ItsADeadMansPartyPartII“Hey, wake up will ya?!” the voice was decided male and panicked. Malachi felt pain in every part his body - a hundred agonies vying for attention. He felt cold cobblestones biting into his back and the clotted mess of blood in his hair. The jaundiced light of a coal-lamp stabbed at his eyes, temporarily blinding him. “Mister? Can you hear me?” the voice asked. As the brightness faded, Malachi could see the outline of a uniformed man. A Blackcloak - one of Amber’s military police. Malachi's eyes fluttered open and his hands flew to the place in his chest where he expected to find a neat and bloody hole. His head dropped back against the cobbles. "I need a drink." "What time is, officer?" Memory of Mirelle's sad eyes faded into the remembrance of Swanhild's laughing ones and he sat up quickly. This he regretted with sudden fervor as his body reminded him of the many aches of which it was capable. "The tavern," he said while trying to get to his feet. "I have to get back in there." “Whoa there, boy-o,” the Blackcloak cautioned, placing a hand on Malachi’s chest to prevent him from getting up. “Firstly, I doubt you need another drink. It’s only a few minutes after Twelfth Strike. Now rest easy.” Around them, the rubberneckers began to lose interest and move along. The Blackcloak cast a skeptical glance at Malachi, “As to the tavern, we’ll get to that. I’d rather know how you appeared out of nowhere. And whose blood is this?” "No, you don't understand. There's a man with a gun in there. People aren't safe." He looks at the blood. "Mine, I think," he says. "Arrest me later. My name is Malachi of Karm and I'm a student at the University. But right now we have to find them." He does sit up this time, gingerly stretching his muscles and expecting pain that comes on only as a dull ache. He rises with a slow determination. The Blackcloak helped him up with an alarmed expression. “A man with a gun, you say? Show me where. NOW! And Unicorn save you, if you’re lying to me Malachi of Karm. Because you'll not see the sun again, if you are.” He drew back his flowing cloak to reveal his gun belt. He unbuckled the holster and gestured for Malachi to lead. “You can't miss him. He's dressed all in white, and he's young. Younger than me. There's a girl with him, too. I think she's more dangerous than he is. Armed with some sort of magic cards." Malachi pulled open his cravat, looked around for the Man in White. "Last time I saw the two of them was right here," he said. "She's the one that put me on the ground. But it started in there." He indicated the tavern with a thick thumb. "There was some sort of magic, too. Everyone was gone, replaced by coffins. There was blood everywhere." "Come to think of it, there was blood everywhere here, too." He pinched his jaw with the fingers of his right hand, a nervous habit since childhood. "She could have been a...a trickster. An illusionist." The Blackcloak provided Malachi with a skeptical look, but cries of alarm from the tavern caught his attention. “Stay behind me, boy-o.” People - both drunken and suddenly sober - were clambering out into the alleyway; many of whom were babbling about ghosts and ghouls in the bar. The narrow passage made for slow going, but eventually the pair made their way through the bumping elbows and shoulder to the pub’s interior. The blood and decay were no longer present, but the table the Man in White had overturned when Malachi threw him lay on the floor, amongst a pile of upturned chairs and broken bottles and glasses. Patrons were avoiding the scene as if it had been tainted by Chaos. The door to the women’s bathroom also showed familiar damage to it. “Malachi!” Swanhild cried, rushing toward him. “Are hurt, ja? What happen?” She noted the Blackcloak beside him nervously. She took Malachi’s hand, making very small movements around the armed guard. “Just a minor scare, ja?” she replied, her hand going over his heart. “You bleed. Need a physician.” Her voice held and edge of unfamiliar panic. The Blackcloak turned his head, “Aye, boy-o. What happened here exactly?” Malachi held Swanhild for several more seconds before squeezing her hand and letting go. He turned and sat back against a table. "We were here, having a few drinks and playing darts. Swanhild went to the...uh...she went to powder her nose. Then the whole place got dark and creepy. No, that's not the right word." He thinks, frowning. "Evil. Macabre. Well, anyway, there was blood and filth and bones suddenly everywhere. And the people were all gone. There were these boxes...coffins, really, right where the people had been." He told the whole tale, leaving nothing out, until the point where the girl killed him. "Then, that girl threw some sort of magic card at me from behind and I died. Or, I thought I did. But I guess that was a trick, too, because here I am. Look," he said, walking over and picking up the broken top of his cane. "I broke this fighting the Man in White." Swanhild began to hug herself as Malachi continued his dissertation.Her eyes clouded with doubt, confusion. Although she did not move, Malachi could sense her drifting away from him. And yet, when he concluded, she stepped forward and placed a supportive hand on his arm. “Ja. Something happen to powder room. Door crash open by self. And wood explode. Scare us. And when come out, saw these tables knock over. Many people upset. Call it ghosts. Demons.” The blackcloak nodded - his cold stare revealing little of the thoughts behind his eyes. “You will need to remain here, Malachi. My superior officer will wish to speak with you. Please find a seat while I speak with the other patrons.” He turned to Swanhild, “This may take awhile, missus. You might wish to call yourself a cab.” Swanhild laced her arm around Malachi’s, “No.” The statement left little room for argument. "We'll wait here," he said to the Blackcloak. When the officer left, Malachi turned to Swanhild. "Are you alright? What happened to you?" Swanhild gave him a questioning look, “Should I not ask you same question? You stabbed. But no hurt, ja?” Her finger parted the knife-cut on his shirt to reveal the bloodied, but otherwise unharmed skin below. “I go to powder nose. Then door bang open like in strong wind, ja? And then wall explode! Scare me and other women. But nothing there. Is like revenant came upon us.” She shook her head. “Nein. Happen very fast. And then you come in with Blackcloak a few minutes later.” This, of course, seemed odd when Malachi considered that his experience had taken nearly an hour - maybe longer, if he’d been unconscious for an extended period. She hugged him tightly, “Is true? Did you see the Wake? The Land of Dead?” "Everything I said was true. I saw something, but I don't know what it was. What is this 'Wake'?" She pulled him into a booth and rested her head against his shoulder. She felt warm against him, a burning coal of heat. “The Wake is terrible place. Is where revenants live. The Restless. Not like Shadow. Is world beneath shadow, ja? Mother say is where magic born.” Malachi had never been very clear on the nature of Shadow. He gathered she meant another world, scarier and degraded, where the dead ruled. The question was certainly more than academic, but Malachi's mind was racing unaccustomed paths, trying to pin down the nature of the third place he had been, the one he'd yet to tell anyone about. He felt sure that his earlier analogy held, about "Ted" being a sort of general, mustering his troops. Malachi had accepted service in that army, but didn't intend to remain a pawn. No one in the One True City had known Malachi for long, so few could possibly note the change wrought in him by his death and miraculous resurrection. The trump that had erupted through his heart had not only slain his body but had burned away much of the softness and insecurity, leaving behind a more certain and less humble man. The man who emerged would not have mourned the man left behind. "It looked like that, yes. But I don't think that's what it was. I wasn't seeing another place; that place had come here. Whatever I saw wasn't an hallucination. It was here. Everything I saw happened over more than an hour, but it was between ticks of the clock for you and everyone else. I don't know why, but I have to find out." He turned to look at her, unconscious of the new intensity in his gaze. "I need someone who knows the old stories and legends. Like that one you told me about queen Faiella. Do you know a good historian?" “A Seidre?” she replied. She twirled her hair thoughtfully and then finally grinned in triumph. “Ja! Professor Hobbs. He good storyteller. Is head librarian. And if he not know story, he can find it for you. He is very good at books and history. He once teach sorcery too. That who you should talk with, ja?” She gathered a table cloth and some sweet water and then began to busy herself with cleaning Malachi’s bloodied hands and face. Any time he resisted, she clucked her tongue angrily - her cautioning stare not unlike a raven about to poke his eyes out. She’d almost finished her task when two more Blackcloaks entered the pub and went to speak with first Malachi had encountered. And from the way he stiffened at the sight of them, this was not a social visit. One was a willowy, yet handsome fellow with raven's black-hair and spectacles. His polite smile exuded charm. The other, shorter and darker in complexion, lacked any form of empathy - his eyes like glass. Malachi’s ‘savior’ saluted him stiffly; the name ‘Coteaz’ drifting over the room like a death rattle. The conversation to follow did not appear friendly in the slightest. And when the Blackcloak pointed in Malachi’s direction, it promised grave consequences. “This not good, ja?” Swanhild whispered. "We've nothing to fear," he said, holding up his chin. "We did nothing wrong." Privately, he wondered at the pall of gloom that seemed to settle over the chamber at the approach of Coteaz. Still, little in this room held the capacity to frighten one who has so recently been manhandled by the forces of life and death. "If I am arrested, perhaps you will inform the Provost of Students at the University? And maybe my landlady?" He surprised himself by smiling easily at her. "I don't think you're in any danger, dear. It's me they want. Just tell the truth and you will be fine." His words did little to dismiss her anxiety. She squeezed his hand tightly, shying back into the booth’s seat. “Blackcloaks not travel in group unless trouble, ja? This very bad. But if they take you, I tell provost and head master. You did nothing wrong.” Coteaz and his spectacled companion approached the booth like an impending storm. The one Blackcloak pushed his glass up his nose and offered a friendly smile, “Quite a night, eh? A bit of trouble with ghosts I hear. Oh. I am lieutenant Maes and this is Commander Coteaz. May we ask you…” He never finished his statement, Coteaz cutting him off. “Do you know a student by the name of Gillian Talbot?” Danger lurked in the answer to this question. Malachi might not have been overly amenable to fear at the moment, but he found he was still susceptible to surprise. "That...is definitely not the question I expected, Commander. No sir, I have never heard of...Miss?...Talbot. Should I know the name?" He looks from Coteaz to Maes to Swanhild. Then he feels another mental tumbler drop into place. This Talbot must have reported something similar to Malachi's experience. Now he had the name of other soldier. Coteaz snapped, “I shall ask the questions. You shall provide the answers.” His hand flexed in a fist. "Sir, the two people who attacked me aren't here any more. But they knew who I was. They didn't use my name, but they knew that I would be there, be able to see them. They ignored everyone else and came straight to me. I don't know why." Coteaz raised a dark brow, “And so, you expect us to believe that these anarchists were seeking you out - and you have no have no inkling as to their purpose? Are you trying to play us for fools?” Maes coughed to interrupt. “Malachi, please think about the incident. Did the damage to the pub occur during your vision of this other realm?” He offered a disarming smile, listening rather than judging. "Again, sir, I am not convinced that I did observe some other realm. I think it must have been an illusion. But yes, it was during that period that I fought the Man in White and that was when he broke the table and the door." Coteaz relaxed slightly - much a Venus Fly Trap might appear ‘relaxed.’ He turned his spiteful gaze on his compatriot, “Finally, a witness that doesn’t blame political terrorism on ghosts and goblins. As I suspected, they are utilizing some form of hallucinogenic compound or magic.” Swanhild began to open her mouth, but thought better of it. This did not escape Maes’ attention, however; his brow rising like a cat spotting a plump pigeon. He remained silent and allowed his superior to rant. “Lieutenant Maes, record the description of anarchists. I want them found and brought to Daggerwatch for questioning. Find out if this one has political ties to Kashfa and then release him on his own cognizance.” Coteaz gave Malachi a sharp nod, “Be Pure. Be Valiant. Behave.” And with that, he stormed out of the pub - his angry bark echoing from the alley. Maes sighed inwardly and pulled out his notebook, “Mind going over the descriptions again? Anything you may have left out?” "I'll help in any way I can, sir. I think those two were very dangerous and I don't want anyone else to get hurt." He went over the description as best he could remember. He remembered the features of the Man in White in some detail, and provided an accurate impression of the man and his weapon. Malachi was somewhat vague on the woman's particulars as he had been concentrating on the male antagonist. "Sir? With all respect to the Captain, these weren't terrorists. I'm not exactly sure what Kashfans want...I'm not one, by the way...but I do know that these two wanted me personally. They said they had a master who wanted a word with me. I don't think they were ordinary criminals, either. I'm not one for big cities, and I don't claim to know all that much about it, but these two seemed very professional to me. And the girl was a sorcerer. Or at least, she had some sort of magic cards." Maes wrote this down in his notebook, his eyes flashing back and forth between the paper and Malachi. He felt Swanhild relax infinitesimally at his mention of the Kashfans, but her attention remained focused on the table. “Kashfan and Eregnor anarchists have been active in the city since the Six Week War,” Maes explained, twirling his pencil. “The Captain believes these attacks are politically motivated. And thus, that remains the focus of his investigation. Your association with House Karm strengthens that hypothesis. Many of the victims have ties to Loyalists. But until now, there have been no true witnesses. None that can speak, anyhow.” Malachi felt bad for committing the sin of omission, but knew that he could not tell the Blackcloak about his encounters with the evil master or the off-kilter Ted and his sad protegé. Yet he felt a responsibility that the two killers not be able to wander the streets of the city uninhibited and hoped at least that his descriptions might save the life of a Blackcloak. "The captain didn't want to answer any questions. I hope you might. Who is Gillian Talbot? Is she one of the terrorists he mentioned?" Maes’ eyes gave a cautionary flash. “No,” he said firmly. “Gillian was a victim like you. She also reported a similar experience. Coffins. Blood. An altered cityscape. And she lost her brother to Apathy Syndrome during the attack. No matter what the Commander believes, Ms. Talbot is innocent of any wrong-doing.” His hand casually brushed back his cloak, revealing the bandolier of wicked daggers beneath. “I’d be most displeased to hear of any rumors begun at your school to the contrary. As would Prince Caine.” Malachi nodded soberly. "Understood, sir. On the contrary, I'd like to speak with Ms. Talbot. It seems we have something in common. Is she from Kashfa or Eregnor?" Malachi decided not to ask Maes about the Prince's interest in the young woman. He would talk to her and see what he could discover for himself. “She’s a local girl. I doubt she’s even been outside the Garnath,” Maes explained. “You can use my name when you speak with her. She works at the university library. ‘Works,’ as in ‘lives.’ I’d appreciate hearing of any findings the two of you might come up with.” After receiving the answer, Malachi stood. "If we're done, the Commander said you might release us? I'd like to get the lady back to her home, sir." Maes offered a charming smile, “Yeah, sure. Better scat before the Commander changes his mind and has you hauled off to Daggerwatch. Now, remember what I said. And that goes for both of you.” he stepped aside to let them out. Swanhild gave an enthusiastic nod, “Ja!” She virtually yanked Malachi out of the booth. “Hergekommen. We go home.” Malachi agreed to look up Gillian Talbot and moved quickly to extricate himself and Swanhild from the tavern. Once outside, he whistled piercingly for a carriage. "Are you alright?" His gaze crossed hers, but he watched the roads and the rooftops intently. “Are you, Malachi?” she retorted. For the first time, he saw anger in her eyes. “You tell wild story. Scare me. I wish nice night. And you have Blackcloak watching us now. You know what happen in Daggerwatch? What could happen to us still?” She punched him in the arm. Punched him again. And then, inexplicably, she wrapped him in her arms and buried her face in his chest. She trembled against him like an autumn leaf. Malachi held her, pressing his lips to her hair, unconscious of how much change that simple act expressed. "I know," he said. "I know." He opened the door of the carriage for her and helped her in. "That's why you're going home without me." He shut the door and looked up to where her beautiful face showed in the moonlit open window of the carriage. "Something evil happened tonight, Swanhild. Something I don't understand. But you're right. It isn't over and it will consume those near me until it is. I'm not going to let that happen to you. I care too much about you." "Go home and forget we met," he said. "I'm very sorry. Driver, drive on!" He tossed the driver a silver coin and slapped the door of the carriage. He watched her face, with its shocked expression, recede into the moonlight with the carriage. A chill wind toyed with his soiled best coat. He hung his head as the carriage clattered out of sight. |
