled ‘Pitch Control’ in smaller font was stuck. “We need to get to the engine room.

The first shock came when they opened the door and didn’t find the fourth guard outside—at least, not in one piece. The second came when they reached the engine room doors—great metal bound wooden doors that had some sort of occult runes scratched into them. From beneath the door, a reddish glow could be seen, and Tebryn thought he could hear the sound of chanting.
Glancing at each other the men pushed the big doors open and stared at the sight that greeted them. Immediately ahead of them was the aeleron, or at least, what Tebryn assumed was the aeleron, the bit that Dieter said made the airship go up and down. It reminded Tebryn of a big centreboard in the bottom of a sailing ship. Just slightly more complex…and held down by two giant metal bars that stretched from one side of the engine room to the other. Even with the four of them, it was going to take them ages to shift it, and would probably require a forge. Unfortunately they didn’t have a forge. They also didn’t have a way of dealing with the tall, lanky and dishevelled man who stood in the middle of a glowing pentagram on the far side of the metal bars. He was dressed in tattered olive green overalls and a rumpled blue silk shirt that had probably cost someone a lot of money. Probably not him. His hair hung in long, lank clumps down past his wrinkled face and blackened teeth. His hands were…well his hands were normal, it was his fingers that were overly long, with nails like…well he didn’t have nails so much as claws. Giant claws that looked like they could disembowel a man. Actually they probably had given the dried blood and flecks of other people’s skin. And possibly guts given the smell. Or maybe that was the overalls.
Cautiously ducking under the beams they approached the man, who was chanting in a language Tebryn didn’t know—and a quick glance at his companions faces indicated they didn’t understand it either.
“It won’t be long now,” the man said with a manic grin, then he giggled, the manic laugh of someone who was either insane, or just wanted to sound insane. He pointed at them and the world went bla-

Anima: The Airship Part I

Matthew Lang — Sat, 02 May 2015 18:10:12 +0000

The Airship doesn’t look like this, but it’s the best image I could find. I’m not sure who it’s by, but I think the artist is called ‘Mr Rainbow’.

If he had been conventionally sane, he’d never have taken the job. On the other hand it paid well and the chance to thumb his nose at the grand Prince Lucrecio, was too good to pass up, even if the Prince had no idea he was doing it. That was, after all, the safest way to go about it really.
From his tiny dressing room, he heard the passengers embarking, walking into the starboard gondola of the airship. It had been christened something patriotic, The Pride of Miniginti most likely, but all the staff were calling it The Airship, complete with capital letters. There weren’t many outside of Lucrecio, and Tebryn wondered whether he’d have ended up on one of these things in a more permanent capacity if things had been different. If he’d been different.
Humming tunelessly to himself, he carefully touched up his makeup in the mirror, lit by the steady light of electric bulbs that were still the envy of the world. The shuffling and muffled bangs and the buzz of conversation went on for a while and Tebryn cherished the small moment of respite. For now, he was safe, comfortable and there were no demands upon his time or person. They would come later, of course, but after several months on the run, sitting on a plain, but well made chair in a tiny dressing room with no concerns was a luxury. Of course, his mind started to race towards all the what-ifs and contingencies upon contingencies, but that was just reflex. Idly, he shuffled his cards and ran coins over his knuckles so quickly they were little more than flashes of silver.
When the knock finally came, he set his top hat onto his head, adjusted his goggles around the base of the hat crown and jammed the old battered Ace of Clubs that he kept there for costume purposes. Then he took a deep breath, and stepped out into the reception rooms. They were panelled in dark wood and leather and had a very modern and very luxurious style, complemented with plush red carpet and leather couches that were so new they squeaked when guests sat in them, and tall round standing bar tables where small groups of travellers gathered in their finery for drinks and nibbles, although Tebryn was certain that the little menus in their smart, brown leather cases would say something like ‘champagne, caviar and canapes’. It was that sort of gathering.
He walked out amidst some gasps, some hushed and slightly startled conversation, and not a bit of laughter. His costume was, well, it was a mix between a leotard and a bodysuit really, there was no other way to describe it. Made of elastic fabric it covered his chest and ran down to his knees, and a heavily decorated belt and harness snapped over the top, providing a decorative overlay that looked appealing to the eye, but was also easy enough to remove. More to the point, it was also highly functional, containing no less than eight pockets for hiding small items in, not to mention it was also a very easy place to stash a card while he distracted the audience with a bit of razzle-dazzle. All in all he was a vision in crimson, maroon, burgundy and leather just on the reddish side of brown. At least one of his flings had described his costume as being akin to that of a walking lizard with a top hat, although not using such fancy words. Besides, that was probably the boots. Knee high, and detailed with etching and inlay, they were works of art in their own right. He’d had them custom made by a cobbler at one of the rodeos out east, and had never regretted the purchase. It was also easy to cover the boots with a pair of oversized breeches, which helped if he needed to sneak away. Not that there weren’t other ways to hide his boots if need be. He’d spent months living as a pale skinned northerner now. Changing the colour and decoration on a pair of boots was nothing compared to making sure all of his freckles stayed in the same place.

With his second best smile plastered across his almost perfect teeth,[Tebryn had learnt early on that using his best smile was akin to inviting advances on his person, which was very useful when he wanted it, less useful when he didn’t want to start a fight. Or get attacked by men suddenly having to question their sexuality.] he stepped forward and arced his deck of cards from one hand to the other, the pieces of card making an audible snap as he did.
“Who the hell are you?” One pudgy, middle aged man asked. His fingers were bedecked in rings and his blue and aqua doublet cost enough to feed a peasant family for a year if Tebryn was any judge. His boots were worn and slightly dusty though, and his face touched by the sun. Merchant then.
Tebryn caught his cards, bowed low and reached forward to clasp the man warmly by the hand. “Tebryn the Magnificent, or so it says on my flyers if you aren’t inclined to believe myself.”
“And you’ll do what, pull a coin from behind my ear?”
“If you want,” Tebryn said, reaching behind the man’s ear and pulling out a silver crown from the Merchant’s left ear. “But I thought you’d like me to go one better.”
“And how would you do that?”
Tebryn balanced the silver coin on the first two fingers of his left hand, the other two fingers pressed up against his palm. “Coin, palm,” he said pressing it into his right hand. “Aye?”
“Yes…” the Merchant drawled.
Tebryn turned his hand over and made a fist and held out his right hand. “Now I want to clasp your hands around my fist tightly, to make sure that coin doesn’t slip out.
The merchant looked at him askance, but covered Tebryn’s hand with his own.
Slowly, Tebryn reached down to his belt and pulled out his closed fan. “Now some people use wands,” he said conversationally, “but that stinks of the supernatural if you ask me.” Snapping the fan over he waved the fan slowly over, and then under their joined hands. “This I think you’ll find…” he frowned. “I think I need my hand back now,” he said, allowing uncertainty to creep into his tone.
The merchant let go, not quite managing to hide a grin.
“Um, I think the coin’s still there actually,” Tebryn said, turning his hand over, but keeping it closed. “That’s not supposed to happen. I mean, you all know the coin’s meant to be gone but…”
A crowd was gathering. Blood in the water was always something that drew people in.
“Er…” Tebryn opened his hand to reveal a fat gold ring set with emeralds. “Oh no wait. I believe this is one of yours,” he said with a grin, and tipped the ring into the merchant’s unprotesting hand. “Thank you ladies and gentlemen, I’ll be here for the next few hours,” he said with a bow. Ignoring the merchant’s rangy bodyguard, who was scowling at him, Tebryn pulled out his cards again and stepped forward to greet a blond woman in what she probably thought was a fetching purple ballgown. “Madam, would you care to pick a card?” he asked, fanning out the cards in his right hand.

Tebryn worked the crowd for a while, doing simple card tricks, hanky illusions and other simple slights of hand that flattered and impressed to greater or lesser extent. When the staff took out their glockenspiels to signal the guests to come in to dinner,[In another century or so, the chimes would be electronic and piped through wires and into cones of paper and cardboard that turned electrical impulses into sound. For now however, their function was performed by waiters with small glockenspiels, felted sticks and in this case white gloves. If you’d told Tebryn about the electrical impulses and paper cones, he’d probably have believed you. If you told him that the poshest people in a hundred years would still have waiters with small xylophones he probably wouldn’t have. But that doesn’t stop both from being true.] he retired to his dressing room to get ready for his next set of tricks.

The dining room was a long galley with polished parquet flooring. It’s tables were covered in crisp white linen and polished silverware. Glittering chandeliers hung from the ceilings and it was a gleam that Tebryn knew well – the glitter of glass that wanted to prove it shone brighter than any diamond. He’d made use of that glitter in the past. Actually he had some of those sewn into the lining of his coat, which was currently hanging on the back of his dressing room door.
There were six tables, each sitting ten people, and he went from table to table performing more complex tricks, balancing glasses on the edge of a plate, some illusory spoon bending, and just for fun, some two card monte, mixing it in with a fanciful tale of misspent youth fleecing people at village fairs.
When he reached the Captain’s table, he noticed the merchant was there, with his wife and leanly muscled bodyguard, as well as a sturdy warrior in what he probably thought of as a suit of dress chainmail, complete with a breastplate, surcoat and a plain longsword at his hip. Ah well, time to pull out the big guns. Or as it were, the metal spike. Wheeling his impromptu magic ‘stage’ – a simple trolley covered in black fabric – Tebryn brought out five paper bags, and a wooden block with a long metal nail hammered through the middle of it, so that the sharp end pointed up to the ceiling. Placing the spike inside one of the bags, he put unspiked wooden blocks into the other bags and closed the bags, folding the tops over to keep them sealed. Then he started moving the bags around on the table while talking to the guests about the trip and the food and then he paused.
“Captain, do you know which bag the spike’s in, because I’ve quite forgotten.”
The captain’s eyebrows rose “Sorry, no I can’t say I do.”
“Do you believe me when I say that I don’t know where it is?” Tebryn asked with a grin.
The captain laughed and shook his head. “Not really, no.”
“All right,” Tebryn said. “I’m going to turn my back and you need to very carefully rearrange the bags. I need you to be careful though and pick the bags up by the very top so you don’t work out where the spike is, all right? If you know where it is the entire trick won’t work.”
The captain looked around the table, shrugged and pushed his seat away, walking around to Tebryn’s cart.
“Now, you’ll tell me if he cheats, right?” Tebryn said, using his second most engaging smile, and grinned at the table’s friendly laughter.
After some more small talk, the Captain piped up. “All right Tebryn, I hope you’re as Magnificent as your name suggests.”
“But of course,” Tebryn said with a grin as the captain returned to his seat at the table. “Now I’m just going to have to work out where the spike is…” he said, eyeing the line of brown paper bags critically.
He ummed and ahhed about the decision for a while and then slapped his hand down on the paper bag on the far left. “Oh good pick Tebryn,” he said, blowing out the rest of his breath gratefully. “Captain, you say you don’t know where the spike is, correct?” he piped up as the table applauded.
“None at all,” the Captain agreed.
“All right. Which bag should I hit next then? This one?” he asked, hovering his right hand over the bag on the the centre right. “Or maybe this one?” he asked, moving it over to the far right. “My very livelihood may hang on your intuition.”
“Well that’s not fair,” the merchant piped up. “How do we know the Captain’s not in on this little trick of yours?”
Tebryn nodded calmly. “That’s a good point, sir. Tell you what, how about you all vote on it. Ten people, four bags… should be easy, right?”

From the perspective of the guests at the table, the rest of Tebryn’s act went something like this:
The votes were counted, and, counting from left to right from the table’s perspective, the second bag was voted as being the safest. The illusionist glanced at the bag, licked his lips and slowly extended his right hand over the bag. Then he paused. “I’m right handed, I should probably use the left hand, aye?”
A nervous giggle rippled across the table, and a few people from other tables were craning their necks to look.
“Okay,” Tebryn said, taking a deep breath. “You’re all sure, right?”
He looked around the table. “You’re not sure, are you?” he asked a woman dressed in green velvet. “You voted for the bag on the far right.”
He smiled at her, an expression halfway between thanks and sadness, and slammed his hand down on the bag which crumpled down with a papery crunch.
“Thank you all, and well done,” Tebryn said. “Just three more, and that means I have a sixty six percent chance of making it through unharmed, yes?”
He stared critically at the middle bag. “I think it’s in this one,” he said, and raised his left hand to hover over the bag on the far left. “So this one’s safe. Captain, would you be so kind as to give me a count to three?”
The Captain nodded, “One. Two…”
The Illusionist slammed his hand down on the bag. At the table a few of the guests jumped, and a cocktail spilled onto the white tablecloth, where it spread out in a sticky sweet pool of pink. “Sorry,” he said. “Sometimes I find the pressure of waiting until three a wee bit difficult.”
There were now two bags, side by side. Tebryn stared at the bag on the left, which had been in the centre of the five original bags. “I picked this bag as having the spike in it, didn’t I?”
“Yes,” the woman in the green dress said.
“I’m pretty sure I’m wrong,” Tebryn said, stretching out his left hand over the bag. “I’m pretty sure this one’s the empty bag…” he turned his head away and closed his eyes. “I can’t look, but…”
The paper bag scrunched flat.
The illusionist turned back to the table with a cheery smile. “And now of course, you’re about to say that there’s nothing in the other bag either and that this was all a trick.”
Squatting down so that his face was level with the bag, he carefully opened the top of the bag and then stood up, his left hand sweeping off his top hat and placing it down on the table. Reaching into the bag with his right hand, he pulled out the block with it’s metal spike still intact and placed it on the trolley.
“Thank you ladies and gentlemen,” he said with a bow as the applause rose. “I hope you’ve enjoyed my humble talents. Enjoy your meal and have a good voyage.”

Tebryn had just finished packing down his cart when Captain Latimer approached him.
“That was Amazing, Tebryn. Magnificent indeed!”
“Thank you Captain. It was my pleasure.”
“It’s all anyone at the table could talk about for the rest of meal. Please join us in the lounge for a drink afterwards, I’m sure the people will want to talk to you more.”
Tebryn placed his left hand on his chest and bowed slightly. “Thank you Captain, you are most generous to a humble entertainer.”
“Don’t push it trickster, even I know that’s an act.”
Tebryn grinned and trailed after the passengers back into the lounge, the Captain himself leaving via another door to get back t his duties of steering the ship no doubt. Now, pre-drinks and canapes were over, and there was a tea trolley, petitfours and the atmosphere was one of relaxation of the type typically associate with cigars, brandy, or a large glass of sherry. He ended up with a flute of champagne, and mingled with the guests, signing the occasional ticket or posing for an official Miniginti commemorative photograph if the passenger in question cared to pay the rather exorbitant fee required to get one taken, printed and set in a commemorative frame for the occasion.
He was in the corner, sitting in a comfortable leather armchair as he discussed the view out of the porthole with the lady in green from the Captain’s table, who he discovered was named Sylvia.
“Oh, but you must come to perform at my estate in Archangel,” she was saying. “You’ll be the toast of the—”
“You are all condemned to death for treason against Minzantos!”
It was a name Tebryn was vaguely familiar with, being one of the small island kingdoms that cropped up everywhere in the eastern reaches of the interior sea. He had passed through and heard of their war with Miniginti, which seemed to consist of sending in suicide squads to butcher civilians while the Minigintians responded with the crushing power of their superior naval forces. Right now there were four men dressed in uniforms of the ships guards and a fifth with a corporal’s stripe had his sword drawn and was standing in what he probably thought was a dramatic pose just in front of the swinging doors that led to the kitchens.
The other three guards raised crossbows, and fired into the crowd.

Go to The Airship Part II