The Fountain Pen

For better or for worse I have decided to try writing a 50,000 word novel in the month of November yet again. It seems every three years I give it a shot. The odds are squarely stacked against me this year. I’m teaching Sunday School, hosting a bi-weekly boardgame night, fathering a wonderful daughter in the throes of The Terrible Twos, and my football team are ranked number one in the nation. To top it off I only started last night with a germ of an idea, so I’m plotting the novel and writing and already a day behind. I can use some help: encouragement. If you are reading this do me a favor and keep reading, all month. Leave a comment at least once a week, or email me, or do the social network thing on Twitter, Google Buzz, or Facebook, and please, pass this along.

I have a few goals this time around:

• See if I can reach 50,000 by the end of the month.
• Establish the discipline of writing daily.
• Discover if I can write a story with a loose outline.

In an effort to help me out, and to help you, I am going to write this story publicly. I will be posting the full contents of my daily writing here for all the world to read. Bear in mind this is a rough draft, and I’m trying to prevent myself from ever hitting DELETE.

So, without further ado the first 1,300 words:

Chapter One

Sparks erupted off the brick wall just overhead, sending charred bits of brick raining down on Joe’s head. Joe ducked and quelled the urge to scream, running pell-mell down the wide alley. Behind him the impossible figure of a 11 foot tall lanky giant was chasing after him, hurling curses, epithets, and something far more deadly: spells. Up head a brick arch in the wall of the building gave Joe promise of shelter, or at the very least cover from the fiery darts whizzing over his had and passed his ears. As Joe came within a few steps of the arch a brief moment of terror overwhelmed him: the arch was little more than an alcove. Once upon a time a door or another alley might have stood there, but now it was a bricked in false hope for Joe.

Momentarily distracted Joe didn’t notice the Coca-Cola bottle rolling toward him. Joe’s foot landed squarely on the bottle, and for a brief moment he was perfectly balanced, until his inertia carried him forward. With the grace found among toddlers Joe collapsed and folded in upon himself and the ground rushed up to embrace him like a jilted lover. The bottle sped along its course, it’s velocity greatly increased, bounding down the alley on a collision course with the giant. A startled, bruised, battered, and dinged Joe lifted his head off the pavement in time to see the giant notice the Coca-Cola bottle. With an abrupt change of attitude the lanky giant gleefully cackled out loud at the sight of the bottle coming his way.

“Ha ha! Saints be praised!” he exclaimed, and without breaking stride reached down with his lumbering arm, and caught up the bottle into his hand. To Joe’s astonishment the giant pivoted on one foot and dashed out of the alley.

A voice boomed out above Joe, “Well kid?” A rather burly looking man in crisp new blue jeans, starched red collared shirt, and black combat boots towered over Joe, hands on his hips. Joe looked up, and carefully pushed himself up off the pavement.

“Well what?” Joe answered back.

“Well, for starters you could thank me, kid.”

“Thank you?”

“You’re welcome.”

Offended by the presumption that Joe was thankful he forcefully said, “Thank you for what?”

“For saving your bacon, kid. I thought that was obvious.”

“My name’s Joe, and I don’t recall anyone stepping in to lend me a hand. That … thing got distracted and left me alone.”

The man looked down at Joe, giving him a hard stare. “And just how do you think he got distracted, Joe?” he asked, adding a slight emphasis on Joe’s name.

Joe stared back for a moment of silence. “Look bub, are you trying to take credit for that giant, or whatever it was, getting distracted by a Coke bottle?”

The man grinned. “You’re catching on kid.”

“It was just a random Coke bottle,” Joe protested.

“Random? Far from it kid. Ask yourself, when was the last time you saw a genuine Coca-Cola bottle just rattling around these streets?”

“I dunno. I see garbage all the time in all kinds of places.”

The man scowled at Joe, “Not in my city you don’t kid. Everyone knows that. Look, I tossed that bottle down the alley precisely because it would distract Bob there,” the man nodded his head in the direction the giant went. “He’s got a thing for old glass bottles. He’s a bit obsessed that way. So much the better for you.”

“You know that monstrosity that was chasing me?” Joe fired back incredulously.

“Yeah. He’s not a bad guy, so long as you don’t get on his bad side. Which brings me to my second point: what did you do to piss him off, kid?”

“Will you stop calling me kid?”

“Only when you grow up. Now tell me, what did you do to make Bob angry enough to reveal himself in public?”

Joe gave the man a quizzical look. “What are you talking about? How many people do you know that can look into a second story window without the aid of a ladder? In what way was a gigantic man running down the street not going to attract attention?”

“Exactly my point kid,” the man gave Joe a hard stare. “Well?”

Joe squared his shoulders and looked hard into the other man’s eyes. “I don’t know,” Joe practically shouted.

The man didn’t so much as blink. “You’ll have to do better than that. Why don’t you try starting with how you found him in the first place. Bob isn’t exactly the social type, if you know what I mean.”

“I told you, I don’t know. One minute I’m walking down the street, admiring the architecture. I turn the corner and the first thing I see is some hulking monstrosity running straight at me yelling my name as if I’d killed his cat or something.”

“Do you honestly expect me to believe that Bob would be waiting for you to waltz around a corner and then unprovokedly attack you?”

“No, I expect you to believe I was cha-chaing around the corner,” Joe fired back snarkily.

The man’s face flashed with a brief expression of anger. Before Joe could register the look he was hoisted out of the air and bodily slammed into the nearest brick wall. “Listen kid. I’ve been patient and considerate but I’ve had about as much guff as I’m going to take from you. You are going to tell me exactly what transpired that got Salem’s most reclusive giant to show himself in public in a manner that would draw too much unwanted attention to himself, or I will exercise my authority to have you forcibly removed from this city and all others like it. Do I make myself clear?” The man didn’t so much as relax his grip on Joe’s shirt but his voice was calm, cool, forceful, and authoritative.

Confusion slid over Joe’s face. “Wait. Salem? What are you talking about? This isn’t Salem.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Kid, that has got to be the dumbest excuse I have heard this decade.” The man tensed his arms.

“Wait! I’m serious. This can’t be Salem. I’ve never even been to Salem. Why would I want to? Listen, I don’t know who you are or where you think you are but I live here and this is Springfield.”

“Springfield huh? You sure about that, kid?”

“Yeah. Lived here for about a year now. Who forgets where they live?”

The man slowly lowered Joe down to the ground. “Look around you kid. Does this alley look at all familiar to you?”

Joe looked around the alley clearly puzzled. He looked up at the buildings, then frantically looked down the alley to his right. Panic stricken he snapped his head back to his left peering out of the mouth of the alley which he had just run down and into storefronts. “I … don’t get it,” he stammered. “H-how?” and then he noticed the licenses plates; squinting he read the plate. “Oregon? What the hell is going on?” he shouted into the man’s face.

“Calm down kid.”

“You calm down. How the hell did I end up in Oregon?”

“I can explain, but you need to calm down. Look, you’ll be alright.”

“Right. You try walking down the street of your home town, get chased by a giant hell-bent on killing you, for no reason whatsoever, and then find out you are in a completely different State with no idea how you got there nor how you are going to get back home. How in the world can you say this will be alright?”

“Listen, kid, we’ll get you back home. What you experienced is a little thing called The Springfield Effect. It’s hard to explain, and this is hardly the place. Come with me to a place we can talk. There’s a coffee house just outside this alley, right over there,” he pointed out the mouth of the alley to a nondescript building.

Posted by Seth Croston Barber at 12:19 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I decided the next scene should take place in The Governor’s Cup downtown, and then promptly realized I haven’t been in a few years. So I’ve had to take some liberties with the locale here and there because I frankly don’t have the time to wander around my fair city getting the details just right. Besides, this isn’t Salem, this is Enchanted or Magical Salem.

Progress

I’m rather happy with my progress today. In spite of hosting a game night, playing with my daughter, and running errands after work I banged out a couple thousand words, and finished the first chapter. That said, I’ve decided to publish each chapter, as I finish it, in both PDF and ePub format. This is all thanks to Scrivener and its easy compile setting. With that said here is Chapter One: pdf or ePub.

Inner Critic

The best part about NaNoWriMo is telling my inner critic to can it. I don’t have the time to fix what I’m writing. Sure I’m painfully aware I’ve changed tenses here and there, and that Mortimer isn’t really a fitting name, and that I took far too long introducing his name, not to mention the fact that I got a bit long in the tooth with the conversation. The best thing is this is about getting words down on the page, making progress, and then fixing things in the revision process.

A word about licensing

This work by Seth Croston Barber is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

I have decided to apply a Creative Commons license to this work because I want to share it with as many as care to read it. While I don’t need to license it for that it’ll make things easier. You may notice I did choose a license that does not allow derivative works. This is not because I’m stingy, but rather that I would much prefer people to ask my permission first, purely so I can know who would like to do what to it. So if you like what you see and want to do some derivative hacking on it drop me a line and I’ll more than likely give you a hearty thumbs up.

The Story

Joe eyed him suspiciously. “It’s on me,” the man said.

“Fine, just lets agree to stay out in public. No private back rooms or anything.”

The man smirked. “You got it kid. Follow me.”

The two made their way out of the alley and wove their way through the stopped traffic. They came upon a rather plain storefront, not the kind of place Joe would normally think of when he thought of a coffee house. Upon entering Joe checked himself. While the outside was dull bordering upon boring the interior was far more interesting. The walls were built out of brick, and more than a few carried a dark brown patina redolent of fresh roasted coffee beans. A large wooden bar stretched luxuriously down the length of the room, behind which hung all the usual paraphernalia of coffee, and upon which rested an assortment of coffee treats, trinkets, and fliers for local events. The chalkboard hung on the wall behind the bar proudly displaying the day’s offerings was obviously a touch of the old world in the modern age of computers, Internet, and free Wi-Fi, and yet Joe could not help but mentally critique the haphazard typography on display.

Joe barely had time to take in the room before he was ushered up to the bar where an attractive girl in braids was smiling and gently swaying to the beat of the background music, waiting for her next coffee masterpiece. “What’ll ya have kid?” the man asked.

“Cappuccino,” Joe paused, “and a biscotti.”

“16 ounce?” the barista asked.

“Give him the 24. He’s going to need it,” the man answered before Joe could consider the question.

The barista smiled knowingly and turned around, still swaying to the music, and began working her magic. Soon the room was filled with the sounds of coffee beans being reduced to tiny granules, the whir and hum of the espresso machine, and the clinking sounds of cups and saucers dancing about the back counter. “Come on kid, it’ll be a little while. She’s an artist when it comes to coffee.” He paused to look Joe over, “And from the looks of things I think you understand what I mean.”

“Good art takes time,” was Joe’s reply.

“Exactly. We’ve got time, so lets find a seat while we wait.”

Joe turned and surveyed the rest of the room. The furniture was not the typical eclectic affair one might expect. Each piece, though distinct from the next, all seemed to fit together, like they were all part of the same extended family. Some were newer than others, but they all bore the signs of frequent use: here and there wood was polished to a gleam and shine as of many hands resting and caressing the grain, bits of slate warn smooth through constant use, and fabric beginning to go threadbare and yet still retaining the promise of a comfortable respite from the world around you. Joe’s eyes locked onto the sofa against the wall; it was clearly within view, painfully public, and his body, still sore from the fall he took in the alley, was begging to be wrapped up in the soft comfortable folds of the cushions. Blissfully, the sofa was vacant, and Joe eased himself into its lap of luxury.

“One Guardian Special, and one cappuccino!” the barista rang out in a sing-song voice. Joe groaned.

“Don’t get up. I got it,” the man said striding the short distance to the waiting barista and fetching their drinks. Joe sat transfixed, looking approvingly at the delicate design floating and swirling in his cup. He’d seen baristas make works of art with foamed milk before, but he’d never before seen an animated design. As the coffee churned from the jostling of being carried across the room the art changed. Joe found himself watching a tree shed leaves which fell into a pile and then blew away as a small, vaguely child-like form, crashed into it. “Pretty impressive, eh kid?”

“I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“She’s a bit of a local icon, our Shelly is.”

“Why haven’t I heard of her before? Art like this usually ends up plastered all over the Internet.”

“She’s a bit particular about whom she shares her art with.”

“With works like this she should be more liberal with her sharing. She could gain fame and fortune with her talent. I know people who would pay large sums of money for a cup of coffee like this.”

“I expect that’s probably why she’s particular.”

“What do you mean?”

“Shelly isn’t after fame, quite the contrary. And as far as fortune she has all she could want already.”

“If I had her talent I would milk it for all its worth and then retire early.”

“Oh? And what would you do after you retired?”

“I dunno. Just chill I guess. Travel the world. Party for a while. That sort of thing.”

“And what will you do when you get tired of that life?”

Joe shrugged. “I’ll find something to do, something that will make me happy.”

The man grinned. “That’s exactly what Shelly is doing now. So you see, she neither needs nor wants fame and fortune because she’s happy, and content.”

“If you say so bub.” Joe paused, contemplating his coffee. “It seems a shame to ruin such a work of art, but the smell… .”

“Go on. Try it. You might be surprised.”

Joe gave him a quizzical look but raised the cup up to his lips and rather noisily sucked in a mouthful of steaming coffee. “Wow. Now that’s some fine coffee,” he exclaimed. And to Joe’s utter surprise and astonishment the scene was not disturbed in the least. The leaves kept dancing about and the little figure was chasing them around his cup.

“Told you.”

“How does she do that?” Joe exclaimed. “I mean, I’m no science expert but that’s impossible.”

The man just grinned and took a hearty drink from his steaming mug.

Figuring that any further conversation about Sally’s talent would be met with further silence Joe changed the subject. “You were going to tell me about how I came to be here?” Joe prompted.

“Ah yes. The Springfield Effect.”

“Yeah that. But first, just who the heck are you?”

The man arched his eyebrows in surprise. “Dear me. You don’t know who I am?” he asked rhetorically.

“If I did I wouldn’t ask,” snapped Joe.

“I am the Guardian of Salem. Or simply Guardian, though I will answer to ‘Mortimer’ if you must.”

“Mortimer? It doesn’t fit you.”

“If you must.”

“Mortimer is a bit of an old name, though I’ve heard stranger. So what’s this Springfield Effect?”

Mortimer leaned back into the sofa, took a long draught from his still steaming coffee mug, and stared off in front of him, deep in thought. “How best to put this for you … ? You are no doubt aware that there are many cities in this world which bear the name Springfield.”

“Yeah. I’ve seen a few maps.”

“It isn’t true.”

“What’s that mean?”

“There aren’t many cities called Springfield. Strictly speaking there is only one city called Springfield.”

“And the rest are what … impostors?”

“They are all the same city.”

Joe looked at Mortimer suspiciously. “Did she put a little something in your coffee?”

“Each time you enter the city limits of Springfield, wherever it was that you were, you cross a … boundary. Springfield doesn’t exist in the same — shall we say dimension — as the rest of the world. There is a place that is called Springfield, and all those locations on the maps are doors, or gateways to that place.”

“So you’re saying that there is only one Springfield on this entire planet? If that were true then Springfield would be an awfully large city, but the Springfield I’m from is hardly a metropolis.”

“It’s a bit hard to explain — I don’t fully understand it myself — but each Springfield on the map corresponds to a different,” he paused wrinkling his brow looking for the right word, “district. Most districts have their own isolated gates to and from the normal world, that way most people are left unaware.”

“This is a bit hard to wrap my head around.”

“You ever take any quantum physics?”

“Do I look like the type of guy that goes in for that kind of stuff?”

Mortimer gave Joe an appraising look then said, “Decidedly not.”

Not knowing if he should be offended by that judgement Joe set down his now empty cup and crossed his arms. “Say that I believe you. How does this explain how I got here?”

“Ah yes, I was getting to that. Well you see since there is only one Springfield it is possible to enter at one spot on this globe of ours yet exit in an entirely different locale.”

“Are you telling me I could walk out of my city and walk into Fort Knox?”

“Nothing like that. Let’s say you drive into Springfield in Oregon. It is possible, though quite difficult, to drive out of Springfield in Ohio. You can only enter and exit at places marked on a map as ‘Springfield’.”

“I thought you said this was Salem, not Springfield.”

“Indeed it is.”

“Look bub, I don’t mean to be rude but you are trying my patience. If this is Salem and I got here by this so-called Springfield Effect, how did that happen given this is not Springfield?”

“Ah well that is another matter entirely, and one I’m still sussing out. Some time ago an old hermit scholar discovered the nature of The Springfield Effect, or so he claimed. At the time no one took him seriously for he has a reputation of being a bit mad — he once postulated that the Earth is not only flat but is inscribed on the back of an enormous turtle lumbering through space. He offered to give a demonstration.” Mortimer stopped, and took another draught from his mug.

Joe, realizing that Mortimer was content to leave it at that prompted him, “And what happened? He created the Salem-Springfield effect?”

Mortimer leveled a glare at Joe. “Don’t be absurd kid.”

“So what happened?”

Mortimer shrugged his shoulders. “He disappeared.”

“And that explains why I’m here?” Joe asked incredulous. Joe got up to leave saying, “Look, it’s been nice chatting with you, really, and I’m grateful for the free coffee, but I really should be going. Is there an airport around here?”

“Sit down Joe,” Mortimer replied, in measured level tones. “The old hermit, in the midst of his demonstration, suddenly vanished, but that’s not quite the end of the story. Ever since then he’s been popping up, at random, all over the globe. One minute he’ll be in London, five minutes later we’ll hear he’s in Tokyo. People have taken photos, even caught him on video.”

“So … he can teleport?”

“That may be what he’s doing, but from time-to-time we get reports of cases like yours. Every so often some poor soul enters into a Springfield but exits at some other city. No one’s ever quite figured out why people need to start in Springfield when he doesn’t, but neither has anyone figured out how the Springfield Effect works.”

“So you’re saying that I was the random target of some hermit somewhere?”

Mortimer solemnly shook his head. “I never said it was random. I grant you that some times it appears the selection of people has been random, and it may well have been. He may have been perfecting his technique. However, the last few cases I have been made aware of the people were most definitely singled out. For the time being Joe I think we need to assume that you were purposefully chosen.”

“Why me?”

“That’s the question isn’t it? Who are you Joe?”

“I’m nobody, much as it pains me to admit it.”

“That doesn’t answer my question Joe.”

“I’m nobody. I’m a freelance designer. I graduated college a couple years ago and have been selling my designs to the highest bidder. That’s all. Nothing special about that. There are tons of us out there.”

Mortimer sat up and looked interested. “What kind of designs?”

“All kinds, though mostly visual. I’ve done some package design for products, the usual business cards, logos, identity design, that sort of thing. I’ve done some t-shirts, the odd book cover or two, some book and magazine layouts, and a handful of websites.”

“You’ve been quite industrious.”

“Competition is stiff, and college forces you to build up a portfolio.”

“What kinds of clients?”

“Mostly small businesses, independent publishers, a few startups and the like. Nothing big yet.”

Mortimer tapped his chin. “Make any enemies?”

Joe snorted. “I’ve had a few prospects get angry with me over the phone when I told them their current designs were crap.”

“Oh?”

“Some people insist on using family for part of the design work and ask me to come in and clean it up without changing it. I usually tell them my opinion of the work. Those that can’t take it I don’t work for.”

“Nothing more serious than some harsh critiques?”

“Nothing springs to mind. Enemies aren’t good for business when you’re a freelance designer.” Joe paused, “There was this one guy.” Mortimer’s eyebrows lifted in an expression of interest. “This guy I knew back in college. He was a practical joker, got a kick out of rearranging your room, moving your car, leading people on wild goose chases, that sort of think. He loved to prank people. About a month back we found out we were both bidding on the same job. You don’t suppose he could have something to do with this.”

“It’s possible, and what’s more it sounds probable at this point, given that you seem like a harmless guy. But that doesn’t explain Bob.”

“What about Bob. Couldn’t my sudden appearance have startled the guy? You know, kicked in his fight or flight reaction and he chose fight?”

“Bob’s not wired to fight first. Besides, he usually stays well away from Downtown this time of the month. Look kid, something’s going on if Bob and The Springfield Effect are involved. At a guess I’d say you aren’t safe here. I’ve got another matter that needs my attention. I’ll look into this when I get the time, but I suggest you get yourself back home, and maybe consider a vacation.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice. Where’s the nearest airport?”

“The airport won’t do you much good. There aren’t a lot of passenger flights. Besides it’s clear across town. If I were you, kid, I’d try the Greyhound Bus. At the very least you can catch one to Portland and fly out there.”

“Greyhound huh? I suppose it could be worse. Where the depot?”

“It’s a few blocks north of here. Here, let me draw you a map.” Mortimer sketched out a brief map of downtown on the back of a flyer advertising a band by the name of “Hastur’s Last Hope” would be playing next weekend. “Here you go kid.”

“Thanks,” Joe studied the map then tucked it into his pocket. “And thanks for the coffee.”

“Think nothing of it. Don’t take this the wrong way kid, but I hope I don’t see you again.”

“Likewise.” Joe relinquished his place on the sofa and walked out onto the street.

“Another one?” Shelly asked Mortimer.

“Nah. This one’s different.”

Posted by Seth Croston Barber at 12:28 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

It’s been a rough day touched off by a phone call, from which I never recovered, waking me out of a dead sleep. My wife and I also decided to set up the toddler bed for our daughter, which had her excited. I expect many nights of putting her back in bed.

My inner critic is upset that I’m using clichés and that I have what is probably entirely too many facial expressions going on in my conversation between Joe and Amanda. I’ve been married long enough I probably forgot how to flirt, if I ever knew how. In any event here is the beginning of the next chapter:

Chapter Two

Joe walked up to the Greyhound depot and was dubious. The place looked a little neglected, as if their business was suffering. Joe didn’t have anything strictly against riding the buss, but placing his wellbeing in the hands of apathy always set his teeth on edge. Joe was the sort of guy who took pride in his work, and looked for that quality in others; he had a general principle not to do business with those that did not take some measure, no matter how small, of pride in performing their duties. Walking into the depot Joe was less than reassured that these folks would be able, and willing, to help him.

As a bell sounded Joe’s arrival a perky attendant smiled warmly and quite cheerfully at Joe. “Good morning! How can I help you?”

Joe paused just inside the door not believing his eyes; the attendant with the pleasant demeanor offering to help him was the same woman who had just served him the most amazing cup of coffee he had ever had. “Didn’t — ” he began. “Didn’t you… . Aren’t you Shelly, the barista over at the coffee shop?”

The woman’s smile grew wider, lighting up her eyes. “Shelly’s my sister. I’m Amanda. We’re twins.”

“I’ll say. If it wasn’t for the uniform I’d swear you were the same person. She had her hair in the same braids you do.”

Amanda grinned. “We occasionally coordinate our wardrobes. We like to keep the boys on their toes,” she said with a twinkle in her eyes.

Sensing that Amanda was flirting with him Joe asked, “And just how many boys can you keep on their toes?”

Amanda practically purred, “Stick around and you might just find out.”

Joe grinned, “I wish I could, but I really have to get back home.”

“Oh? And where’s home?”

“Springfield,” Joe answered, then thinking better of it added, “Missouri.”

“Missouri? You are quite a ways from home. What brings you all the way out here?”

Without missing a beat Joe said, “I heard the coffee here is amazing.”

Amanda arched an eyebrow at Joe, “And is it?”

“Not half as amazing as the women they employ in this town.”

Amanda smiled quite pleased. “Flattery will get you nowhere.” Joe’s expression faltered. “After all, why would I want you to leave?” Amanda finished with a grin and a wink.

Joe grinned. “Nonetheless I must go.”

“Well, I’m sorry to say we don’t have any busses leaving for Springfield Missouri today.”

“That’s oaky. Just send me to any Springfield. It doesn’t really matter,” Joe said in jest.

Amanda gave Joe a blank stare, then said slowly, “Our last buss for Eugene left twenty minutes ago. We’ll have another one tomorrow.”

Chagrinned Joe said, “I was only kidding anyway. Do you have any busses to Portland?”

“Yes. We have one leaving in fifteen minutes.”

“Great. I’d like a ticket please.” Amanda’s face fell. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back for the coffee,” Joe said with a wink.

“I’m sure you will,” Amanda replied, “but that’s not the problem. I’m afraid the buss is full, so I can’t sell you a ticket.”

Joe looked around the empty depot. “Full?” he queried, gesturing to the empty room. “Must be a small buss.”

Amanda smiled ever so slightly. “The buss is on its way up from points south, and already mostly full. We only had two tickets to sell and I sold them this morning. The busses arrive in back; I’m sure the passengers are already waiting.”

“So you’re saying I’m stuck here?”

“Is that such a bad thing?” Amanda asked slyly. “We do have some amazing women here, you said so yourself.”

Joe grinned. “As much as I would love to stay and appreciate all the amazing things about this city, of which I’m sure there must be quite a few, I really need to get back home. I have business to attend to. Are you sure there is nothing you can do for me?”

Amanda checked the computer behind the counter. “We’ll have another buss leaving in the morning for Portland.”

“Nothing sooner?”

“Let’s see,” she bit her bottom lip while scrolling through screen after screen of scheduling data. “You’re in luck. There is a buss headed to Boise tonight. It should leave in about an hour.”

“Perfect. From Boise I’m sure I can catch a flight home. I’ll take it.” Joe began reaching for his wallet, “Providing there are still seats available on the buss.

“There should be plenty. Not many folks going to Boise these days.”

Joe handed Amanda a credit card which she swiped then paused as she read the card, “Hyborean Designs?”

“It’s my business’s name. I’m a bit of a Robert E. Howard fan.”

“Yeah? What do you like about him?” she asked as she handed him the receipt for him to sign.

“I dunno,” he shrugged. “I guess I like the fantasy and sheer imagination of it all, you know? What life would be like in a different time under different circumstances.”

“You sure it has nothing to do with a man’s man battling evil and saving the damsel in distress?” she coyly countered.

Joe narrowed his eyes as he responded. “Please. They are not fairy tales. Have you read any Howard?”

“Can’t say that I have. I’m more of a Louis L’Amour gal myself.” Joe was visibly taken aback. “What’s wrong? Can’t a gal like a good Western?”

“No, no. It’s not that. It’s just … I’ve never met a girl who went in for that sort of thing. It’s … refreshing.”

Amanda smiled. “It’s nice to be called refreshing.” She handed him his ticket, card, and receipt. “Here’s your ticket. Like I said before the busses arrive at the back of the building. If I were you I’d —” she paused distracted by something on her screen.

“What?”

“Looks like Someone doesn’t want you leaving town tonight.”

“What do you mean?” Joe asked, concern creeping into his voice.

“I just got a report that the buss due for Boise radioed in. It’s having engine troubles and won’t be in tonight. They are sending another buss to pick up the stranded passengers, and as none of them were going to get off in Salem they are going to bypass us to make up for lost time.”

Joe groaned. “Now what?”

“Well, I can refund your ticket, unless you want to stay, in which case I could transfer it to that morning buss to Portland.”

Joe’s face took on a sly look. “How can I be sure the buss is in fact having problems, and this isn’t some clever ploy on your part to get me to —” Joe was cut off mid sentence as Amanda turned the computer screen around and he read the report himself. “Oh.”

“Nice try, lover boy,” Amanda said chidingly.

“Touché. I’ll take that refund. Maybe I can rent a car or something.”

“There’s a car rental place a few blocks from here,” Amanda said with more than a little disappointment in her voice.

Joe thanked her then paused at the door, “If I come back this way where might I find you?”

“If you come back this way, I’m sure I will find you,” she said with playful finality.

Joe stood there confused then it suddenly dawned on him. “Ah. The amazing coffee.” Amanda just smiled knowingly as Joe walked out the door and down the street.

The rental car office was neat and orderly, if perhaps understaffed for Joe’s sense of urgency. There was seemingly only one person on duty, whose name tag announced him to be Edgar, and who was engaged with an elderly couple who acted as if they had all the time in the world. Realizing their transaction may take a while Joe settled himself into one of their chairs, finding it quite uncomfortable, and picked up a sorely out of date news magazine from the coffee table in front of him. Try as he might Joe could not make himself interested in old news, which was just as well because the conversation was distractingly loud of volume. Edgar was having to repeat himself each time a bit louder than the last, causing Joe to feel slightly uncomfortable as if he were eavesdropping on a conversation not his own. He heard words like “lumbago” and “adenoids” and suffered through a lengthy and repetitive conversation about the merits of cataract surgery. By the time the couple finished their business with Edgar Joe was about to leave the office and walk to Portland.

“What can I do for you, sir?” Edgar said, directing his attention to Joe. Joe couldn’t tell but he thought that perhaps Edgar’s volume was still a bit on the high side still.

“I would like to rent a car.”

“You’ve come to the right place,” Edgar said cheerily.

“I’ve got to get to Portland tonight.”

“I’m sure we can arrange something.”

“I won’t be returning. This would be a one-way trip, preferably to the airport, if that can be arranged.”

“Certainly sir. Did you have a preference of vehicle?”

“Something cheap with an automatic transmission.”

“I’m sure we can accommodate you sir. Do any of these strike your fancy?” Edgar showed Joe a list of cars.

“That one,” Joe said, picking out the cheapest one listed.

“A fine choice. Now if I could just see some ID and a major credit card please?” Edgar asked a bit stiffly.

Joe pulled out his wallet and handed Edgar the requested items, a bit puzzled at Edgar’s demeanor. He’d rented cars before but never had the feeling that he was being treated as if he were somehow suspicious. Edgar typed furiously at his computer, swiped the credit card, frowned, swiped the card again, frowned again, and then turned to Joe. “I’m sorry sir, but it appears as if there is a problem with your credit card.”

“What kind of a problem?” Joe asked, suddenly worried.

“I don’t know sir, only that the card was declined. Do you perhaps have another card you would like to try?”

Joe nodded and fished out another card and handed it over. “This is my personal card, it should be good as I just paid down the balance last week.”

“We’ll give it a try sir,” and Edgar swiped the card and frowned again.

“Not this one too,” Joe asked rather incredulously.

Edgar only swiped the card a final time then sadly shook his head. “I’m sorry. This one is also declined,” and handed Joe back his cards.

“Could I possibly pay cash?”

“I’m sorry sir, but it is our policy to have a valid credit card number on file, in case of problems. You understand I’m sure,” Edgar said with some disdain.

“Yeah. I do in fact. Well, thank you for your time. Sorry to trouble you.”

“Not at all. I do hope everything will work out for you. Good day.”

Joe left the office and started walking. He didn’t pick a direction so much as he just pointed his body and moved. He needed to clear his head, reflect on what had been happening, gain some perspective on the matter, and hopefully formulate a plan. Joe often found that a good long walk did wonders for his thinking process, and while he preferred parks so he could lose himself in thought and not wander into traffic, he nonetheless began thinking, not paying attention to where he was or what direction he was going. Ambling down the sidewalks Joe soon found himself at the foot of the Marion Street Bridge and site and sounds of cars humming along what looked to be a main thoroughfare out of town Joe decided to follow suit. “At this point I’ll take anything that will get me out of this town. I’ll hitchhike if I have to, but I’ve got to get out of here,” Joe thought to himself. “I’ve got that meeting with Randy Blackstock the day after tomorrow. I can’t miss it, and he’s not the kind of guy I can reschedule. I miss the meeting I lose the contract. And what’s the deal with my credit cards? It worked at the buss depot, why not at the car rental place?”

Joe pulled out his cell phone and began dialing his bank when he crashed, full force, into what felt like a solid wall, and ended up sprawled on the sidewalk staring up into the sky. Shaken and dazed Joe quickly checked his surroundings, hoping he was not in the street about to get run over. To his relief he was still well away from the traffic swiftly moving by. Joe picked his cell phone up off the ground and stood up, “What did I run into?” he wondered aloud. Looking all around him he could see nothing that would explain what happened. Puzzled Joe started turning around looking for a bike messenger, or a person walking, that he might have collided with, but saw nothing. Figuring he must have tripped or something he returned his attention to his cell phone and took a step, only to meet the same resistance as before.

“What the … ?” Joe exclaimed. He put his phone back in his pocket and carefully put his hands out in front of him, feeling the air, until they met with solid resistance where there was nothing but air. Joe felt around, looking for some kind of a discernible shape to what must be an optical illusion. Finding no edge, nor a crack or seam he moved out toward the water, and reaching out as far as he could, he felt no end to it. Fascinated he walked in the other direction, towards the traffic, which met with loud and severe honking as he walked out in front of a car. Waving apologetically to the drive he stepped back onto the sidewalk only to hear the driver shout a few rather unsavory words about practicing his “mime thing” somewhere else next time, or the world would have one less mime in it. Joe tried to warn the car as it sped off, and he just stared in disbelief. Where Joe had felt a solid wall, the car drove through it as if it wasn’t even there.

“It’s like there’s an invisible wall keeping me in, and only me,” he said to himself. “What is going on here?” he shouted in anger. “I’ll bet that Mortimer guy is behind this. That or that Amanda chick. I don’t know how they are doing this, nor why, but I’ll get to the bottom of this or it’ll be the last thing that I do.”

Posted by Seth Croston Barber at 11:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I’m nearly done with Chapter Two, and in fact I may end it here, but I will sleep on it. I had an interesting turning point with a character during tonight’s writing. My good wife helped me figure out which would be the more interesting choice to go with, and with her help I was then able to top 2,200 words on the day.

Before we get to today’s words I’d like to mention that it’s dawning on me that once this novel is complete I might be able to take people on a walking tour Downtown of the locales in my story. That’s new to me, and all sorts of fun, refreshing, and time saving.

Joe pushed open the door of The Governor’s Cup forcefully, unmindful of the view through its glass window, otherwise he might have been more careful. The door swung wide, brushing the coat of a large man walking toward it. He glared at Joe and growled, “People in a hurry tend to get hurt.” Joe was in no mood to back down from a fight but when he looked into the cold eyes of the man he nearly knocked over in his haste and fury he thought better of it. Taking a step backwards out of the door Joe let the hulking man through. As the passed the man whispered into Joe’s ear a barely audible, “That’s two,” and strode off. Joe stood stock still while his heart hammered in his chest, his body locked with fear. Too late he whipped his head around scanning the street for any sign of the man, but all he saw was an elderly couple across the street, getting into a new convertible proudly displaying the sticker of a rental car company.

Joe cautiously walked into The Governor’s Cup, and as he passed over the threshold a shiver creeped its way down his spine. He stood inside the door and surveyed the room; there was a small group of people huddled around a table upstairs, apparently playing a game for all the satisfied utterances, curses, and challenges wafting down upon the room; a tired businessman was sitting on the soft reading a news paper, and a young couple were tucked into the corner by the window leaning over the table so far their heads nearly touched. Joe didn’t recognize anyone. Undaunted he walked up to the bar but found it empty. Leaning over he looked down toward the back where he assumed the staff-room was, an action that was met by an authoritative voice coming from behind him. “May I help you?”

Joe spun around, a sheepish look, as if he just got caught with his hands in the cookie jar, plastered on his face. Standing before him was the businessman who was previously reading a newspaper. “I’m looking for someone.”

The man crossed his arms and gave Joe his best no-nonsense gaze. “Anyone in particular?” came the reply.

“I’m looking for a man named Mortimer. I was in here with him earlier today.”

“I don’t know anyone by that name. Is that all, or can I get you a cup of coffee?” he said with a touch of gruffness to his voice.

“What about Shelly? Is she here?”

“Who wants to know?” the man asked protectively.

“My name is Joe, I was in here earlier with Mortimer and he knew Shelly. I was hoping she could tell me where I might find him. See, I think he has something of mine and I’d like it back.”

“Shelly’s out on break,” the man replied curtly.

“Any idea where I might find her?”

The man eyed Joe suspiciously. “You could try the Reed Opera House. She sometimes grabs a bite to eat there.” Joe turned to leave but the man grabbed him by the arm and jerked him off balance. The man put his nose up to Joe’s nose and in a harsh whisper said, “If she tells me that you bothered her, at all, things won’t go well for you. Do you understand me?”

Joe winced as the man’s grip tightened. He nodded in response. “I only want to ask her a question is all.”

“Just see it goes no further.” The man let go of Joe and stared him down, all the way out the door, as Joe hastily left the shop.

As the door closed behind Joe he took a deep breath; it was then he realized he’d been holding his breath ever since the man had grabbed him by the arm and threatened him. “What is it about this town?” Joe wondered to himself. “I don’t know any of these people and already three of them have threatened me!” He started walking down the street and suddenly realized he didn’t know where the Reed Opera House was. “It can’t be too far if Shelly can get there and back on a break, right?” he reasoned to himself. He looked up and down the street, hoping to see a sign but saw nothing helpful. Continuing in the direction he already started he decided to ask the first passerby he could find, then stopped. “Wait a minute. Why would Shelly go to the opera on her breaks? That doesn’t make sense at all,” Joe said to himself. Crestfallen that he’d been duped he continued walking and thinking. “I suppose it is possible they have a cafe there, or maybe some concessions?” Joe brightened at a thought, “Perhaps she goes there to have lunch with one of the workers. I’ll bet that’s it.” Deep in thought Joe nearly ran into a hurried looking woman who uttered an excited, “Excuse me!” as she brushed past.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Joe called out after her, catching her attention. As she turned around Joe couldn’t help but have the vague sense that he’d seen her before. “I’m looking for the, uhm, Reed Opera House? Do you know where it is?”

“It’s back that way,” and the woman gestured in the opposite direction Joe was traveling, then turned and hurried off.

“Thank-you!” Joe shouted after her, but she had already turned a corner.

Shaking his head in amazement at the demeanor of the people he’d met he turned around and headed down the street. Joe got as far as Great Harvest Bread without finding the Reed Opera House, and seeing that he was nearly out of buildings he turned in deciding to enjoy a free slice of bread and hopefully get better directions. As he filled his mouth with a generous slice of bread slathered in butter he asked for directions, and to his embarrassment he was simply told to cross the street. Offering his thanks he marched outside, looked across the street, saw the sign and cursed himself for being an idiot.

Joe walked up to the Reed Opera House and paused, not expecting to find store fronts and businesses. Cautiously he walked into one of the shops, a place offering gelato and crepes, and shuffled his way past the few tables they had to offer, greeting the staff who insisted he try a sample of the gelato. He aimlessly wandered inside still confused why it was called an Opera House when clearly it was a mall, albeit a small one. After gawking at a shop proudly displaying kilts he stumbled upon some tables outside a little bakery. Shelly was seated at one of these tables, quietly eating a flaky pastry and browsing through a magazine. Joe walked up to her and asked politely, “Excuse me, may I have a moment?”

Shelly looked up from her magazine and an expression of surprise and delight lit up her face. “Decided to stick around after all huh?”

“Excuse me?” Joe asked taken aback.

“Weren’t you anxious to get to Portland? And now here you are chatting up a lonely young lady just outside the best bakery in Salem. Sounds to me like you changed your mind about leaving.”

Joe stared at her confused and at a loss for words. Understanding dawned on Shelly’s face. “You think I’m Shelly. It’s me, Amanda.”

“Amanda?”

Amanda put on a show of pouting. “You weren’t looking for me after all? Upstaged again by my little sister?” She sniffed and wiped away a tear that was not there.

“I’m sorry. It’s just you — ”

“Look so much alike?” she finished for him. “Yeah we get that a lot actually. Comes with be identical.”

“Not that I’m trying to be rude or anything, but where’s Shelly?”

“Smooth,” she said with a bit of mockery in her voice. “Here you are with a beautiful woman, all alone, in a romantic location — ”

“You call this romantic?” Joe interrupted. “We’re yards away from a place that sells kilts.”

Amanda purred, “What’s the matter? You don’t find kilts romantic?”

“Not especially,” Joe said carefully. “Do you know where Shelly might be?”

“Relax lover boy. She’ll be here in a little while. Have a seat and keep a gal company.”

“Thanks but… .”

“Tell you what, do you like coconut?”

“Um, sure?” Joe said confused where she was going with this.

“You sit right here and keep me company and I’ll buy you the best macaroon you’ll ever eat. Deal?” Joe looked uncertainly at the table. “Look, she’ll be here any minute, I promise.”

“Okay,” Joe said as he sat down at the table.

“Great! I’ll be right back.” Amanda sprang out of her chair and skipped into the bakery returning with the promised macaroon. “Try that and tell me it’s not the best you’ve ever had.”

Joe took a healthy bite and chewed with vigor muttering around the wad of food unintelligible praises for the cookie which only served to make Amanda laugh. Her laugh was delicate, like a cross between a little bird chirping the in crisp morning air, and tiny wind chimes singing in a gentle breeze; it set Joe at ease and he visibly relaxed and set his mind on enjoying his treat.

“So tell me,” Amanda inquired once Joe’s mouth was lamenting the loss of it’s coconut delight, “how come you are still in Salem and looking for my sister?”

“I couldn’t rent a car,” Joe said plainly.

Amanda arched an eyebrow. “Oh? Why not?”

Joe shook his head. “Card troubles.” Amanda looked surprised and motioned him to continue. “Both my cards declined, or so the guy at the rental place said.”

“Have you called your bank to figure it out?”

“Not yet. I was going to, but something came up.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“But you’ll talk to Shelly?” Amanda pouted.

“No, actually.”

Amanda brightened for a moment then looked puzzled. “So why do you need to see Shelly.”

“I’m hoping she knows where I might find a mutual acquaintance.”

“Who is it? Maybe I can help.”

Joe considered then decided to take his chances. “A guy by the name of Mortimer. Ring any bells?”

Amanda tapped her chin in thought. “No. I can’t say that it does. But then Shelly meets more locals than I do,” she said cheerily. “Hazards of working at the buss depot.” She checked her watch. “Speaking of, I have to get back. My break is almost over and we have a strict policy on coming in late.” Amanda got up. “Shelly should be here shortly, sugar. It was nice seeing you again, and for the record,” she leaned down and whispered into his ear, “I’m delighted you’re still here,” and casually walked away, the measured sound of her heels marking her passage through the building.

Joe hardly had time to reflect on this turn of events when the footsteps started getting louder. He turned around and playfully asked, “Forgot something?”

“I beg your pardon?” replied a surprised Shelly.

Joe blushed. “Shelly?”

Shelly’s eyes narrowed as she looked on him with suspicion. “Who are you?”

“I’m Joe. I was in the coffee shop earlier today. You made me a cappuccino with an amazing fall motif.”

Still suspicious Shelly nodded. “I remember, but what are you doing here?”

“Looking for you actually.”

“How did you know to find me here?”

“I didn’t, actually. Your sister told me you would be coming by soon and told me to stick around.”

“My sister?”

“Amanda?”

Understanding flooded Shelly’s face and she nodded. “You must be Joe then.”

“Yes. How did you … ?”

“Amanda told me. She got your name from your credit card receipt. Look, my break isn’t long, I’m due back soon, mind if we keep this brief?”

“Sure, sure.” Joe stood up. “I was hoping you could tell me where I might find Mortimer.

“You in some kind of trouble?”

“Something like that, only I think he’s got something to do with it.”

Shelly shook her head. “You’re barking up the wrong tree. I thought he told you.” She leaned in close and lowered her voice. “He’s the Guardian of Salem. He doesn’t get people into trouble, he gets them out of trouble.”

“That remains to be seen. Right now he’s just this strange guy with strange ideas that might know a thing or two about why I can’t leave this crummy little town.”

Shelly’s face screwed up into a scowl. “Look, Amanda may be sweet on you, and The Guardian might help you out, but you watch what you have to say about this city. I don’t care if you entire world was turned upside down. You show some respect and decorum. There are good people here who will help you out of the kindness of their hearts, but if you carry on like that most of us will let you rot.”

Joe put up his hands defensively. “Sorry, sorry. It’s been a rough day. You’re right, I was out of line. But see it from my perspective, how would you feel if you suddenly found yourself halfway across the country with no idea how you got there and people threatening your life every time you turn around, and all your attempts at getting home fail.”

Shelly crossed her arms. “That doesn’t give you a right to lash out,” she said, tapping her foot. “Look. I don’t have much time and I’d really rather not spend it having this conversation. There’s a Greek restaurant on the floor above. The Guardian was there when I came down.” Joe started to go. “A word of advice?” Joe stopped and looked her in the eyes. “Be polite.” Joe nodded and hurried upstairs.

Posted by Seth Croston Barber at 11:46 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

This morning I decided chapter 2 was done, but when I wrote the next 1,000 words I realized that was the actual close of chapter 2. Part of what helped me make that decision has been dividing my manuscript up by scenes; I’ve never done this before but thus far it’s been giving me a structure I can work with. For now I’m defining a scene by it’s location, so if the action moves to a different place in Salem it’s a new scene. So far it’s keeping me pushing on the plot, although I will admit I am embellishing here and there just to add word count. I’ll be surprised if I cut less than 10,000 words when I begin revising this.

Chapter 3 brings us finally into the fantastical side of Salem. I finally broke new ground and set us in a location that does not exist. I’ll admit some part of me has had Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere in the back of my head the entire time I’ve been writing this.

Since I would hate reading this story in the blog form I’m posting it in I’m going to continue posting completed chapters. So if you want the PDF or the ePub versions, there you go. And now we continue our story in progress.

Joe wandered upstairs and located the Greek restaurant without much difficulty, navigating the stairs and corridors with a sense of purpose this time. Hurrying past and through the restaurant Joe did not immediately spy Mortimer which filled him with anxiety. Opting to do a second more methodical search of the odd eating space he at last found Mortimer tucked away out of sight, quietly enjoying an apéritif, as if all were right in the world. As Joe approached the table he marveled at the sense of calm that permeated the area around Mortimer; he couldn’t help but feel reassured and soothed. Joe found it curious to notice that Mortimer showed no sign of surprise to be seeing Joe again.

“Take a seat Joe,” Mortimer offered by way of greeting.

Joe pulled up a chair and sat down. To his astonishment there was an apéritif waiting there for him. Joe looked at it then up to Mortimer with a questioning eyebrow. Mortimer only stared back at Joe, clearly waiting for Joe to start talking. “Were you expecting me?”

“You could say that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Joe said losing patience.

“Let’s just say I knew I would be having lunch with someone today, and I’m not at all surprised it would be with you.”

Joe’s face flushed with anger. “First you tell me I should get out of town and now you tell me you aren’t surprised that I’m still here? What’s going on?” Joe practically shouted.

Mortimer leaned forward and gestured reassuringly to Joe. “I’ll answer all your questions Joe, and then some, but first you should calm down and relax a little. You are in no condition to process the information I have to give you. Have a drink, it’s Ouzo, your favorite.”

Joe looked hard at Mortimer, “How did you —”

“I know a great many things, let’s leave it at that for now. Drink up. The food’s about to arrive.”

No sooner had Joe set down his empty glass than the waitress arrived with two gyros. Joe looked up at Mortimer with suspicion. “Yes, I knew you were quite fond of gyros too. Eat. You haven’t eaten all day.”

Joe cautiously inspected his food, then deciding it looked harmless enough, and finally succumbing to the grumblings in his stomach he ate with reckless abandon. “This is quite good,” he remarked halfway through a bite. “It’s been some time since I’ve had a gyro quite like this.”

“Perhaps next time, if indeed there is a next time, you should try the moussaka. I’m sure you’d enjoy that as well.”

Finished with their meal Mortimer leaned back in his chair and sized Joe up. Feeling uncomfortable Joe crossed his arms and shifted his weight in his chair. Joe was working up the courage to launch into his tirade, now dampened by a good, and free, meal, when Mortimer began speaking. “When I told you that you should leave and return home I said that out of hope,” Mortimer paused, “hope that I was wrong about my assessment of your situation.” Mortimer took a deep breath. “I feared all along that whatever power brought you here would also keep you here, though I had no proof. Had you been able to get back home then this would have been, like you assumed, nothing more than an ill-humored prank. However, seeing as how you are still here, despite what I gather were some rather desperate attempts to leave, we must assume this is intentional.”

Fear played on Joe’s features. The thought that someone was purposefully targeting him for a forced relocation to a city he’d never been to, and then keeping him prisoner in the same city, did not sit well with him. “How can you be sure?” Joe asked, the fear causing him to momentarily forget about his incident on the bridge.

“Tell me about what happened when you tried to leave. Did you try to catch a bus?”

“I did, but I couldn’t get a ticket out of town. All the Portland busses were full up, and when I found one heading to Boise it broke down and they re-routed the rescue buss away from Salem.”

Mortimer stroked his chin, “Hrm. Go on. What did you try next?”

“I went to go rent a car, but my cards declined. I had just used one at the bus depot without issue and then suddenly they won’t work.”

“Call your bank.” It wasn’t a question. Mortimer was giving Joe orders.

“When I tried calling I —”

“Call now. We’ll get to what happened when you called earlier. Quickly. Call.” The urgency in Mortimer’s voice caused Joe to fumble with his phone; he nearly dropped it on the phone. When he got through the phone directory maze and asked about his cards and why they declined the operator informed him that she had no such records of declined transactions, and that there were currently no problems with any of his cards. Confused Joe thanked the operator and hang up.

“I don’t get it,” Joe said. “She told me there were no declined transactions on my card. She found the one at the bus depot but nothing after that.”

“And you are sure he ran your cards.”

“Positive. I watched him do it. He swiped them a couple of times each.”

“So we know your cards are good according to your bank. We’ll check them out later. What happened after that?”

“After that I was on the bridge calling my bank when, don’t laugh, I ran into an invisible wall.” Mortimer didn’t show any reaction. “I felt along it over the railing and into traffic. I about got myself ran over. But even though I could feel a solid wall cars drove right through it like it wasn’t even there.” Mortimer’s lack of a response had Joe nervous. “You’ve got to believe me.”

“I believe you Joe. Unfortunately you have confirmed my worst fears.” Joe’s face fell as Mortimer said this. “Someone does not want you leaving Salem.”

Chapter Three

“So what do we do now?” Joe asked. “I mean what kind of a person could even do something like this?”

“That’s the question we have to answer: ‘Who is behind this?’ I think I have just the person who can help us.” Joe leaned forward in anticipation of getting up and going somewhere, but stopped when Mortimer didn’t so much as blink. “Joe, I am about to show you something few have seen. You must swear, on your very life, that you will tell no one about what you will see. Do you understand me?”

Joe sat back suddenly afraid. In his line of work he’d had to sign nondisclosure agreements before, but the seriousness with which Mortimer said, “on your very life” chilled Joe. He feared Joe meant it. “I, uh, guess.”

“I mean it Joe. You must not reveal this secret to anyone. To do so would break trust with people who value trust above all else.”

“Do I have any other choice?”

“I’m afraid not, Joe. The person I need to take you too will not come to you, so we must go to her.” Mortimer paused and stared straight into Joe’s eyes, making him feel as if Mortimer were peering into his soul. “This is a test of character. She will help if you are found to be worthy, but make no mistake,” Mortimer reached out and grasped Joe by the wrist. “In many cases the people whose trust you will be required to keep are more dangerous than the one who is keeping you here. Think about it Joe.”

Frustrated, and more than a little frightened, Joe snapped, “What other choice do I have?”

“For starters you could choose to stay here of your own free will.”

“What would that gain me?’

“Me for one.”

“What? I thought you said you were already on my side.”

“I am, but not in the same way I would be if you decided to reside in Salem. I am the Guardian of Salem, Joe. I protect all those who choose to live here. That choice grants me certain … abilities to act on your behalf. There are not many who have the power to oppose me in my city, nor in defense of one mine. As long as you call Springfield your home I am limited with what I can do.”

“I can’t do it Mortimer. I have a life somewhere else. I have a business, friends, even some family back in Springfield. I can’t stay.”

“Then you have no other choice if you want to leave. Will you swear to keep secret what I am about to show you?” Mortimer gave Joe a solemn faced stare.

Swallowing Joe nodded in agreement.

“You must say it Joe. We need a verbal contract.”

“I swear.”

Mortimer, satisfied with Joe’s vow, stood up from the table. “Come with me,” was all he said, as he strode out of the restaurant, not even throwing a glance behind him.

Joe hurried to follow Mortimer, briefly wondering if they were skipping out on the check, but as the wait staff waved after Mortimer he assumed there was a prior arrangement. Mortimer walked down the stairs, and quickly ducked around a corner past a vacant room. Joe hoped he was not being taken to meet some mafia godfather of Salem, who kept himself under a Greek restaurant. When Mortimer came to a halt in front of a blank wall Joe looked around confused. “Stay close behind me,” was all Mortimer said to Joe. He then placed his hand on the wall, and to Joe’s amazement that section of wall shifted back like it was door. Mortimer stepped through with Joe at his heels, the wall quietly, but swiftly, swinging back into place behind Joe.

Joe stood stock still, his jaw hung wide, mouth agape at the vista standing before him. Rather than the secret office he expected he found himself on a platform overlooking a vibrant and bustling city. An expanse far bigger than the building he just came from spread out before him. Below he saw brick paved streets, with lit lamps, three story buildings stacked side-by-side, some of them matching the architecture of the buildings Joe had been walking among all day. There were people milling about, going in and out of storefronts, opening windows on second and third story apartments, and in the distance Joe could just make out a modest school house and playground.

“Welcome to the Salem under Salem, or as some of us call it ‘Second City,’” boomed Mortimer.

“This … this is amazing,” Joe said with awe and wonder in his voice. “All this is under the streets of Salem?”

“All of it.”

“And no one knows about it?” Joe asked incredulous.

Mortimer chuckled. “Quite a few know about it, kid. All of us who live here know about it for starters, plus there are a number of rumors that float around from time-to-time.” He got serious and looked at Joe, “But few outsiders have ever seen it. We keep our existence as secret as we can, and our location even more so.”

“So what’s to stop someone from leaning against that wall back there and end up here?”

Mortimer grinned. “It’s not as easy as that. No one person can use the same door twice, and the doors change hourly. Plus, there are guards at the door.”

Joe looked around. “I don’t see anyone.”

Mortimer flashed Joe a wicked grin. “That’s the point kid. If you see them it’s too late.”

Joe swallowed the lump in his throat, understanding the threat. “What have I got myself into?” he thought to himself.

Mortimer reassuringly slapped Joe on the back. “Don’t worry kid, we’ll get you out of this alive.”

“Thanks,” Joe muttered back.

“Follow me. The person you need to meet lives in the heart of the town. We’d best hurry, time is of the essence.”

Posted by Seth Croston Barber at 11:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Sundays are typically the day I take some down time. After church my wife arranged to have my parents watch Emma and we went on a walking tour of some of the locales in my story. We had lunch at Boone’s Treasury, which is scheduled to make an appearance in Chapter 3 (though Chapter 3 may get split into 2 chapters). Despite the down time I did manage to pound out a little over 1,800 words, and I think I’ve learned a few things about me. First of all I do better if I can have two one thousand word writing sessions. Second, I can concentrate on my writing after Emma has gone to bed; even a nap or quiet time is still a bit of a distraction.

Here’s today’s progress on the story:

Joe followed Mortimer down the winding steps to the teeming city below. Now face-to-face with the streets a greater sense of awe and wonder overwhelmed him. Where the buildings and people seemed quite normal from his vantage point on the platform, down amongst the people milling about and the buildings standing proudly he came to realize how wrong his first impressions were. The buildings, while bearing a similarity to the architectural details he’d witnessed in other cities, had a style and a romance all their own; each building was a harmonious blend of at least two different architectural periods: baroque crossed with victorian, colonial mixed with art deco, craftsman combined with classical; Joe even spied an entire family of gargoyles nested in amongst the roofline of a building. Many buildings were impossibilities: entire floors were cantilevered out over open space without proper bracing, balconies that spanned more than one story, and yet were braced one against the other in some Escherian self-referential loop. One building even sported a perpetual staircase, and another a waterfall whose source flowed uphill. Joe’s head spun with the wonder of how buildings could be constructed that violate the natural laws of physics, let alone how they could be even useful to the denizens.

As strange as fantastical as the buildings were it was the people who lived in and among them that brought Joe to a standstill in the middle of the street. All around him were men and women of various sizes, shapes, and even colors. Joe had never considered himself short at 6’4” but people towered over him, easily twice his height. Others only came up to his knees, making Joe think of the little people his mother used to tell him about when he was a child. Few people dressed with contemporary styling; many went about in costumes Joe had only seen in history books, or read about in period novels. There were men in bowlers and silk hats, women in petticoats, boys in knickerbockers, and to Joe’s astonishment an entire regiment of men in kilts. In and amongst all this display of variety and diverse cultures and periods of history, no one thing stood out against such an eclectic backdrop, even the small contingent of albinos attired in pure white robes, didn’t stand out. There was but one who caught Joe’s eye, though it was brief and he doubted he saw it: a man walked into a store on the right side of the street, then briefly appeared on a balcony of a building on the opposite side, but Joe swore the man’s skin was royal blue.

As Joe was flagging behind Mortimer had to turn and shout Joe’s name several times, finally resorting to walking back to Joe and jolting him back to his senses with a clap on the shoulder.

“Sorry,” mumbled Joe. “It’s just so … unexpected. I lost my head.”

“You can lose a lot more than that if you stand about gawking at people. I warned you before, there are people here you do not want to cross. Some of them have short tempers, and some do not like to be stared at as if they were a circus side-show. Come along quickly now.” Mortimer grabbed Joe’s arm and escorted him through the busy street.

After a few minutes of winding their way through the city, passing through quarters with cobblestones and gas lights, brick and electric lights, and even large flagstones and candles, the came to a remarkable two story building. The second floor of the building was reminiscent of an old gypsy caravan wagon, the kind which fill folklore tales of ages past. The ground floor had thick wooden doric columns, covered in gold leaf, which gave off an air that someone important and powerful resided within; the building itself was painted a rich red, and the many bay windows were filled with small diamond shaped panes of crystal, each catching the flickering candlelight within and casting a shimmering rainbow without. Joe immediately knew that whoever lived here must surely be able to help, but he couldn’t help but wonder if they would be willing. “Surely someone who is as important as all this must be too busy to help me,” Joe thought to himself. “I’ve read enough of The Brother’s Grimm to know I’ll be sent off on a quest to satisfy some crone’s whims.” Joe chuckled aloud.

Mortimer looked at Joe quizzically, “Something funny, kid?”

Embarrassed at being caught in his amusement Joe attempted to cover it up. “Nothing really. It’s just this place reminds me of some fairy tales I used to read as a kid.”

Mortimer nodded sagely. “Don’t believe everything you read in books.” Joe grinned and nodded. Seeing this Mortimer added, “But in this case, you should.” With that Mortimer walked up to the door and using the gold knocker announced their presence. Joe stood rooted to his spot, dreading who or what would answer the door.

“What did he mean by that?” he wondered to himself. “Surely he’s just jerking my chain. But then again, look at this place, this whole city. Who knows what fairy tales I’ll run into down here.”

Just as Joe was regaining his courage the door swung open, revealing an empty foyer. Mortimer stepped inside, then turned his head and said to Joe, “Are you coming? It’s too late to change your mind now. She already knows you’re.” There was a hint of something sinister in Mortimer’s voice as he said these words, and the dread of what might happen to him made Joe walked forward into the house. As soon as he cleared the doorway the door swung shut behind him. Startled he turned around expecting to face an old crone, or at the very least a wizened old butler. Instead there was nothing there.

“This way. She’s upstairs,” Mortimer said, and began ascending a sweeping curved staircase.

Joe swallowed, desperately trying to convince himself that he’d be alright no matter what happened, yet with trepidation he surmounted the stairs, his dread increasing with each labored step. Mortimer waited for him on the landing at the top of the stairs, silent and imposing, his expression giving no indication of what Joe was about to face. An imposing pair of ornately carved double doors stood firmly shut at the top of the stairs. Each door was covered in scenes from fairy tales, some of them decided not suitable for the little eyes of children. The entire tableau served to intimidate Joe, who was already uneasy about his oath, Mortimer’s warnings about the people who dwelled here, and the weird power behind his current predicament. With deliberate steps Mortimer walked over to the doors, slowly turned the gold handles, and pushed the doors open.

A bluish cloud of smoke wafted out onto the landing. It smelled sweet, and vaguely of apples. Joe could see incense burning in the room beyond the imposing doors, and wondered what manner of creature this person was, and what fell rites she performed in this hidden world of impossibilities. For a brief moment the thought crossed Joe’s mind that this person here might be the very person responsible for his being in Salem. That caused a shudder to ripple its way down his spine. Deciding it was far too late to have second thoughts he put one foot in front of the other and shuffled his way through the doors, which mercifully did not close on their own.

Joe peered around him trying to get his bearings. He stood in what appeared to be another foyer. Cabinets and display cases stood on either side of him, proudly housing an impressive array of curios and statuary. Some of the baubles Joe recognized from art history courses he took in college, but others were wholly new, obviously the work of mind not quite normal. Everything was lit by candles and lanterns, the flickering light of a fire casting a warm, pleasant, and comfortable glow onto everything. The many flames, added to the incense burning, added a certain heaviness to the atmosphere. Had Joe not been keyed up to either fight or run he might have succumbed to an involuntary nap. Joe could not see into the room for a series of silk curtains hung at the end of the foyer, and beyond that there appeared to be embroidered tapestries hung to form a box in the middle of the room.

“Is this the young man?” came a silky feminine voice from somewhere deep in the room.

“It is,” came the recognizable voice of Mortimer.

“Welcome to my parlor … ” the woman said.

Joe finished the sentence in his head, “… said the spider to the fly,” and braced himself to run out the door.

“No need for that, young man,” the silky voice intoned. “I am no spider. But if you would be so kind as to shut the door?” It was hardly a request and more of a polite command, and Joe complied, not sure why he did so.

“Come in, come in. You’ll be far more comfortable in here, I assure you,” she said with such assurance that Joe had no doubt she liked her young men relaxed, as they probably tasted better. No sooner had the thought crossed his mind then she giggled, a sound much like the sound of thousands of tiny glass beads falling into a still pool of icy water. It was at once pleasant, and disarming, and yet disconcerting, as if she might be toying with her food.

Mortimer’s strong voice broke out, “Will you waste her time and mine? Come!”

Figuring his fate was sealed Joe parted the silk curtains and, like a man walking to his doom, trudged up to the embroidered tapestries. He had but a moment to realize that the scenes depicted on these hanging curtains were a continuation on the theme set by the doors: fairy tales of all cultures were depicted in every possible detail, filling the expansive tapestry with hundreds if not thousands of tales. Steeling his nerves as best he could Joe put out a shaking hand and made just enough of a hole for him to walk through and stopped. The face that greeted him on the other side of the curtain was Mortimer’s, contorted into the most extreme expression of humor Joe had ever seen: Mortimer was laughing.

Joe’s face turned red. “You should see yourself,” Mortimer said through laughter. “You look like you are about to walk to your death.”

Embarrassed Joe retorted, “You were the one who warned me dangerous people lived here, and that I might be in mortal peril if I crossed them.”

Mortimer chuckled. “I also told you I would protect you. No one down here will do anything to harm you while you are with me. That’s the Law down here. It’s true there are dangerous people here, but none more than I, and I am your ally. I am sorry for the cruelty, but it was necessary that you take this seriously, and soberly. Besides,” Mortimer winked, “I couldn’t resist.” Mortimer pulled Joe in and clapped him on the back. “Come in. Sit. I would like you meet Katarina Keystone.”

Posted by Seth Croston Barber at 11:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I only managed another 1,800 words today. I hit a spot in my plot where I’m still fuzzy on the details. I’m hoping a good night’s sleep and a fresh brain will help tomorrow. I’m also nearing the end of the plotting I’ve already done, which means I will need to work on that sooner rather than later. I fear this week may be slow going the entire time. I’m a little behind, still trying to make up for starting on day 2, but I’m still plugging away. And with that today’s words:

Katarina was not the old crone Joe expected. Much to his surprise she had all the appearance of youth, her hair was blonde, cascading down her head in loose ringlets; her face had no hint of wrinkles, but was smooth and clear; her eyes sparked with mirth and bore all the signs of a carefree outlook on life; her overall figure, what portions he could see, draped as it was in layer upon layer of silks, satin, and lace, was trim, like that of someone used to walking many hours in a week. Joe could not decide whether he were in love or terrified that someone so young and beautiful could be powerful enough to help him.

“Not the old crone you were expecting?” Katarina asked with a playful smile.

Joe shook his head. “No. I mean, well …” he trailed off.

Katarina laughed with genuine delight. “I take it as a compliment. Please do sit and make yourself comfortable. You are among friends. Many people, upon first meeting me here at my place of residence, expect the old crone the decorations suggest. I find it useful, as people have a greater respect for the old crone of fairy tales than for a young woman, wouldn’t you agree?”

Joe nodded, then hastened to add, “Not that I aren’t deserving of respect.”

Katarina cast him a sly smile then looked up at Mortimer. “My my, what a flatterer you have brought me this time Guardian. I may have to keep him.” Seeing Joe’s immediate discomfort she laughed. “Relax, relax. Flattery, while kind, is not necessary.”

“Look, I, uh, don’t mean to be rude but,” Joe began.

“Oh dear,” Katarina said raising a hand to her mouth. “Where have my manners gone. You’d think I don’t entertain guests anymore. Mortimer, would you be so kind as to pour us all some tea? You will have tea, won’t you Joseph. I can call you Joseph?”

“Sure, only …”

“Don’t think anything of it. We’ll have a nice cup of tea while we wait.”

Joe blinked. “Wait? Wait for what?”

“Patience dear Joseph. Patience,” she said with a wink. “All in due time. Tea first. Answers later.”

Joe blew out a breath in nervous frustration. Katarina made him nervous, not least because she was hauntingly beautiful. He was in a city that shouldn’t exist, talking with people who for all the world seemed to have the power and ability to ruin or bless his life. He knew better than to flirt with Katarina, but that didn’t tell him how he should behave toward her.

Mortimer, having poured everyone a steaming cup of chamomile tea, settled himself rather delicately on an overstuffed cushion. Katarina raised her cup up to her nose and inhaled deeply. “Ah my dear Guardian you still make the best cup of tea. Are you sure you will not reconsider my offer?”

Mortimer smiled and bowed his head at Katarina. “No my lady. As rewarding as it would be, I am better suited, for the moment, to be the Guardian.”

Katarina sighs, “You are right of course, but do find time more often to come by for a social call,” she said with a wink. Turning her attention to Joe she said, “It is not often I get to welcome a designer of such skill into my home. Tell me, what do you think of it?”

Joe quickly replied, “It’s nice.” Sensing that answer would not suffice he added, “It’s quite warm.”

“Come come, you can do better than that. Surely they taught you better than that.” Joe shifted uncomfortably on his cushion. Katarina leaned forward and stage whispered, “Myself, I have my doubts about a few elements. I’m hoping you could advise me.”

“Interior design isn’t really my forte,” Joe began.

“Nonsense. Design is design. Unless you are saying you are not up to the task … ?” she said playfully.

Bristling slightly Joe said, “There is and uncomfortable lack of symmetry in your foyer. One display case is slightly longer than the other. Furthermore, this exaggerates the already unbalanced feel of the artwork on display, as one side is more heavily loaded than the other. Even though they both have the same number of items you lack a balance of weights, as some are more imposing than others.” Joe eyed Katarina carefully as he said this. “Though I suspect you may have done this on purpose as a subliminal attack on your guests. I’m sure you find it helpful to keep people off balance.” Katarina calmly sipped her tea.

“Your use of organic materials, the woods and textiles, is well done, but the occasional touch of gold is garish. A colder iron or bronze would have been more in keeping with the feel of the room overall.” Joe paused, furrowing his brows. He turned around and moving one of the curtains stuck his head out and surveyed the room, then ducked back in staring intently at Katarina. “Unless I am terribly mistaken, this room appears larger than it should be, which is a great effect, though I confess I don’t know how you did it.”

Katarina smiled with obvious delight. “Thank you for your honest appraisal Joseph. But you are wrong about your assessment of my foyer. I had no intention of throwing people off-balance. I shall have to consider how I might better arrange my collection.”

Finished with her tea she set the cup aside. “Now is the time for more serious conversations. I know much already about your plight, but I would like to hear it from your lips, with as much detail as you can.”

Joe recounted his morning to Katarina, starting with his walk through downtown Springfield. He explained about the Greyhound buses, and his ticket purchase, then about car rental failure. Upon mentioning the large hulking man at the Governor’s Cup and how he suddenly disappeared Mortimer took notice. He finished up his narrative with the vow Mortimer made him take before entering.

Katarina looked directly into Joe’s eyes, “I feel as if you’ve left something out of your story. It’s not complete.”

Joe shook his head puzzling over what he might have missed. “I’m pretty sure I told you everything.”

“Ah but you’ve left out the other people.”

Joe frowned. “What other people?”

“The other people in the coffee shop, or at the bus depot, or at the car rental place, or on the street, or even here as you walked to my house.”

Joe paused and considered. “There were just a few people in the coffee shop, but I honestly didn’t pay attention. The bus depot was empty as far as I could tell. There was an elderly couple at the rental place that I had to wait on.” Joe thought some more. “That’s about it.”

“What did they look like, the elderly couple?”

“I didn’t get a good look at them,” Joe shrugged. “Just your average elderly couple. He was bald and she had that curly grey grandma hair, you know?”

Katrina narrowed her eyes at this but continued. “And you can think of no one who would want to keep you here? You aren’t working on anything important at the moment?”

“Nothing actually. I’ve got a few proposals out, and I have a meeting with a prospect tomorrow, but nothing serious.”

Mortimer interrupted, “Nothing?” he asked Katarina. She shook her head. “I was afraid of that.”

“Afraid of what?” Joe asked.

“Your life is an open book to me, Joseph Cumberland, right up until yesterday evening.”

“Yesterday? Why yesterday?”

Katarina picked up her empty tea cup and gazed into it. “Because whatever brought you here, and is keeping you here, started yesterday.” She set the cup down again.

“Wait, you said my life is an open book. What did you mean by that?”

Katarina fixed him with a gaze. “I can see your life as plainly as I can read a book.” Joe looked unconvinced. “For instance I know you buried your pet dog, Muffin, in your backyard as a kid.” Joe moved, about to protest. “I also know she was closer to you than your own family, and her death affected you. You’ve never had another pet.” She paused for effect, “Nor will you again.”

Joe was not entirely convinced, though he was shaken and disturbed by the reminder of Muffin. “Neat trick. Can you tell me what tomorrow’s lottery numbers are too?”

Katarina just smiled wickedly, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Joe, perturbed and unsettled, turned to Mortimer, “This was your idea of help? A fake psychic?”

“I am no psychic, Joseph. In truth I’m not sure what I am, but I know what I can do. Had you drove into town I would have seen that. Had you been abducted by ordinary means, I would have seen that. Had you been,” she paused giving a questioning glance at Mortimer, then continued cautiously, “displaced by more exotic means I would have seen that too.”

“What are you trying to say?” Joe asked, confused and angry for it.

“She’s trying to say that whoever, or whatever, did this to you has extraordinary abilities,” Mortimer answered.

“Correct. And that narrows down the field quite a bit.”

“Why do I get the feeling this is not good?”

“To be frank, it isn’t,” Mortimer said bluntly. “If we were dealing with a garden variety situation here, by our standards, Katarina could identify and locate the person for us. However, given that she cannot we not only have more work to do, but it also means we must tread lightly.”

“Because the guy responsible has some serious mojo?” Joe asked.

“Something like that,” Mortimer replied.

“So what do we do now? I mean, how does this help? We still don’t know who, or what, we are dealing with. No offense, Katarina,” Joe quickly added.

“I’m afraid we are left with few options,” Katarina said. “The nature of your predicament is most peculiar. I do not believe it was any coincidence you were chosen, nor that you ended up here, in Salem. There is something about this place that is important in keeping you here, and there is something important about you whereby you must be kept away from something else.”

“What about Amanda? She was laying it on rather thick that I should stay. Could she be behind this?”

“Amanda?” Katarina asked. “The girl at the bus depot? I shouldn’t think so.”

“Are you sure? She was rather adamant that I stay.”

Mortimer grinned wolfishly, “She likes you kid. She doesn’t want to see you go until she’s tired of you.”

Turning to Mortimer Katarina asked, “Can you arrange it?”

“I can. It may take some time,” Mortimer stated matter-of-factly.

“Arrange what?” Joe asked.

“We need to consult The Archives,” Katrina said. “They should give us a clue as to why you appeared here.”

Mortimer stood up. “Katarina, it was a pleasure as always.”

“You’re leaving?” Joe asked, fear creeping into his voice.

Mortimer put a reassuring hand on Joe’s shoulder. “I must if you are to gain entrance today. You are in good hands with Katarina.”

Posted by Seth Croston Barber at 11:17 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I found myself coming dangerously close to the end of the plot I had already outlined, so I spent some time today working on finishing the outline. I didn’t actually finish it, but I have a far better idea of how the rest of the story shapes up, in less broad strokes this time. All that plotted did hurt my productivity, as I had hoped to have a 3,000 word day. Instead I managed 1700 words.

I funny thing happened while writing tonight. I found an interstitial scene I had not planned for, and Joe surprised me by unloading all his pent up emotion. When I started writing it I was surprised and quite happy. It felt natural, after all, how in the world is Joe holding it together at this point int the story? I’d be pinching myself hoping I was in a dream by now.

My inner critic is begging me to make a note that I have spent far too much time telling the reader Joe is confused. We get it. He’s confused. Quit telling us all the time. Thing is, it’s words and that’s all I need to care about now. I’ll fix it in revision.

Speaking of revisions I expect I’ll be shuffling the chapter boundaries while I revise this thing. I think I finished Chapter 3 tonight and started in on Chapter 4, but as this was not my original plan I may change that too.

Enough talk.

Mortimer strode out of the room, leaving Joe alone. “Your tea will get cold,” Katarina said softly. Her entire demeanor changed with Mortimer’s departure. Where once she was commanding and imposing she was now soft and gentile. Under normal circumstances Joe would have found this alluring and attractive, but today’s events had him rattled, and Katarina scared him silly.

“Thanks,” Joe muttered and took a sip. He’d never been a fan of tea, finding far too many snobs among tea drinkers, but the cup of tea he was drinking shocked him. It was light yet the flavor was bold, tasting nothing of flavored water. “Hey, this is quite good,” he said, despite himself.

“I’m glad you like it. I grow my own chamomile plants. It’s rewarding to create something, especially something wonderful.”

“I agree,” Joe said enthusiastically. “It’s why I do what I do. There’s nothing quite like the thrill of creating. Where once there was nothing, just a blank space, with some hard work and inspiration, voila!” Joe gestured wildly the tea sloshing in his cup. Embarrassed he apologized profusely, fear gripping his heart at what she might do to him, “I’m so sorry! Let me clean it up.” He looked around for something to use as a rag but found nothing but silks and embroidery.

“Don’t worry about it. It happens far more often than you know,” Katarina said dismissively. “Tell you what,” she said matter-of-factly, “why don’t you stay here and finish your tea, while I find something more appropriate to wear Topside.” She stood up.

Joe was confused. “Topside?”

“Yes. The Archives are not down here.”

“Why not?”

“All in due time. You finish your tea before it gets too cold. I’ll be back before you know it.” She walked through the back curtains, gracefully navigating the cushions, giving off the impression that she was floating over them, rather than walking through them.

“Huh. I don’t know there were any rooms back there,” Joe thought to himself. Joe took the time he had alone to collect himself, and to finish his tea. He found that it had a soothing effect on him, and briefly hoped it was not poisoned or drugged, but then recalled that everyone else had some, and relaxed, allowing the tea to calm him down.

At precisely the same moment Joe finished his tea Katarina reappeared. The transformation was a bit jarring; whereas moments ago Katarina was the poster child for the alluring gypsy woman who led men to their downfall with the flicker of an eyelash, there now stood a rather nondescript, though still stunningly attractive woman clad in a simple pink knit sweater and jeans. Joe could not help staring at her. “You approve?” she asked, a bit shy. “It’s been ages since I’ve been Topside, and I’m not entirely sure of the current fashions.”

“No, you look fine,” Joe said then instantly berated himself.

“Fine huh?” Katarina said, her face betraying a hint of disappointment. Joe stammered trying to recover. Katarina laughed. “Fine is exactly what we want. We don’t want to draw a lot of attention to ourselves. After all, we need to pass as just another couple walking through the streets of Salem. Think we can pull that off?”

Joe gulped. “A couple?”

Katarina nodded. “At the very least good friends. It would be perilous to rouse suspicion,” she said nonchalantly. “Are you ready?”

“Sure,” Joe stood up. “Where would you like me to put the tea cup?”

“You may leave it. It’ll be taken care of. Shall we?” she offered her arm to Joe who cautiously took it.

Joe exited Katarina’s home with her arm entwined with his. He was unsure and clearly uncomfortable, but kept telling him to treat this like any other date, hoping he could trick himself into forgetting all the extenuating circumstances; unfortunately his brain wouldn’t fall for it. As the strode through the streets, at a much more casual pace this time, Joe became painfully aware he was coming under public scrutiny. Many people would whisper as they walked past; there were open stares, cheerful greetings, nervous waves, and more than a few glares of outright hostility. No small number of people stopped Katarina in the streets asking how long she would be gone; none of them asked if she were leaving, they only asked how long she would be gone. Despite her assurance that it would only be for a few hours the people would respond with concern. “You take care, you know how dangerous it can be,” was interspersed with, “Must you go?” and “Heavens! Come back to us safely.” The women would fawn over Katarina like a mother encouraging her child to wear a sweater; the men would look Joe up and down then glare at him in the eyes and give him a speech about protecting their Katarina, always with a veiled threat should anything bad befall her. Not a person argued with Katarina, though clearly they wished she would not go, nor did they trust Joe to protect her; each one acquiesced to Katarina’s cheerful agreement that she was going Topside. It gave Joe pause to wonder, “Who is she to these people that they both dolt over her and yet respect her?”

When they got to the edge of the town, and the townsfolk had finally left them alone Joe blew out his breath. “You’d think I was taking you out on a date, or asking for your hand in marriage the way they carried on.”

Katarina turned to look at Joe. “That’s exactly what we are doing,” she stated. Joe stopped in his tracks, the color beginning to drain out of his face. Realizing what Joe was thinking Katarina laughed gaily. “The date part. Not the marriage part,” she said with a squeeze of his arm. He didn’t move.

“What date? I thought we were going to The Archives.”

Katarina sighed. “We are. But we are posing as a couple out on a date. So for all intents and purposes we might as well be going out on date.” Joe still stood rigidly. Katarina frowned, a twinge of hurt at the corner of her eyes, “It’s me isn’t it? You like girls, that is plain enough to me.”

Joe tried to catch his mental balance before blundering into something he could not undo. “It’s … well to be frank I didn’t expect this.”

“The date?”

“The date, this city underneath Salem, my being trapped here, my being here in the first place,” Joe exploded. “I woke up this morning sure that the world was a normal and sane place, and that I was a normal and sane average Joe living in it. I had a happy little life, nothing extraordinary, but perfectly normal. And now I’m deep underground, in a city that should not exist — cannot exist — with a woman who I’m told is dangerous, and who all the town reveres, and I’m supposed to be okay with just casually going out on a date with her, all so that she can fix my life and send me back home like none of this happened? How in the world am I supposed to cope with something like that?” Joe shouted, turning his back to Katarina.

Katarina nodded, a kindness and understanding in her expression, “It’s a lot to take in. I know, and I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. At least I hope it’s not. But the more this goes on the more I realize I’ll never be able to go back to my old life. The more I discover about this place, about the world I live in, the more I feel my mind slip away from me.”

Katarina walked up to Joe and took his hand. “You won’t go mad, I can promise you that much. I cannot promise you won’t be unchanged, you will be, but you will not go mad.”

Joe turned around and looked at her, “How can you be sure?”

“It’s what I do, it’s who I am. I can read you like a book, and you don’t go mad … not from this.”

Joe eyed her suspiciously. “Thanks. I think. I’m starting to wonder if maybe I should just forget trying to leave and settle down like Amanda suggested. Quit while I’m ahead and the world isn’t too bizzare, you know?”

“You’ll get through this. We will get you through this. And when it’s over, there will be a place for you here, in Salem.”

“There would be anyway one of you could make me forget could you? You know, erase my memory?”

Katarina looked at him concerned. “Some claim to be able to do that, though I’m not sure it’s the best idea.”

“It’s just a thought.” Joe stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Enough stalling. Let’s get this date started.”

Chapter Four

Joe squinted as the bright sunlight poured down into his eyes. Shielding his eyes with his hands he looked around clearly confused, surprised, and feeling his tenuous grasp on reality slipping. He was not in the Reed Opera House where he had entered. From the looks of things he was in and amongst some houses under an overpass, near the river. He spied a park a short distance away. Panic began to set in when he realized he was alone again. Katarina was nowhere to be seen. Just as he was about to give up an curl into a little ball a hand found his and squeezed it reassuringly.

“Sorry,” a voice whispered in his ear. “I was detained momentarily as we exited.” Joe looked down at the hand holding his then up the arm to the smiling face of Katarina. Fear and panic were evident on his face. “Oh dear. Are you okay? Did something happen?” Katarina asked in flurry of concern.

Joe shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. “I was in the Opera House when I entered. I expected to end up there again. Then I was alone and realized I had no idea where we are going. It’s all very disorienting.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said, squeezing his hand. “I thought you knew about the doors. I should have warned you.”

“Mortimer told me they reset every hour, but, well you just get used to going in one door and coming out the same place you went in, that’s all.”

“Yes, well, I still should have warned you. Most of us know where the active door is. A few of us can shift them at will. Nonetheless we best be going. We have a bit of a walk ahead of us.

Posted by Seth Croston Barber at 12:01 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I am officially ahead of schedule! If I don’t write at all tomorrow I will still be ahead by a couple hundred words! This feels good, especially given that I have a meeting tomorrow and I may not get to write.

I officially ended Chapter 3 last night but I was too tired and did not have the time to publish the ePub and PDF versions. They are now online, for those of you who prefer to read that way.

I found myself in an interesting situation in today’s writing. For a while I had a scene scheduled for Boone’s Treasury (which is a lovely old brick building with an interesting history, the details of which I’ve forgotten), but until today I did not know what was going to happen in that scene. I wanted to place The Archives in relation to Boone’s but that didn’t give me anything to actually do in Boone’s. Then it hit me: this was a perfect time for Joe to learn about Katarina. And thus a scene I was sure I was going to axe entirely during revision will probably survive to some degree.

Without further ado, that scene (and more):

They walked until they came upon a brick building in a triangular patch of ground. The sign said it was Boone’s Treasury. Looking through the windows it appeared to be a restaurant, or a bar. It was one huge open room, with a bar and kitchen in the back. Katarina cheerfully announced, “This is the place.”

“You sure,” Joe said, eying the place suspiciously. “It looks like a bar to me.”

Katarina turned to Joe her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “We are on a date after all. Where else would a young couple go but to the local pub?”

“I thought we were going to The Archives,” Joe protested.

Katarina pouted playfully, “You don’t want to be seen with me, is that it?” Joe began to protest. “Relax,” she said with a wink. “We still don’t have access yet. The way to The Archives is upstairs, above the pub. We’ve got some time to kill while Guardian finishes with the arrangements. So what do you say? Do we go in and look like a couple out on a date, or do we stand outside and look like a couple ending their last date?”

Joe pulled open the door, “After you,” he said, waving her in. Joe followed Katarina into the nearly empty pub. They sat down at the only table next to the antique wood burning stove.

“This is my favorite feature of this pub,” Katarina remarked, nodding at the stove. “They don’t make them like this anymore.” She looked over the menu and said, “I don’t suppose you’re hungry, given your late lunch with … Mortimer. How about a couple of appetizers and pint, or two?” she asked.

Joe smiled and nodded. “Sounds fine dear. Whatever you want,” he said, mockingly getting into character.

Katarina merely nodded and set the menu down and caught the eye of the waitress. She ordered for the two of them, and Joe was mildly impressed when she ordered two pints of their Terminator Stout commenting to the waitress that it alone was worth coming to the pub. The waitress left and the two sat in silence. Joe looked around the room; Katarina looked at Joe.

Katarina broke the silence. “If you decide to stay, there is another pub in Salem, same chain, that makes milkshakes with their stout in it.”

“A beer milkshake?” Joe asked incredulously.

“It’s far better than it sounds. You should try it.”

“I’ll make a note of it,” Joe said dismissively. “How will we know when we can go to The Archives?”

Katarina looked genuinely hurt. “You really don’t want to be on this date do you? Even if it is fake.”

Joe snapped to attention, “It’s not that,” he hastily said. “It’s just — ” At that precise moment the waitress came by with their drinks and the appetizers. After she left Joe tried again. “I’m sorry. You are right. I’m not being the best of company right now.”

Katarina smiled and look a long drink. “I’ll just know.”

“Pardon?”

“When we have permission to go to The Archives,” she explained. “I’ll just know. I can’t explain it any better than that.”

“Fair ‘nuff,” Joe said his mouth full of a hot tatter tot. The tot proved too hot for Joe and he sucked in air trying to cool down his burning mouth. Finally he resorted to liquid cooling and took a mouthful of stout.

Katarina was giggling at Joe’s wild antics. “Too hot for you?”

Joe nodded. “Hot but good.”

“And the stout?”

“Good, but I can’t imagine anyone putting this in a milkshake.” Joe paused and thoughtfully considered Katarina. “I know next to nothing about you, but you apparently know everything there is to know about me.”

“Is that a question?” Katarina asked playfully.

“Where do you come from?”

“Here.”

“You’ve been here your whole life?”

“No. I was born in a small village somewhere in Eastern Europe.”

“So your parents moved to Salem?”

“Not exactly. I never knew my parents. They were taken from me when I was a little girl. The man I know as father, he moved to Salem and I came with him.”

“Why Salem?”

“Why not Salem? Is there some better place?”

“Apparently not. I mean, why am I here unless Salem is important somehow.”

“It is the capital of Oregon.”

“That hardly seems important unless you are part of the government, or into politics.”

“And you think I am not?”

Joe was caught off guard. “I thought you — and your people — were trying to stay off the radar, so to speak.”

“And you think we can do that without politics?”

“I had thought you wouldn’t want the government’s scrutiny. To invite them into your world is to invite, well the world into your world.”

“And that is precisely why we must maintain an interest in politics. We must ensure that the government doesn’t care to find out about us.”

“So what? The governor is really one of you?”

“Nothing so obvious and blatant as that. We merely try to keep the government busy pursuing other interests.”

“Such as?”

“I’m not at liberty to say,” she replied in a manner that told Joe that conversation thread was closed.

“So I get why Salem, but why Oregon? Why not some other state?”

Katarina shrugged. “For the simple reason that this is where we found ourselves.”

“I don’t get what you mean. Didn’t you decide to come to Oregon?”

“We all did, but not for some unified reason. Have you ever wondered how and why cities grow? Or wondered how a town becomes a ghost town? People move to a city for all kinds of reasons. In our case there was a critical mass of folks like us all in one place, and when Oregon became a state, well we made sure we were part of the proceedings.”

“So you’ve been around, living underneath Salem, since the beginning.”

“Since our beginning anyway. The Archives would have the exact date, but from quite early on, yes.”

Joe pondered this for a while, “Where exactly is Second City?”

“It’s underneath us.”

“So if I started digging right here I’d eventually end up there?”

Katarina put her finger on her chin and considered. “Maybe not this exact spot, no, but around here, sure.”

“How is it no one else has found you if you’ve been here all this time.”

“We have ways of hiding our existence and circumventing any probes in our general direction.”

“Are there other cities with cities like yours underneath them?”

Katarina laughed delicately. “Oh my yes. We aren’t one of a kind dear Joseph. It would be a sad and uninteresting world if we were the only ones out there. Besides, think of the conflict.”

“What do you mean?”

“Joseph, you are here because one of our kind has done this to you. At least that is the most likely scenario. While I and Mortimer are opposed to such treatment clearly there are those out there who would stoop to such levels. If you were to try to make all of us live in the same city … consider the turmoil and conflict.”

“I think I get it.”

“Each Second City has it’s own … flavor if you will. Every one is built around a common ethical code. It’s not binding like an oath, but it gives guidance to the way people will conduct themselves. Think of it more as a series of clans. Each Second City stands for something and has a reputation, and operates with a unity of purpose and, for the most part, a unity of conduct — though there are always the rebels.”

“So what about Salem. What does it stand for?”

“I thought that would have been obvious by now. First and foremost we protect our own, not just those of us in Salem but our own kind in and out of Salem. We also protect those who are seeking refuge from our kind, or who have been wronged by our kind — such as yourself. We also, like the name of the city, care about peace. Much of what we do is work to ease tensions between cities, and between our kind and your kind.”

“So if you and I are not alike — if we are different ‘kinds’ — what are you? Are you human?”

“Quite human,” she said with disarming smile. “But each of us has some ability, or some deformity, that sets us apart. We’re each extraordinary in some way.”

“This is beginning to sound like a comic book.”

“We actually have more in common with fairy tales than with comic books.”

“So that’s why you have all those fairy tale images around you,” Joe said, understanding flooding him.

Katarina beamed, “It’s to remind me that thought we are not so different we can easily be reviled. It reminds me that my kind needs protection from fear, and it reminds me of the power of fear, and what an entire community gripped by fear can do.” She fell silent, withdrawing into herself, staring into her empty pint glass.

“So who are you to your kind? And don’t try to tell me you aren’t important. They wouldn’t have acted the way they did if you were a nobody.”

“I am something of a leader figure to them. My ability lends itself in that direction.”

“Must be quite a burden for someone your age.”

“It has its drawbacks, and its rewards. But in the end I am needed, and I am useful. I have a responsibility, a duty. I was raised not to turn away from such things.”

Katarina turned her head as if listening for something. “The arrangements have been made. Finish up, then pay the nice lady, dear,” she said with a wink. “I’ll be in the lady’s room.” She got up, sauntering toward the bathrooms, and told the waitress they were ready for their check.

“It’s a date alright,” Joe quietly said to himself.

Joe met Katarina outside the pub. On the side of the building was a flight of stairs leading to a door on the second floor. All throughout the meal Joe wondered how archives going back one hundred years could be housed in such a small location. He had frequently looked up at the ceiling wondering what was just beyond the boards, and concluding they couldn’t be too heavy. As he ascended the stairs behind Katarina his excitement grew. He steeled himself for something bizarre and fantastic, he even prepared himself to walk through the door and end up somewhere completely different. Katarina opened the door without knocking and stepped inside. Joe took a breath, held it, and stepped through.

As Joe looked around the room he now stood in he let out his breath in disappointment. The room was plain, ordinary even. He was standing in well lit, but rather small reception room. A vigorous but ancient looking man sat behind an imposing wall of a desk, the only piece of furniture available, looking at them. His attitude and bearing gave Joe the impression he knew they were coming right at that moment. The rest of the room was unadorned walls, and solid doors, shut tight and giving off the impression they were probably locked. The room was uninviting and generally had a feeling that you were not welcome, no matter who you are.

“Hello Chauncey, you are looking well,” Katarina said by way of greeting.

“And you look as splendid as ever Katarina. And this must be the young gentleman I was told about?”

“Chauncey, I would like to to meet Joe Cumberland, a freelance designer. Joe, this is the Keeper of The Archives.”

“Pleased to meet you, son,” Chauncey said to Joe, politely nodding his head.

“Pleased to meet you,” Joe responded, similarly nodding in Chauncey’s direction.

Chauncey turned his attention to Katarina, “What can I help you with today?”

“We are looking for anything related to bindings.”

Chauncey whistled. “There’s quite a bit of information on that. Can you narrow it down a little?”

“Yes. We’re also looking for any record of a seer’s vision being blocked.”

Chauncey scratched his head. “I don’t recall having anything about the two of them together. But we do have a little bit of information about how to block visions which you might find helpful.”

“I’m sure it will help immensely. Where might we find them?”

“Third quadrant, second aisle, box 52c will be your best bet. You remember the way?” Chauncey asked hopefully.

“It hasn’t been that long you old dog,” Katarina said playfully. “We’ll find it without trouble.”

“Can’t blame me for trying,” he said as he set a key on the counter of his desk.

“Maybe next time,” Katarina said, resting her hand on his as she grabbed the key. “This way Joe,” she said over her shoulder as she walked to a door opposite the one they came in through.

Posted by Seth Croston Barber at 11:44 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I knew coming into today that I would not get much time to write. What I did not know was that I would not get any rest the entire day. I’ve been up for 16 hours and I’ve yet to relax. I’m beat and exhausted, so my almost 1,200 words seems like an accomplishment. I’m still ahead, but not as far ahead as I was yesterday. I’m only a couple hundred words shy of 20,000 which I’ll easily do tomorrow.

Here is today’s slim pickings:

Joe silently cursed himself as he stepped through the door, unprepared, and discovered this one lead to a vast cavernous room the ends of which he could not discern. Just to the right of the door was a small writing table, empty apart from a cheap ballpoint pen sitting atop a single sheet of yellowed paper. The rest of the space, as far as Joe could see, was consumed with cyclopean shelves the tops of which loomed high enough above him that anything housed up there was as good as lost to Joe. There were ladders here and there available for ascending the mountainous heights, and Joe sincerely hopped what they were looking for was closer to ground level.

“It’s a bit dominating at first,” Katarina said reassuringly. “Giants originally constructed it — the sweet dears — but their lack of perspective for us average height folks left us with this,” she pointed upwards. “Not to worry though. Most of the materials kept up there are only of interest to giants. What we are looking for will be far more accessible.” She began walking down the aisle then looked to her left. “I believe we go this way,” she checked to her right. “Yes. Definitely this way.”

“You are sure you know where we are going? I’d rather not get lost you know. I have a feeling it would take a search and rescue team to find us.”

“I’m sure,” Katarina called out, in her best reassuring voice. “It has been some years since I’ve been here. I only needed to jog my memory as they say. As to getting lost, well, the Keeper knows where all things are at all times, as long as they are in The Archives. That includes people.”

“He knows where we are right now?”

“Yes. So even if you don’t know where you are, he will always know exactly where to find you.”

“Sounds like the ultimate surveillance system.”

Katarina nodded. “This is his domain. Here he is master of all, and as such he knows all that goes on inside his domain. Don’t let his kind exterior fool you. If you so much as dog-ear a page in any one of these books he’d flay you alive.”

Joe sighed and rubbed his temples. “You know, it’s a bad sign when I take a statement like that literally instead of metaphorically.”

“Literal or metaphorical one should not want to face any negative consequence.”

They walked on in silence for a time. As they walked Joe studied the shelves, not just for their contents, which were an amazing array of scrolls, folios, leather bound books, wood bound books, notebooks, and all manner of carved, chiseled, and shaped materials, but for their impressive similarity from one shelf to the next. Each one was made from exquisitely fine grained wood, as thick as Joe’s hand. The joinery employed was so precise that were it not for the change in the direction of the grain he would have figured it was carved out of a solid piece of wood. Joe was subtly alarmed when there was an abrupt change in the shelves.

“Hello!” he called out.

Katarina turned around addressing Joe, “Pardon?”

“Oh nothing, it’s just, since we got here all the shelves were made of this impressive wood, and now they appear to be made from stone, cased in wood. It caught my attention, that’s all.”

“That would be because we crossed over from the first to the second quadrant. You’ll notice the flooring has changed as well.”

Joe looked down at his feet and saw he was now standing on broad paving stones. Looking back the way they had come he realized they had been walking on a hardwood floor bearing the most interesting pattern he had ever seen.

“Each quadrant has a distinct look to it. Since the quadrants are quite large it was deemed helpful to alter the materials used, and even the style, to help folks know where they are in relation to the rest of The Archives.”

“What are the other two quadrants made out of?”

“Quadrant three is crystal and glass motif, which you will see, and quadrant four is marble and granite.”

“Crystal and glass shelves? That doesn’t seem like a sound idea.”

“It’s sturdy enough for what is housed there, and no one would dare act carelessly in The Archives anyway.”

“Right. Otherwise the flaying.”

“Quite,” Katarina said with a smile.

They walked for some distance when a box on a shelf caught Joe’s eye. “What in the …” he began, wandering down the stack to investigate the box. Inlaid in the box was a curious sigil bearing a striking resemblance to Joe’s company logo. “Hey Katarina,” Joe called out. “What’s in this box?”

Katarina casually walked back to where Joe was standing peering at the box. “I don’t quite know, though I’m sure I’ve seen that sigil before.”

“Of course you have, it’s a rendition of my company logo.”

Katarina looked at Joe then at the box with surprise. “I think you’ll find that this sigil predates your logo by a good many decades, maybe even centuries.”

“Impossible. I came up with this design on my own. I didn’t use any reference material and I certainly didn’t copy it off of anything.”

“This merits further investigation,” Katarina said, pulling the oversized box off the shelf. “It’s a might heavy. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to carry it?”

Joe hesitated. “I’m rather fond of not being flayed, dead or alive.”

Katarina scowled at him. “And you think I enjoy it? This is well within proper use, just help me before I drop it, then what do you think will happen to you?” she threatened.

Joe hurriedly took the relieved Katarina of the box, “Where am I taking this?”

“There is a reading room of sorts setup back at the entrance. We’ll take it there.”

Joe’s expression soured when he realized how far they’d just walked. “I don’t suppose there are any carts or anything to assist are there?”

Katarina leaned in a placed a hand on his arm. “Oh,” she purred. “I don’t think you’ll need one.” She turned around and swayed out of the shelves. “Coming?” she called.

Joe sighed, knowing full well she was manipulating him, frustrated that it worked. After that display he had to carry it or else he’d be insulting his own masculinity. “Well played,” he mumbled as he awkwardly carried the box out of the aisle and back the way they came.

When they arrived at the entrance The Keeper was sitting at the little desk, pen in hand, poised over the paper. “I see you found something unexpected,” he said.

“What can you tell me about this sigil?” Katarina asked.

“That is the mark of Helmut Krummhorn.”

Katarina was caught off-guard. “I thought I recognized it. With your permission we would like to remove this to the Reading Room for further study.”

The Keeper scribbled something on the paper that to Joe’s eye was anything but a language. “Granted,” was all he said as he continued to fill the page with odd characters and designs.

Posted by Seth Croston Barber at 11:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I had hoped to bring Chapter Four to a close tonight, and I succeeded in that goal. As always I have put up an ePub and PDF version of the chapter. In looking at the pacing of my book I can already tell it’s off. I’m just shy of 22,000 words which means I should be at the middle of my book, and if I rush a few things I might cram it all in at 50,000 words. I’m not one to do that so it’ll be interesting to see where I’m at come the end of this month. It’ll be even more interesting to see if I can complete this manuscript if it exceeds 50,000 words.

I’m heading into the weekend with a moderate lead. I would like to extend that lead as I fear this week will have me doing some study and preparation for Sunday School in excess of what I’ve done previously this month. I would love to spend most of Saturday writing but I fear my wife and child are succumbing to a cold (or the dreaded flu) and I’ll probably need to play nurse.

Here’s hoping these next couple thousand words are not my last.

Katarina held the door open for Joe as he shimmied sideways through it. They walked to another door which Katarina again held open for Joe. Inside the room stood a generously proportioned oak table, overstuffed leather chairs, an overstuffed leather sofa, and a small but orderly stack of blank paper with a ballpoint pen resting on top. They were clearly in the front of the building as one wall was dominated by three floor to ceiling windows which commanded a rather mediocre view, though Joe imagined it must have been a magnificent view once upon a time. He carefully set the box on the table, then straightened, rubbing his back.

“See, I knew you had it in you,” Katarina said with a glint in her eye. She paused to ponder the box.

“So … are we going to open it?”

Katarina nodded, as she walked around the table examining the box at all angles.

“What? Is it unsafe? Is it booby-trapped or something?”

“Nothing like that. Everything in The Archives is benign,” Katarina said absently.

“So why the caution then. Clearly there is something about this box that has you concerned.”

“Helmut Krummhorn was a legendary alchemist and magician of the late thirteenth century.”

“I’ve never heard of him.”

Katarina looked up and smiled at Joe. “Legendary among certain circles, I should say.”

“When you say alchemist you mean those guys who were trying to turn lead into gold and find, or create, the Philosopher’s Stone?”

“Yes, though there was a time when that was not what they were known for. And there were those that never pursued those fanciful dreams. Helmut was one those men, supposedly.”

“Supposedly?”

“Not much survives seven centuries, so what little we do have of him is naturally not a full picture. But there is a fair degree of certainty that his pursuit of alchemy was with other aims.”

“Such as?”

“Things he only hinted at. Things lost to time. He was a great man truly trying to solve the problems that plague this world — a lack of gold not being one of them.”

“So why the hesitation? I would have thought you would want to dive right in.”

“There are a great many people who have tried to carry on his work, who have pursued what little we know of his research. Some of his ideals still remain to this day. I respect him. To be here with this collection dedicated to him and his work is … it inspires reverence.”

Joe understood, for he had that same experience in certain art galleries and collections, and he gave Katarina time to gather herself. While he waited Joe sketched the sigil on the box onto one of the sheets of paper on the table. “Joe?” Katarina said, breaking the silence. “Do you happen to have one of your business cards on you?”

“Sure,” Joe said fishing his wallet out of his back pocket. “Why?” he said handing her his one remaining card. “Looks like I need to get more printed. I didn’t realize that was my last one,” he absently said to himself.

Katarina studied the logo on Joe’s card, comparing it to the sigil on the box. She squinted at the card, holding it up to her eye a number of times. “The resemblance is uncanny. The angles appear to match, the proportions are the same, even the detail work such as the weight of the lines seems identical.”

“I swear, my logo is original,” Joe protested.

“I believe you. This sigil has been hidden away from the mundane world for many a century. There is no way you could have seen it before, which makes this situation all the more unnerving.”

Joe tried to shrug it off. “You know what they say about monkeys and typewriters, right?”

“Are you calling yourself a monkey now?” Katarina said playfully. “I’m sorry Joe. I wish I could believe this was just chance, but it’s too perfect.”

“So what does it all mean?”

“For starters it could be an indication why you were targeted.”

“Someone saw my logo and figured I was, what, spilling the beans to the world about old Helmut?”

“Or that you were claiming you had his power, or his abilities. To openly claim a sigil like this is a declaration of power and authority.”

Joe whistled. “I had no idea. Here I thought it was just a catchy design.”

Katarina shook her head perplexed. “We should take a look inside the box.”

“You think there will be information there about who is targeting me?”

“Possibly, but right now I’m more interested in learning how you came to use this sigil as your logo.” Katarina looked Joe in the eye. “I don’t doubt that you had no conscious desire to copy this, but copy it you did. My guess is someone is behind that as well. Knowing that will help figure it all out.”

“You’re the boss,” Joe said, shrugging his shoulders.

Katarina carefully broke a wax seal over the clasp on the box, and lifted the lid open on its hinges. As they peered inside the box they were surprised. Half the box was filled with another box. The other half contained two large tomes, bound in leather and wood, and a smaller, more modern, notebook. Katarina picked up the notebook first, removing the elastic strap, and opened it. “Each box like this has a book inside it cataloging the contents and providing context,” she said flipping through the pages.

“What kind of context?” Joe asked.

“The approximate date each item was created, who created them, when they were added to The Archives, who donated them to The Archives, that sort of thing.”

“Anything useful?”

“Not immediately,” she said still thumbing through the pages.

“Must be quite a lot of context if that notebook is full,” Joe commented.

“There are roughly six centuries of notes here.”

Joe looked puzzled. “Six? Salem is not that old.”

“This box has belonged in other Archives over the years. At present it is in Salem, and has been,” she flipped the pages rapidly, “for one hundred and twenty seven years.”

“Where was it before that?”

“How good is your European historical geography?”

“Nonexistent.”

“We’ll skip the history lesson for now then.”

“Does it say what’s in the other box?”

“No. It appears it’s sealed.”

“Mind if I take a look then?”

Katarina shook her head, “Just be careful.” She looked up from the notebook and caught Joe’s attention. Narrowing her eyes she said, “Flaying.”

Joe suppressed a shudder and gave her his best reassuring grin. He reached in and carefully pulled out the two tomes, setting them on the table side by side. Reaching in to pick up the other box Joe carefully lifted it out and whistled. “This is some of the best craftsmanship I’ve ever seen. Look, there are no seams,” he said, setting the box down. “It’s like it is one solid block of wood, only, it’s not heavy enough.”

Joe continued to examine the box, rotating it, tilting it, even gently shaking it. Deciding it would have to remain a mystery for the time being Joe moved on to the two books. Each had a leather spine, reinforced by bronze hinges. The covers were of a light but hard wood, colored with age, and apart from the bronze clasps they were unadorned. Joe select one and carefully opened the bronze hinge. Opening the cover Joe was thunderstruck, for there, on the title page, amidst calligraphy in a language wholly unknown to him, stood another of Joe’s original designs. “What the — ” he breathed, staring with his mouth open.

Katarina looked up. “What did you find?”

“Another one of my original designs. Look.”

Katarina leaned over the table and examined the page Joe was still staring at in disbelief. “This is another one of your designs?”

“Yes. I have been working on it over the past two weeks, revising it here and there, getting the detail just right. In fact I had just finalized it last night. I would recognize it anywhere.”

“Was this a design you did for a client?” Katarina eagerly inquired.

“Nah. I was going to have it printed on some t-shirts. Some folks online liked early sketches of the design. They suggested I sell it as a t-shirt.”

Katarina set the notebook down on the table. “Come over here and sit down Joe,” she gently took his arm in his hand and lead him to the sofa.

“I don’t understand this. I really am losing my mind. What’s going on?” he asked looking into Katarina’s eyes.

“How did you come by that design? Think hard Joe, this is important.”

Joe considered a moment before answering, “I was sitting in a coffee shop with my sketchbook working on some concepts for a client. I was stuck, so I started to doodle. Eventually I had a rough version of that design,” Joe waved his hand at the open book on the table. “I kept refining it until I got it just right.”

“You said something about some people online liking your sketches. How many people did you share your sketch with?”

“Everyone. I put it up on the internet for all the world to see. I do stuff like that sort of as a working portfolio.”

Katarina rubbed her brow staring down into her lap. “So there’s no telling how many people saw it,” she said to herself. Directing her attention back to Joe she said, “I think it’s safe to say that this design coupled with your logo has made you a target. Unfortunately you have painted a bulls-eye on your head with this one.”

“It’s just a design. I didn’t mean anything by it. I don’t care what you or anyone says. I’m not trying to make a statement about Helmut or anyone else for that matter. Look, I’ll change my logo and pull that design if it’ll make a difference.”

“It might, but I fear it’s too late right now.” She took Joe’s hands in her own. “What concerns me more Joe, is why, and how, you have managed to duplicate Helmut’s work.”

“It was just doodling,” Joe protested, desperately trying to convince himself more than Katarina.

“Dear Joseph, it was more than just doodling. Something else is at work here, something putting you in danger, and unless we can figure out what it is, even if we can take care of your present situation you’ll face many more.”

Joe groaned. “So … what? I should just stay here in Salem where I’ll be protected and free to doodle some long dead alchemist’s work?”

Katarina looked steadily into Joe’s eyes, “That would not be a bad idea actually.”

“Thanks, but no thanks. The longer I stay here the more I want to check myself into an insane asylum. Look, is this getting us any closer to knowing who did this to me or how I can get my life back?”

Katarina took a deep breath and sighed. “You’re right. There’s more work to be done.” Katarina got up off the sofa, walked over to the table and picked up the notebook. “What can you tell me of your family ancestry?”

“Did you have something specific in mind?” Joe asked, caught off guard.

“Where is your family from, originally? You don’t appear to have much, if any, Native American blood in you.”

“Europe, I guess,” Joe said with a shrug. “I honestly didn’t give it much attention.”

Katarina looked at Joe and cocked her head to one side, and looking at Joe as if she were looking through him. “You … have a great-grandmother on your father’s side … who emigrated from … Austria.”

“Sounds like Great-Grandma Erickson.”

“You also have a distant relative … on your mother’s side originally from … Germany it seems,” Katarina continued.

“My mother bragged we probably related to Bach since she had an ancestor with the same name,” Joe offered. “Where are you going with this?”

“Do the names Reynard, Brandt, Hueber, or Pfaff have any meaning to you?”

“A couple sound vaguely familiar. Why?”

Katarina stared hard into Joe’s eyes. “Do you have any ancestors with any of those last names?”

Joe thought. “I think I heard my grandfather tell stories about a Thomaz Hueber who was a village hero for killing off a bunch of rats or something. Why? What does it matter?”

“I think I know why you’ve been recreating these images, Joe.” She paused. “I think you are Helmut Krummhorn’s descendant.”

Posted by Seth Croston Barber at 11:15 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Today I crossed the 25,000 mark. I’m halfway there, my only question now: “Is the story half done?” I’m not sure. I’m wondering if this will go 60,000. I feel like I’m dragging the action out too much. I’ll fix it in revision.

Since it’s late and I’m tired from writing 3,000+ words I’ll keep this chatter to a minimum.

Chapter Five

“What?” Joe asked with incredulity.

“We have a partial genealogy of Helmut Krummhorn, and from what you’ve told me and what I can See you stand a very good chance of being a descendant of his.”

“Mind if I ask what difference that makes?”

“For one it would account for your being here.”

“I thought that had to do with my designs.”

“It might, but if someone else was also able to determine that you are descended from Helmut and you have been publishing your designs… .” she left the thought hanging.

“And for another? You said ‘for one’.”

Katarina took a deep breath. “It might explain why, or how, you came up with your designs.”

“Now I’ve heard everything,” Joe said, somewhat exasperated. “Are you suggesting I have a genetic predisposition to doodling reproductions of seven hundred year old alchemic symbols and formulae?”

“Frankly, yes.”

Joe buried his face in his hands. “I’m losing it. I’m clearly losing my mind.”

“Just hear me out, will you?”

“No,” Joe said in protest, standing up. “No I will not hear you out. Everything that comes out of your mouth is more fantastic that the thing before it. Furthermore, apart from some cheap, albeit impressive, parlor tricks you have no proof, and cannot backup your claim whatsoever.” Joe marched toward the door, “It’s high time I got out of here.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Katarina quietly asked.

Joe spun around. “No. No I am not forgetting anything.”

Katarina raised her eyebrows. “What about your experience on the bridge?”

Joe shook his head. “It must have been a fluke of some kind … just a figment of my imagination. I am not trapped in this town, and I am going to prove it by hitchhiking or walking out of it.”

“And what if you can’t Joseph? What if there really is an invisible wall surrounding the city that only stops you? What then? What if you do catch a ride and they drive full-speed at that wall? Is that a risk you are willing to take? I for one do not want to see that happen to you.” Joe’s shoulders visibly slumped. “Hear me out, and let me help. What I’m suggesting to you only sounds far fetched because of your preconceived assumptions. Tell me, before today did you believe in giants? Did you believe in expansive cities far underneath the streets of modern cities? And yet you’ve seen both of these things for yourself.” Katarina had moved across the room to Joe’s side. Resting her hand on his shoulder she gently turned him to face her. “I’m here to help. We are here to help. Let us figure out what and why this is happening to you, then we’ll be able to know how to help. How’s that sound?”

Joe mumbled something as he hung his head, which Katarina took to be a “Fine.” She led him back to the sofa, “Lie down for a spell. I’ll get some water. You rest.”

Katarina walked swiftly to the door, and quietly exited. Joe remained motionless on the sofa, his arms over his eyes. In less than a day his concept the world around him had been challenged, and shattered. He no longer knew what to expect, he could no longer anticipate or predict events. The rules had changed on him, and now he was operating in the dark, fumbling around grasping at anything that seemed normal.

A loud commotion just outside the door jarred Joe out of his stupor. He heard people shouting, the only words he could make sense of was his name. Joe sat up, then ducked as something large and heavy slammed into the door rattling it and the wall. Amazingly the door held shut, but the sounds became more intense. He heard Katarina barking orders to The Keeper, followed by a loud booming concussive force rattle the door, then all was still. A faint acrid oder began to fill the room. Joe moved to the opposite end of the room and crouched behind the table.

Joe tensed as the doorknob turned and the door swung cautiously open. Katarina’s voice rang out, “Joe? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he called out, standing up. “What’s going on?”

Katarina strode into the room bearing a pitcher of water and a couple of glasses. She was breathing normally, and was perfectly calm. Not so much as a hair was out of place. “Someone attempted to gain unauthorized access to The Archives. It’s nothing to worry about, but all the same we should conclude our business here as quickly as possible.”

“I heard my name,” Joe said firmly. “What happened?”

Katarina set the glasses down and poured them each a glass of water. Handing one to Joe she said, “Someone — an Outsider — forced the outer door open. He was looking for you and demanded that we hand him over ‘or else’.”

“Nothing to worry about? Someone came in here trying to — what … abduct me — and you tell me it’s nothing to worry about?”

“Remember that we needed Mortimer to make arrangements for us to come here?” Joe nodded. “The arrangements are more than just cursory. There are many security measures in place here. We have been granted access, which means that for us this is little more than your ordinary building. But for anyone else it becomes a trap, and if they aren’t careful it can be a deadly trap.”

“Are you suggesting the intruder is dead?” Joe asked, bile rising in his throat.

“I’m afraid so, Joseph. He was fighting to kill, either me or The Keeper. Here, force is met with force.” Seeing Joe turn pale at the news she rushed over to him an helped him to a seat. She put the glass of water in his hand and coaxed him to drink.

Looking pleadingly into her eyes Joe asked, “Are they trying to kill me?”

“It won’t come to that Joseph.”

“But are they?” he asked weakly, fearing she was avoiding the question for his sake.

Katarina nodded.

“Great,” Joe said despondent. “I have a target on my head all because I’m the descendant of a legendary figure no one has heard of, and I happen to be reproducing his work. What else can go wrong?”

“I agree things seem rather grim and bleak, however, you are under Mortimer’s protection, and mine. Between the two of us you will be safe. If anything take courage from the fact that the intruder got no closer to you than a closed door. All of us are more than capable of protecting you.”

Joe sat in silence, drinking his glass of water, staring down at his hands. Katarina watched Joe, looking for any indication how he was going to handle this sudden burden. She feared he would buckle and spend the rest of his life running and hiding. When Joe had finally gathered himself and sat up straight there was a determination in his eyes that encouraged Katarina. “You said something about knowing how, or why, I was able to duplicate Helmut’s work in my designs?”

“One of Helmut’s pupils made inferences regarding some of his secretive work. What we know is he, like many other alchemists, were fascinated by life. Helmut was different in that he was not interested in creating new life, nor unnaturally extending his own, rather he was interested in figuring out what life was in and of itself: he was researching life. The work he was doing was crude by today’s standard, certainly, but he was greatly skilled and well versed in lore.”

“Meaning?”

Katarina fixed Joe with a look, “He was one of us, Joe. He had extraordinary abilities, and he knew how to use them. Furthermore we suspect he was doing research into what made us unique, where it came from, and how it was transmitted.”

“Isn’t it genetic?”

“Precisely my point. Helmut was doing early work in genetic study.”

“Come again? A thirteenth century alchemist was doing sophisticated genetic research?”

“Not sophisticated, we expect it was quite crude,. In essence he was studying what we now call genetics.”

“I take it no one knows what he found out?”

“No. This was one of the areas of research he kept to himself and took with him to the grave. But as I said, one of his pupils made some inferences regarding this line of study. He surmised that Helmut was trying to accurately and predictively recreate a given set of abilities in his own offspring.”

“And you think he succeeded in me, some countless generations later.”

“It would account for a few things, would it not?”

“I don’t feel extraordinary.”

“Neither do I,” Katarina said blandly.

“How can you say that when you can — what did you call it, ‘read people’?”

“Just because I have that ability doesn’t mean it makes me feel extraordinary. In every other way I feel perfectly ordinary.”

“Last I checked ordinary people don’t live underground,” Joe said sarcastically.

“I may choose to live underground, and in that choice I may set myself apart from most people, and I may have an ability that most do not posses, but I do not feel extraordinary. Subjectively I feel as human as anyone else does.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but how would you know?”

Katarina crossed her arms in frustration. “Because for many years of my life I lived as if I was a normal human, and even though it turned out that I was not that didn’t change what I learned about humanity. To this day doctors and geneticists will proclaim with medical fervor that I am homo sapiens. I’ve been tested. I am human, you are human, Helmut was human. But like men of legend, men of history, there is something just different enough about me, about Helmut, that sets me apart.”

Joe shook his head in confusion. “Look, I get what you are trying to say, but you and your kind are more like Hercules than Michael Jordan.”

“No, we are not Joe. That’s precisely what I am saying. We are fully human. Some of us have parents without any abilities, without any abnormalities whatsoever. And yet we end up different. Not wholly different, just slightly different.”

“Look. I accept that you are different, and I accept that I shouldn’t hold that against you or treat you with prejudice — I’m well aware of the Civil Rights Movement — but that doesn’t mean I have to accept that you think I am different too based on a hunch and some supposition.”

Katarina sighed with resignation. “I merely meant to suggest that perhaps being Helmut’s descendant, and his research into what is commonly believed to be the propagation of these abilities, might explain your sketches.”

Joe shook his head, “I know this will sound stubborn and stupid of me, but that is just too fantastic for me to believe.” Joe held his hands up forestalling any reaction by Katarina, “But I am willing to concede the point that someone else out there might believe it and might be trying to kill or capture me for it.”

Katarina sighed and nodded., content that Joe was at least cooperating.

“Where do we go from here then?”

“We still should reference the material The Keeper suggested. Someone out there has found a way of blocking my ability to read you right now, that much is clear. If we then consider people in our greater community who are aware of you, or your business, and who might be threatened by Helmut’s abilities, we should be able to get a better idea of who we are dealing with, if not able to name him… ” she broke off in thought.

“How would Helmut’s abilities pose a threat? Wasn’t he just an alchemist?”

“He was a magician as well,” Katarina said absently.

“When you say magician do you mean wizards and spells and incantations and the like, or more parlor tricks and illusions?”

Katarina chuckled. “He was a gifted illusionist, though many have claimed that his illusions had too much realism in them to be truly the work of your typical magician.”

“Meaning … he had some kind of ability which he used on stage and passed of as magic?”

“That is what he was accused of. The accusations grew so heated he had to stop performing. It was then he turned his attentions to alchemy.”

“So his alchemical research wasn’t what made him extraordinary?”

Katarina shrugged. “We don’t have much information on the precise nature of what he was able to do. We do know that some of his alchemical studies were remarkably accurate and ahead of his time. We also know that he was a renowned magician before the accusations.”

“So if someone thinks that Helmut’s abilities returning is a threat, then surely people must assume something about what he was capable of.”

Katarina sighed. “The debates wage on, but some believe he was clairvoyant — the only true clairvoyant ever. Others hold that he was able to teleport, or become invisible, or even fly. The fact is we just don’t know. He was never forthcoming about that with anyone, not even his pupils.”

Joe chuckled. “If that’s what he was accused of being able to do, the world can rest assured I didn’t inherit any of that.”

“It is less of what you can assure them of, and more of what they fear. Nonetheless, we should pack this up and pursue other lines of inquiry.”

Joe and Katarina carefully returned the books and the mysterious box to their previous home. Once again Joe was saddled with the responsibility of carrying. As Joe was walking through the outer room he looked around, trying to see anything of the commotion. Finding nothing but a bit of ash on the carpet he commented, “With all that noise a bit ago I would have thought there’d be signs of a fight. Come to think of it why hasn’t anyone from the pub come up to complain or inquire?”

“That, my boy,” The Keeper answered, his head popping up from behind the desk, “is because we have very good insulation. Not to mention what you heard was little more than some bellowing and posturing,” he said with a crooked smile.

“I could have swore something slammed into the door of that reading room.”

“Something did. But it wasn’t near powerful enough to leave an impression.”

“Sounded powerful to me,” Joe muttered.

“Oh he was a mighty big fellow, and he thought much of himself, but no one gains entrance unless I say so.”

Joe eyed the frail man with renewed respect. “I’ll be sure to remember that.”

“See that you do sonny, and we’ll be on good terms.” The Keeper smiled warmly at Joe. “I’ll take it as a kindness if you will put that box back for me. I’m a might busy at the moment. I have some matters to attend to.”

“Yeah, sure. No problem.”

“Keep an eye on him, Kat,” the Keeper said to Katarina with a solemnity and seriousness that made Joe uneasy.

“I will. I am sorry to have brought trouble to your door, Chauncey.”

“Wasn’t anything you could have done about it my dear. Trouble comes when it wills. None of us is sovereign,” he said with a contented smile, then ducked back under the desk again.

Katarina held the door open for Joe yet again, and as Joe passed by she whispered to him, “Never let his appearance fool you.” Joe looked at her quizzically, but continued on.

They retracted their steps, and when they found the empty spot on the shelf Joe remarked, “How often are The Archives used?”

“It varies. Why do you ask?”

“Given that we have been the only ones here, and that you have to have special permission to even get in the door, it would seem to me they would not be frequented.” Joe nodded at the shelf as he set the box on it, “And yet when you look at these shelves there should be a layer of dust, even a thin one. I would have expected to see an outline of where this sat, and yet the shelf is clean and spotless.”

“Part of The Keeper’s job is to maintain The Archives.”

“Seems tedious.”

“If you get to know him you’ll find he takes delight in it. Come on, we still have quite a distance to go.”

Joe followed Katarina and took the opportunity to just walk and think. His thinking was cut short when they came upon the third quadrant: Joe was awestruck at the beauty of it. The shelves were thick, solid, crystalline structures, with fine filigree detail carved into them. Joe had not seen such a display of skill or beauty before. “I can see why The Keeper takes delight in maintaing this,” Joe called out in a hushed whisper. “This is amazing.”

“It never gets old either.”

“I can imagine.”

“I’m not sure you can,” Katarina said. “The Keeper is the one who has done all the carving and etching. He has only completed half of the quadrant.”

Joe whistled. “This must have taken a lifetime.”

“It has, and then some.”

Katarina signaled to Joe, “This way. The Keeper said we’d find it down here.”

Joe followed Katarina down an aisle that looked very much like the aisle before it, they were so uniform. Joe was so consumed with studying the shelves and the fine detail work engraved into them he nearly ran into Katarina when she stopped, having located the box The Keeper had suggested.

“This should be the one,” Katarina said, pointing up over her head. “Would you mind? I seem to be a bit too short.”

Joe did not doubt she should get it if she needed to, but reached up and pulled it down off the shelf. The box was much smaller than the one before, consequently it was much lighter. Joe turned to walk it back to the reading room when Katarina stopped him. “There’s no need for that. It won’t take but a moment or me to find what I am looking for in there. Just set it on the ground.”

Joe gently eased the box onto the floor. Katarina kneeled down on the floor and removed the lid. Inside was a collection of various sized notebooks and a couple of scrolls. The notebooks looked far from old, and caused Joe to remark to that effect, “This seems to be a more modern collection, whose is it?”

“It doesn’t belong to one man,” Katarina replied, thumbing through one of the notebooks. “This is a collection on a particular — and esoteric I might add — subject. As more is learned the notebooks are either updated or replaced.”

“What about those scrolls then? They appear out of place with the rest.”

Without looking up Katarina replied, “I’m sure they are still relevant. Possibly the source material on the subject,” she said obviously distracted.

Joe realized Katarina needed to concentrate and thus sat in silence, taking the opportunity to further examine the shelves, as she thumbed through notebook after notebook. Finally after some minutes Katarina closed the notebook she was reading. Noticing the grave look on her face Joe asked, “What did you find?”

“There is something I need to check first,” she said putting the notebooks back in the box and closing the lid.

Posted by Seth Croston Barber at 11:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I’m not at all surprised that I write just shy of 1,700 words today. I really wanted to take a day off but as I will have to spend this next week preparing a Sunday School lesson I’d rather chew up my lead being productive rather than slothful. I’m still a couple of days ahead of schedule, and I’ve finally come up with a working title for my novel: The Gold Man Turns at Midnight. It’s based on a prank some of us would play on out-of-towners back in college. Yes, the Gold Man will make it into the novel, but you’ll have to read to see if he really does turn at midnight.

Tonight I finally got the scene in the carousel here in Salem. Since my daughter loves it I had to include her in the story. Yes, she really does say those things, and yes, Abby really is her favorite horse.

For all of you faithful ones still reading, bless you, and here is your reward: more words.

Joe had to hurry to catch up with Katarina, after replacing the box on the shelf, who was briskly walking back the way they came. Katarina was walking with a determined purpose, her gait quick and unrelenting. To Joe’s surprise they turned down the same aisle he found Helmut’s box, which Katarina walked past without so much as a glance. Finally she stopped, stooped down, and pulled a slender box off of the bottom shelf. Inside was a single leather bound book of great antiquity. To Joe’s horror Katarina riffled through the book heedless of its apparent age. All Joe could think of was the consequences they would face if in her haste she tore one of the pages.

When Katarina stopped on a page Joe let out his breath, realizing he had been holding it. He walked behind her and peered over her shoulder. Joe could not decipher the writing on the page, but if he had to guess it looked like a roster of some kind. Katarina’s finger, tracing the words as she skimmed them, stopped on a line that had a notation, in red, next to it. Her finger tapped, “It is as I thought.”

“What?” Joe asked impatiently. “What did you find.”

“Perhaps something, but hopefully nothing,” she said as she closed the book, returned it to its box, and put the box on the shelf.

“I don’t understand. Did you find something bad?” Joe persisted, concerned that Katarina’s sudden change in demeanor coupled with that cryptic statement probably meant trouble.

Katarina ignored Joe and quickly strode away heading for the entrance, where she knew The Keeper would be waiting. Joe sighed and chased after her, finding it hard to keep pace this time such was Katarina’s sense of urgency. When they arrived at the door Joe was unsurprised to see The Keeper, however he did not expect him to be holding a book in his arms. Upon seeing him Katarina smiled. “With your permission,” was all she said to him, at which point he handed her the book which set set on the now empty table.

The Keeper stood at the door in polite silence, starting straight ahead as if he were nothing more than the door guard. Joe took this opportunity to examine him out of the corner of his eye. He did indeed look older than any man had aright to look, and yet he stood ramrod straight. Joe couldn’t puzzle him out, and as he was about to turn his full attention to The Keeper Katarina’s muttered, “I feared as much,” brought him to her side.

“Bad news?” Joe asked cautiously.

Katarina stood up straight, closed the book, then handed it to The Keeper. “Thank you Chauncey. As always it was precisely what I needed.”

“My pleasure,” he said with a bow. “Will you be needing anything further?” he asked, knowing full well she did not.

“Thank you, but no. We’ve found what we came for. I am, once again, in your debt.”

“Not at all dear lady. I am merely doing my duty,” he said with grace and dignity.

“Nevertheless, I am grateful.” Katarina reached out and grasped his hands, squeezed them once, then turned to Joe. “We must be going. There is someone we need to talk to, and we must hurry.”

The Keeper held the door open, and Katarina walked through it with a slight nod in his direction. Joe, eager to escape the watchful gaze of the unnatural Keeper, quietly nodded and followed Katarina out of The Archives.

Joe chased Katarina down the stairs calling after her, “Aren’t you going to tell me what you found?”

“Quickly now, follow me. There isn’t time enough for a full explanation. All will be made clear when we get there. Hurry!” she called back, not taking the time to turn her head.

Katarina broke out into a jog once they got onto the sidewalk, and headed back toward Downtown. Joe quickly discovered he was not up to talking and jogging, as the day’s activities had taken their toll on him. Coming up to an intersection Joe realized they were heading back the way they had come to The Archives. “I thought Mortimer said no two doors could be used by the same person,” Joe thought to himself. “We can’t be going back to Second City can we?” Joe had little time to ponder as the honking horn of an impatient car sent Joe’s heart racing as he sprinted the rest of the way across the street.

Katarina glanced over her shoulder and called out, “You alright?” Joe could only manage a nod which was apparently all Katarina needed as she turned her head back around and resumed their jog. As they came upon the brick wall surrounding the sub station near the houses where they exited Second City Joe’s sides began to ache He gasped as they turned the corner, and leaned against it, hands on his hips, out of breath.

Katarina, sensing that Joe was no longer behind her stopped, turned around, and backtracked to a now hunched over Joe. “Hang in there Joe. We’re almost there,” she began comforting him. As she crouched down to his level the bricks on the wall where her head used to be erupted in a shower of purple sparks. Joe was too startled to scream, but his sudden weariness evaporated as suddenly had the urge to bolt. Katarina ducked down and quickly scanned the street, the sidewalk, and the footbridge for any sign of their attacker. Another eruption of sparks and bricks suddenly manifested itself just shy of Joe’s head, which he now tucked under his arms and collapsed to the ground. Katarina spied a lone figure on the footbridge and cursed under her breath.

“Who is it,” Joe muttered through a face full of dirt.

“It’s Bob again,” Katarina said with disgust. She stood up, her eyes blazing a cold and quiet fury. She raised one hand and pointed it at Bob. Sparks erupted in front of Katrina in rapid succession, but her arm did not waver. Joe lifted his head up off the ground in time to see Bob lifted off his feat and hurled off the footbridge into the river below.

Katarina looked down to Joe. “Are you hurt?”

“I don’t think so,” Joe replied picking himself off the ground and patting himself down just to make sure he was all there.

“Good. We haven’t a moment to lose.”

“What about Bob?”

“Bob will not be bothering us for a while,”she said starting to jog off. “He never learned to swim,” she called out over her shoulder.

A surprised Joe lumbered after her, wondering what kind of ally he had.

Katarina jogged past the cluster of houses Joe assumed was their destination. Instead she jogged into and down the length of the aptly named Waterfront Park. Despite the pain in Joe’s side, and the grueling pace Katarina was setting, Joe could not help but take note that an old fashioned riverboat was moored in the river right next to the park. Joe first heard, rather than saw, the carousel. The music was unmistakeable, as was the sound of happy children riding around in circles on brightly painted horses. He was shocked when Katarina slowed down and walked in amongst the children, parents, and grandparents milling about.

“Who in the world could we be meeting here?” Joe thought to himself, then in a flash of inspiration he started studying the horses, convinced that one of them wasn’t really a wooden horse. Joe paced around the carousel looking intently at all the horses until he spotted one he thought was the one they were here to talk to, or ride. There, in the inside row was a flying unicorn bobbing up and down. “Of course! It has to be the flying unicorn. It’s so obvious,” Joe thought, congratulating himself.

“See a horse you’d like to ride?” Katarina asked handing him a token.

Joe grinned at Katarina. “I do,” he said with a sly wink.

Katarina chuckled and followed Joe as he got inline behind an excited toddler holding her grandfather’s hand, chattering endlessly about “carousel horsies go up and down.” When the ride stopped and the attendant started letting people on Joe sprang into action, practically sprinting to find the flying unicorn. Arriving at the horse he was initially dismayed to see the excited toddler consider it, worrying what he would do if she did. To Joe’s relief the grandfather directed the little girl to another horse, a racing horse with the name Abby over it, to which the girl cried, “I love Abby, Abby cute.” Joe hurried over to the unicorn and smirked and snickered when he realized it was named Magic, and swiftly mounted it, whispering into its ear, “I’m a friend of Katarina.”

Joe was sitting proudly on his horse when Katarina found him, and as the horse next to his, a fine looking horse by the name of Legal Tender, was vacant she climbed onto it. “I didn’t know you had such a fondness for carousels,” she remarked to Joe.

Joe gave her a blank look. “I’ve never really been on one before.”

Katarina gave him a knowing look then smiled to herself. “Clearly you are looking forward to it,” she said as the bell rang and they started to spin and go up and down.

All throughout the ride Joe would lean down and whisper into Magic’s ear. It was impossible to hear what he was saying over the music and the cheering and hollering of the children on the ride. More than once Joe looked over at Katarina and winked while whispering to the horse. When the carousel stopped Joe dismounted, walked to the front of the horse, and thanked it for an enjoyable ride.

“I see you enjoyed yourself,” Katarina said cautiously. “We have some time to kill if you’d like to browse through the gift shop.”

“Sure,” Joe said, conspiratorially.

“Are you feeling alright, Joe?” Katarina asked quite concerned.

“Fine, fine. You?”

Posted by Seth Croston Barber at 11:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

We had a showing of our house today. We’ve been trying to sell it for months. So I found myself sitting in my car in front of my neighbor’s house waiting for the realtor to show up with her clients. I managed to knock out nearly 1,000 words. It was a bit distracted as our cats decidedly do not like being inside cars so much as they like being on top of them.

The physical pressures of this schedule are catching up to me as I fell asleep on the floor after dinner, eating away at precious writing time. I never did truly wake up, so today’s efforts weren’t the best I’ve done, but at least I did something. On the plus side I did finish Chapter 5 with the usual ePub and PDF files available.

Here is today’s progress:

“I’m fine thanks,” Katarina replied watching Joe carefully as they walked into the gift shop.

They browsed through the gift shop for a little while, Joe showing no signs of his previous enthusiasm. When the carousel started to close Katarina escorted Joe out of the gift shop. Joe started walking toward the carousel and casually started walking around it, looking for Magic. When they got to the entrance Katarina stopped and started talking with the attendant. Oblivious to Katarina’s actions Joe kept walking until he spotted the flying unicorn, at which point he backtracked his way back to Katarina and the attendant.

“Taken a fancy to one of the carousel horses have you?” the attendant asked Joe.

“Something like that,” Joe said cagily.

“A lot of folks like Magic,” the attendant said. Turning his attention to Katrina he commented, “But then, who doesn’t like unicorns?”

“Joseph, I would like you to meet Ignatius P. Blackmoore,” Katarina said.

“Good to know you, son,” Ignatius said, offering his hand to Joe.

“Good to know you too,” Joe replied grasping the man’s hand with a firm grip. Joe winced as Ignatius squeezed harder than Joe expected.

“So, did you pick up a souvenir at the gift shop?” Ignatius asked, making polite conversation.

“Nah,” Joe said. “Say, doesn’t this place close soon?” he asked, thinking he was doing his part in securing some alone time with Magic.

“Aye, it does. But not to worry. I lock up most nights. Besides there’s always a bit of maintenance to be done after hours.”

Desperation flooded Joe. It did not appear that Ignatius was going to leave anytime soon. “Ah. Great. Say, do you need a hand with anything?”

“Why that’s right kind of you son. I might need a hand at that. But first, I think we have some business to attend to. Isn’t that right Katarina?”

“You’re sure we’re alone?” Katarina asked Ignatius, peering around the room.

“Perfectly,” he replied with confidence. “Besides, this is as private as I want to get. Whatever it is that has you out of your comfortable abode I want to be plainly visible in a public place.”

“Do you have something to hide Ignatius?” Katarina asked, a stern gaze etched into her face.

“Not a thing. But I won’t be having any of what happened last time. I’ve learned my lesson.”

“As long as you are honest and forthcoming with us Ignatius I can promise no harm will come to you on our account,” Katarina said soothingly.

“I aim to keep it that way, just be sure to keep up your end of the bargin.”

Katarina nodded in assent.

“What’s going on here?” Joe asked. “Who is this guy?”

Katarina turned to Joe, surprise on his face. “I thought you knew. This is the man we came here to meet.”

Joe was dumbfounded. “You mean… . But what about… ? We aren’t here to meet with Magic?” Joe cried incredulously.

“The horse?” Ignatius barked out a laugh.

“You thought we were here to meet with that wooden horse?”

“Well … yeah. I thought it wasn’t really a wooden carousel horse at all, but a unicorn in disguise.”

Ignatius held his belly as he howled with laughter. Katarina put her hand over her mouth trying to stifle a laugh of her own. Joe’s face began to redden. “You can’t blame me. What I’ve seen today it made sense.”

“Is that why you were so eager to ride that horse?” Katarina asked a laugh caught in her throat.

“Yeah,” Joe said.

“And why you were talking to it while we were riding?” she continued.

“Yeah,” Joe responded dejectedly. Ignatius bent over, putting his hands on his knees, and guffawed loud and long.

“It’s not that funny,” Joe muttered defensively.

Katarina laughed daintily despite herself. “It is a bit funny Joe.”

“Son, you’ll look back on this day and laugh,” Ignatius said wiping tears from his eyes. “You’re alright. A little punchy, but you’re alright in my book,” Ignatius said slapping Joe heartily on the back. “Now what did you all want with me?” he said in strict seriousness.

“It’s about your former mentor,” Katarina replied.

Ignatius groaned. “I figured as much. I curse the day I met the man,” he said and spat on the ground.

“What can you tell me about what he is up to these days.”

“Nothing. I broke ties with him long ago. You know that better than anyone.”

“I do, but you know him better than anyone alive. Don’t tell me you can’t at least guess, nor that you haven’t heard something of him.”

“Truly, I’ve heard nothing of him in at least fifty years. He went underground and no one’s heard of him.”

“Well what do you think he’s up to?”

Ignatius sighed, “Probably the same thing he’s been up to all his life. He’s trying to secure security through power. I’ve told you before he’s not out for world domination, at least not in your usual sense. He’s just looking for a place where he can be left alone to live in peace.”

“And yet every time he has popped his little head up out of his secure little nest he’s usually raising cain.”

“He thinks the best way to be left alone is to amass power and intimidate people. That’s why I broke ties with him. I got tired of all the posturing and general mean spiritedness. There’s more to life than what he’s up to.”

Joe was doing his best to follow along with the conversation but clearly he was missing some crucial information. His patience was running thin and just as he was about to interject with a question Ignatius asked, “Why? What has he done this time that you come looking for me?”

Katarina nodded to Joe. “Joseph here has a little problem, and I think Sikander is behind it.”

Ignatius eyed Joe with curiosity. “So what’s the problem then?”

“I’m stuck in Salem,” Joe said curtly.

Ignatius raised a questioning eyebrow, “Stuck?”

“When I tried to leave I ran into an invisible wall which other people were able to cross. Besides that there have been a string of coincidences getting in my way.”

Ignatius whistled. “Why do you want to leave so bad in the first place? These things sometimes wear off you know.”

“For starters I’m not from around here, and I need to get back home, back to my life and my business. Additionally there is,” Joe looked pointed at Katarina, “or was a giant trying to kill me.”

Ignatius, looking alarmed, turned to Katarina and asked, “What makes you think Sikander has anything to do with this?”

“Joseph is Helmut Krummhorn’s descendant,” she sated mater-of-factly.

Ignatius whipped his head around and looked at Joe with renewed interest. “That sounds about right actually.”

“We don’t know any of this for certain,” Joe protested.

“We know that someone thinks Joseph is Helmut Krummhorn’s descendant,” Katarina corrected. “Joseph requires more proof.”

“I’m not one to doubt that Sikander could do something like this, but old Helmut has to have had a lot of descendants by now. Why Joe?” Ignatius asked, looking between Katarina and Joe.

Katarina gave Joe a meaningful look but when he remained silent and stony faced she answered, “Joseph has been unwittingly reproducing some of Helmut’s figures and diagrams. His company logo is Helmut’s sigil, and he’s publicly displayed the frontispiece to one of Helmut’s books.”

Ignatius whistled again. “No kidding? You’ve got moxie kid, I’ll give you that.” When Ignatius saw Joe’s blank look he added, “Either that or you don’t have a clue who or what you are dealing with.”

“Look, it was just a fluke alright. For all I knew they were just doodles I came up with. I didn’t know they bore any meaning to anyone else,” Joe said defensively.

“It’s okay son. It’s okay. All of us have blundered into things we wish we wouldn’t have. It’s part of what makes us human,” Ignatius said soothingly.

Joe eyed him suspiciously. “I got the impression from Katarina that her and her kind aren’t exactly human.”

Ignatius looked over at Katarina. “Still on that same soapbox? Just because we are a little different doesn’t mean we aren’t human.”

“This is neither the time, nor the place. What we need to know is if this really is Sikander’s work.”

Ignatius shrugged. “It could be. Like I said, it sounds about right.”

“Just who is this Sikander anyway?” Joe interrupted.

Ignatius looked at his watch. “Look, I can stick around a little after hours without rousing suspicion, but we’re coming up hard against that limit.” Katarina gave him an icy stare. “I gather that you have more questions to ask of me, so let’s go somewhere else.” He looked at Katarina, “I’d like to keep my job, if you don’t mind.”

Posted by Seth Croston Barber at 10:49 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I discovered that the two-and-a-half year-old battery in my laptop will go from fully charged to nearly empty in less than an hour now. I also discovered that I was (am?) about empty today when it came to the ability to focus on my writing. I recall having a few off days the last two times I did NaNoWriMo. I can only hope I gave myself enough of a lead to compensate else I’ll be writing like a fool during Thanksgiving.

I managed a measly 1,100 words today which is better than nothing, but it’s not the best stuff I’ve written. Here goes:

Chapter Six

They walked in silence, Ignatius leading with Katarina and Joe only a step behind. They passed many shops closed for the day, which struck Joe as odd given that the sun was net yet beginning to set. “The shops close early around here,” Joe commented.

Ignatius either ignored him or did not hear him for he kept walking, arms swishing with almost exaggerated movement. “People around here aren’t much for a night life,” Katarina responded.

“But still, to close now, so early while the sun is still out?”

“My boy, would you want to be cooped up indoors on a day like this?” Ignatius called out.

“Why do you think I’m a freelance designer?” Joe replied sarcastically.

“Precisely!” Ignatius quipped. It was as if Ignatius could see Joe make a face of bafflement for he continued, “You decided ’tis a better life out among the sky and the stars than one sequestered behind walls and a desk. Ergo you carved out a career whereby you could work with the freedom you desired. Alas, we cannot all employ such tactics, else where would your kind go for coffee, conversation, and that beloved free ‘Wi-Fi’?” Ignatius was gesticulating rather wildly and his legs began to high step as if he were marching.

“I don’t get what you mean,” Joe said curtly, getting the feeling he was being mocked by this rather odd man.

“He means, businesses close early so their employees can still get out and enjoy something of the day, and the weather.”

“Precisely!” Ignatius exclaimed a hand raised to the sky, the index finger extended.

“You could have just said that you know.”

“Aye, but where would be the theatrics? Where the grandiloquence of speech? Is not all the world a stage?” he cried in response, his arms sweeping wide. A little old lady hurried across the street when she saw Ignatius bearing down on her. Joe got the impression she was trying to avoid the crack-pot ahead of him.

“What’s with him?” Joe whispered to Katarina.

“At one time he wanted to be an actor, but his reviews were so bad he could not find work. He tried to parlay that into a career with the Big Top but that didn’t work as well as he hoped,” she whispered back.

“Sounds rough.”

“You have no idea. He eventually gave in and became an organ grinder.”

Joe looked askance at Katarina. “You mean one of those guys with the monkey and the crank-powered music box?” Joe said a little too loudly.

Ignatius stopped in his tracks and spun around glaring at Joe. “I will have you know organ grinding was an honest job. Hones!” Ignatius insisted. “And I’ll have words with anyone who says otherwise,” this he said to Katarina.

“You seriously had a monkey and stood on street corners?” Joe asked, despite Ignatius’s veiled threat.

“I did, sir. I endeavored to bring a bit of class, a bit of the appreciation of the finer arts of music to the less privileged of the city dwellers. Little Lucien — my monkey as you called him — would entertain the wee ones while I expanded the horizons of the giant counterparts.”

“You played music for giants?” Joe asked.

“No no my dear boy. I played music for their parents.”

“Oh.”

“But it wan’t just music, my boy!”

“No? Dancing too?”

Ignatius glared at Joe but otherwise let his sarcastic remark pass. “No! I recited poetry. I performed one man plays. I was Horatio and Pip. I was Rumpelstiltskin and Aladdin. I was Romeo and Juliet.”

“I’ll bet that was a site to see,” Joe muttered.

“It was bliss my boy, sheer bliss. But alas,” he threw his hand onto his forehead, striking a melodramatic pose, “it was more than they could bear. I was forced to give up my trade, to set aside my greater calling, until such a time as I am needed.”

“Does he realize he is making a spectacle of himself?” Joe muttered to Katarina.

“I believe that is the point, dear Joseph,” she replied quietly. “Isn’t it Ignatius?” this she said louder.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You are trying to draw attention to yourself.”

“Tsk tsk my dear. I am merely trying to raise the cultural atmosphere of this sleepy little burg.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps you are ensuring people take note of you and your companions should something untoward befall you.”

“What ever do you mean?” Ignatius asked in mock outrage.

“It’s quite clever really, but only if you intend on reneging on the deal.”

“Madam, I don’t even know the meaning of the word renege,” Ignatius said with an overly dramatic sweep of his arm.

“It means to go back on a promise,” Joe supplied with deadpan humor.

“My boy, surely you don’t think that someone such as myself could be capable of such a thing?”

“Mister, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if you sprouted wings and tail and terrorized girls and their little dogs,” Joe said in his best little boy voice.

Ignatius laughed heartily, “Well said my boy. Well said. Now let us be off to a far greater stage!” whereupon he spun around on one foot and sticking his chest out began dramatically walking down the street as if he were Lord of Salem.

“It takes all kinds,” Joe muttered under his breath.

They approached a wooded park, Ignatius still leading the way in his enigmatic and eccentric fashion. They walked past a quirky sculpture of animals on parade which gave Joe a pause to wonder if there was more truth than fiction portrayed for all the world to see. They veered away from the water fountain and settled in a gazebo overlooking a ring of flags.

“You always did like parks,” Katarina commented as they took a seat.

“People were less likely to object to my performances,” Ignatius conceded. “Though I’ve been chased out of more parks than I care to recall,” he sighed.

“So who is this Sikander person?” Joe asked. “Was he your acting coach or something?”

Ignatius guffawed. “Sikander act? I would pay to see that. No my boy, he was something far more … sinister.” Ignatius gave Katarina a look asking for permission to divulge information.

“Go ahead. He needs to hear this.”

“Sikander Cavanagh Cranmer was my mentor, this much I’ve already said, you’ll recall.” Joe nodded impatiently. “He was also Helmut’s pupil.” Ignatius paused for effect.

Joe shrugged. “So? What does that have to do with anything?”

Ignatius looked dumbfounded. “How sad it is when the young are jaded,” he lamented. Joe gave Ignatius an icy glare in response. “Helmut had but a few pupils in his life. Much of what he did he kept secret — though it has been suggested he kept a coded diary full of his notes and findings. So when I say that Sikander was a pupil of Helmut’s I mean that he was privy to information that few others ever were, or will be.”

Posted by Seth Croston Barber at 11:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I couldn’t sleep last night. I’m not sure why, but I know it wasn’t related to NaNoWriMo at all. The clock read 3:30am when I went to sleep and read 7:30am when the alarm went off. I’m surprised I’m still vertical after a full day’s work. I’m doubly surprised I composed 1,300 words and most of them I don’t hate. Hopefully you won’t hate them either.

“I take it that means something?” Joe asked.

“My dear boy!” Ignatius exclaimed in condescending alarm. “How is it you are so ignorant of the greatness you descended from?” Joe gave Ignatius a blank look. “By all accounts, and by all rights, your forefather was a pioneer with respect to understanding what makes us different. For instance, Helmut knew how to extend and prolong life.”

“Eating right and exercising daily?” Joe asked sarcastically.

“You mock me, boy? Do you not know that Helmut was 207 when he died?”

Joe looked warily at Ignatius. “So you say.”

“So everyone who knew him says.” Ignatius eyed Joe. “Do you doubt Helmut was 207 at his death, yet doubt not that Sikander, one of Helmut’s pupils, is still alive today, some seven centuries old?”

Joe sat upright. “What?” he exclaimed. “That’s nonsense.”

“I was wrong: you are not jaded. You are a fool,” Ignatius shook his head.

“Joe, what he says is true,” Katarina reassured Joe. “Helmut died — disappeared really — at the age of 207. He is credited at discovering a means of prolonging life beyond that of normal man. It is well known that Sikander was Helmut’s pupil for well over 70 years.”

“Furthermore Sikander is likely alive and well today as it was only a century ago — give or take a decade — that I broke ties with him,” Ignatius said. “He was doing quite well for himself then.”

“Wait. You expect me to believe there are immortals walking around and you are one of them?” Joe asked incredulous.

“Aye,” Ignatius responded in a terrible Scottish accent, “and we cut off each other’s head and become more powerful. Care to give it a go?”

Joe gave Ignatius a withering look.

“No one is immortal, Joe,” Katarina interjected. “Some of us are naturally gifted with incredibly long life. Others gain it through various ways and means. But all of us eventually die.”

“Except maybe Helmut,” Ignatius chimed in.

“Why? What new fiction are you going to spin for me this time?” Joe asked exasperated and a little worried that he was beginning to believe what they were telling him.

“No one has seen or recovered Helmut’s body. We say he died, but Katarina is right. He simply vanished one day. No one knows what happened, but it is assumed Sikander was behind it.”

“What? Why Sikander? I thought he was Helmut’s pupil. I thought he had a privileged relationship.”

Ignatius nodded, “That he did, until he crossed Helmut. The details are sketchy, and I only have Sikander’s side — which I’ve come to distrust — but it seems they came to a difference of opinion regarding ethics.”

“Ethics?” Joe asked.

Nodding Ignatius continued, “It seems Helmut was determined to keep most of what he knew between himself and God. Helmut judged the world, and mankind, corrupt. He was convinced that man was utterly wicked, and that if people were to unlock the secrets he had discovered the world would be utterly lost.”

“I take it Sikander thought otherwise?”

“Not exactly. Sikander agreed with Helmut for the most part. He’s not magnanimous by any stretch of the imagination. But where Helmut wanted to keep secrets Sikander thought it was his right to employ said secrets.”

“That doesn’t sound too unreasonable,” Joe opined.

“Ah, but Sikander was willing to share the benefits of these secrets in exchange for wealth, security, power, et cetera.”

“And Helmut disagreed of course,” Joe offered.

“At first it was just a lively debate between them. Helmut arguing that it was far better to do no harm and Sikander lauding the good that could be done for humanity. It was a healthy debate, and if Sikander is to be believed Helmut did concede on a few points and on occasion played the Good Samaritan.

“But eventually it was not enough for Sikander. He grew tired of the study for the sake of study, and he grew restless with having to wait and watch the world pass by while he and Helmut sat and did nothing to intervene. Finally he had enough and began amassing wealth and power. It wasn’t long — about a dozen years or so — that Helmut found out what Sikander had been doing, and he threw him out.”

“And they went to war right after that?” Joe guessed.

“No. The way Sikander tells it, Helmut didn’t know the extend of Sikander’s skill and abilities, nor his ambition. He had free reign for about 75 years, working unmolested. During that time he gained lands and a title of his own, and amassed a small army. For a man who grew up a serf to end up be a landed nobel with serfs of his own, well, he was quite pleased with himself. And yet I suppose he got a little greedy, for he desired the crown and began scheming a means of winning the king’s daughter.

“He claims the girl truly did love him of her own accord, insinuating of course he had nothing to do with artificially securing her affections. This I highly doubt for the Sikander I knew has a twisted cruelty about him that is unmistakable, and I suspect this in and of itself is what caused Helmut to intervene — I’ve always suspected the king knew Helmut and confided in him, but Sikander vehemently denies this.

“Nonetheless, Helmut seems to have secured some of Sikander’s private papers which were then remitted first to the king and then to the Pope. Sikander was accused and convicted of witchcraft. He lost his title, his lands, his honor and prestige, his wealth, and worst of all, all his possessions, his notes and research was burned. How he escaped the tribunal’s sentence of death he refused to tell me, but there are some who said he vanished from their presence, turned into a fine mist and blowing out a window.”

Joe sat, stunned at the tale, “If what you say is true then it would appear Sikander has a pretty good reason to hate Helmut, but I don’t see what that has to do with me.”

Katarina jumped in, “It is well known among our kind that Sikander swore an oath to gain revenge of Helmut. We all believed he accomplished this when Helmut disappeared; we assumed Helmut died at Sikander’s hands.”

“A fact which Sikander oddly never bragged about,” Ignatius added. “I’ve often wondered why he has continued to work in secret since it is assumed he bested his old master.”

“But why me? I’m obviously not Helmut.”

“Aren’t you?” Katarina asked pointedly.

Joe gave Katarina his best “have you lost your mind” look. “I think I would know if I were Helmut.”

“But think of it from Sikander’s point of view,” Katarina continued. “If he didn’t kill Helmut then he assumes Helmut lives. He comes across your design work which are clearly Helmut’s own work. Why would he not assume you are Helmut?”

“It does make sense,” Ignatius conceded.

“But I’m not Helmut,” Joe protested. “Surely there has to be a way I can prove that to him.”

“Like what, boy?” Ignatius asked. “Sikander has had centuries to plot and plan. What could you possibly do that he would not be able to counter with some argument?”

“Couldn’t we just do a DNA test or something?”

“We could,” Katarina agreed, “if we Helmut’s body. Which we don’t.”

Joe slumped feeling dejected. “So there’s this creepy old dude out there who thinks I’m his long-lost enemy whom he swore vengeance, and there’s nothing I can do?”

“Have you considered staying in Salem?” Ignatius asked with a sincerity new to Joe.

“It’s becoming more and more my only course of action. But if this Sikander is really as devious and powerful as you suggest would I even be safe in Salem?”

“Yes,” Katarina stated matter-of-factly.

“How can you be so sure?” Joe countered.

“Because,” Ignatius responded, “they’ve managed to keep me alive.”

Posted by Seth Croston Barber at 11:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

It’s late. It’s much later than I want it to be and I’ve written about as much as I can tonight. I spent my most productive hours of the day working on my Sunday School lesson, and I had some much needed family time. I’ve pushed myself today as Saturday has been scheduled with a social event, and as I recall I don’t get much writing done on Thanksgiving. This should be an interesting final stretch.

The good news is with these 1,700 words I have exceeded 32,000 on my manuscript. I hope you enjoy the next installment.

Joe gave Ignatius a curious glance. “From what?”

“Whom actually,” Ignatius replied.

“Ignatius came to us having broke off from Sikander. There were some initial reprisals. It seems Ignatius crossed Sikander and took some valuable research from him when he turned tail and ran.”

“You wound me madam. It wasn’t quite like that,” Ignatius said.

“Sikander wants you dead too?” Joe asked. “What did you do, exactly, to cross him?”

“Let us just say some of his vital research went missing around the same time that I decided I no longer wished to be his pupil.”

Joe gave Ignatius a wary look as a thought struck him, “Why did you join up with Sikander in the first place? Why should I trust you if you threw your lot in with him?”

Ignatius sighed then withered under Katarina’s glare. “I was a wayward youth when I first met Sikander. My father was killed in some war or other. My mother did her best to raise me and my three brothers, but there wasn’t much a widow and four children could do in life to eek out a living. I fell in with some disreputable men and began earning some real coin for a change.”

“You picked people’s pockets?” Joe asked.

“Nothing like that,” Ignatius denied. “I was one of those chubby cherub-faced children whom adults would fawn over. I would lure them into alleys and houses and all sorts of places where the rest of the gang would convince them to make a donation to what we called our orphan fund.”

Joe made a face of disgust. “You were the bait to lure people into traps.”

“I was, and I was good at it, being a natural-born thespian and all,” he puffed out his chest. “When my mother found out she disowned me. She said I was a disgrace to my father’s memory and a disgrace to our family’s honor. She would have nothing to do with one who preyed on others or helped those that did. I was soon quite homeless. It wasn’t long after that Sikander found me in the streets looking for people who would be willing to donate. To this day I don’t know why he did it, but he took me in and gave me a home.”

“Are you saying Sikander raised you?”

Ignatius nodded. “I was but a lad when I came to live with him, and it took me 70 years to realize the error of my ways. In my defense, he was good and kind to me. At the time he had a large cottage in the forest outside of the town, which he shared with a young apprentice — the poor fellow wasn’t long for this world.” Joe arched an eyebrow at this to which Ignatius hastily replied. “A wild boar got the best of him. Where was it? Oh yes, Sikander clothed me, fed me, and gave me my own room. Such luxuries were hard to give up. At first I thought he was a woodsman, or a huntsman, as we spent most of my first few months engaged in such duties. He taught me a great deal about survival, about plants and animals, how to build shelters, how to track an animal, those sorts of things. Back then I thought fortune had finally found me. Little did I know.

“I got suspicious when he started teaching me to read and write. Back then woodsmen and huntsmen didn’t know such things. After mastering these skills he began to encourage my latent theatrical skills, though I know now it was not for a career on the stage. He would have me practice being a lord, a squire, a page, a courier, a courtier, and even the gutter rat I once was. He would have me practice these roles over and over until I got each on just right, and then he had me perform these roles as characters on the world stage.”

“He groomed you into a con man?” Joe asked.

“Not quite. He was the con man if ever there was one. However, you are right in that he had me portray myself as someone I was not in order to grant him an audience or access to people he otherwise would not. My ability to slip in and out of society as different people was useful to him and his plans, little did I know.”

“I can see why you would want to leave that sort of life,” Joe commented. “He sounds like and odious man.”

“Quite the contrary!” contradicted Ignatius. “I loved that part of my life with Sikander. There is no greater gift to an actor than to play the part so well no one is the wiser. I excelled at my craft, my talent, and it fulfilled me in ways I’ve yet to duplicate. Nor I did not mind playing parts for Sikander. Truthfully I regularly consulted with Sikander regarding my roles and helped him plan and plot.

“And to be fair he was generous with those less fortunate. Most of our little schemes were aimed at those who were either already corrupt, or were corruptible. We saw it as our mission to help those who were helpless. We had within our power to bring … well not justice, but to restore something of a balance to the world around us, and so we did.”

“So why did you leave then?” Joe inquired, genuinely puzzled.

Ignatius took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I suppose you could say I had a change of heart. As I said, Sikander and I would plot out his schemes together. I was usually privy to the details and the motive behind it, but what I lacked was the big picture. After about 70 years of working with him I was finally grasping the larger goal he was working towards. At first it didn’t bother me. Call it ambition but I wanted to see if such a goal could be accomplished. I threw myself into the work for a few years, and gradually Sikander revealed more and more of his plan to me, and that’s when I knew it was time to leave.”

“So what was it he was trying to accomplish?”

Ignatius looked around cautiously then leaned in conspiratorially and in a voice barely above a whisper said, “His grand aim is to become God.”

“What?” Joe exclaimed in shock. “That’s … absurd. He can’t be serious.”

“Oh but he is, and his plan is quite blasphemous,” Ignatius assured him.

“How can anyone become God? He’d have to be all knowing and all powerful and,” Joe paused at a sudden loss for words in describing God finally uttering, “stuff.”

“Sikander agrees with you, and he’s had centuries. Already he has quite a bit of power. You’d have to concede that point wouldn’t you?”

Joe begrudgingly nodded, “If we are right in our assumption that Sikander is behind this.”

“He’s devoted his life to the pursuit of knowledge and mysteries. In my time with him he was able to rediscover, and refine, Helmut’s technique for prolonging life. I’m walking proof. That alone will instill awe and fear in a great many people. Furthermore, he was researching transmuting that longevity technique into a regeneration technique.”

“If he ever accomplishes that he’ll be virtually unstoppable,” a stunned Joe exclaimed. “Cut out his heart and he’d just grow a new one.”

“That was his aim, and so I absconded with that very research. What I could not take with me I destroyed.”

Joe whistled clearly impressed. “No wonder he wants you dead.”

“It is my hope that I set him back a great many decades, but he’s a driven man.”

Katarina leaned forward and fixed Ignatius with a curious look. “You never did explain why you initially went along with his plan to turn him into a god.”

“Ah. Yes. Well initially I didn’t realize that was his goal. All I knew is he was working to set himself up as a benefactor to all of humanity.”

“How was he going to do that,” asked Joe.

“First he needed to secure a certain amount of leverage with people of power. Some of this was through our usual dealings, and others were offering them favors. After he curried enough security with these men he would begin winning over the heart of the people. Eventually, with enough hard work, he could expand his influence over all the people of the planet with his benevolence.”

“What was it exactly that made you leave?” Katarina pressed.

Ignatius shrugged. “I’m not sure exactly. I suppose him wanting to name himself God didn’t sit right with me. If he wanted to be a benevolent king, as I thought he wanted, I would have stayed with him all the way. But to set oneself up as God … that just doesn’t sit right with me. God is infallible, and Sikander clearly has his faults.” Ignatius tapped his chin for a moment. “Think of it this way, it made me sick to my stomach to think that I might have to bow down and worship him as if he were Almighty Sikander.”

Katarina leaned back satisfied.

Understanding finally struck Joe. “Sikander must have been working toward this all along. That was at the heart of those debates about ethics with Helmut. And when Helmut foiled Sikander’s scheme, setting back his work a few decades at least, Helmut became a vital threat to his plans. As long as Helmut lives Sikander can expect to meet strong resistance. Gleaning what I can from the reverence you all give the man I can only assume that Sikander actually fears him. So if Sikander thinks I am Helmut …” Joe let it hang for a moment, “well it all makes perfect sense.”

Katarina and Ignatius nodded together. “Precisely my boy. And that is why I suggest you stay here in Salem.”

“Nothing doing. I’m not letting some power hungry looney ruin my life. Someone needs to stand up to him.”

Ignatius shook his head. “Son, you don’t know what you are dealing with.”

“No, I don’t. But I have the two of you to help me get out of this situation.”

“And then what? If he did this to you once he can do it to you again, and I don’t think you’d fare as well the second time,” Ignatius cautioned.

“I don’t know,” Joe admitted. “I’m just beginning to wrap my head around this. But first things first, I have to get out of Salem.” Ignatius began to protest, but Joe cut him off, “I at least need to have the ability to leave. I can’t stay trapped here and let him send assassin after assassin.”

Posted by Seth Croston Barber at 12:22 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I think today was the worse day of writing I’ve had thus far. I only managed 700 some words. My brain just quit on me. It got to a point where I could not put two words together and opted to rest instead. Sadly that took most of my evening. The good news is I finished Chapter 6! I have the usual ePub and PDF available for your enjoyment.

As of tonight I am at roughly 33,000 words. I’m on track to “win” NaNoWriMo but I am seriously wondering about the story itself. I may not complete the draft until December. Over lunch I talked over my novel with my wife and realized neither Amanda nor Shelly has come back to the story. I’d forgotten about them. Needless to say they either get a bigger role or they might get cut in revision.

Without any further prattling here is the closing segment of Chapter Six:

Joe looked to Katarina for support, “You said you would help get me home… .” he let the thought hang.

“And I will.”

“So what is our next step?” Joe asked the two of them, eagerness coloring his tone of voice.

Ignatius rubbed his chin in contemplation. “I suppose,” he began, then continued with, “no. That will not work.” He suddenly slapped himself on the forehead. “Of course, why didn’t I ask this sooner? How did you get her in the first place?”

Joe gave Ignatius a blank look. “Something called the Springfield Effect? I don’t really know.”

Ignatius’s face deepened into a scowl. “The truth boy,” he growled “I will not be putting my life on the line by crossing Sikander for a liar.”

“I don’t know. Mortimer told me it was something called the Springfield Effect, honest,” Joe protested holding his arms out in front of him in a show of innocence.

“What he says is true,” Katarina chimed in. “We think the Hermit may have something to do with this.”

Ignatius hummed to himself, deep in thought. “But why Salem?” he said, thinking out loud.

“That’s what I want to know,” Joe said. “There are probably far more dangerous places to send me and have me killed than Salem. Unless … does he know about Salem’s Underground?”

“Most assuredly,” Ignatius said distractedly. “He knows quit a bit about this place actually. He used to live here, under a different name of course, and he didn’t associate with those from Second City.” Ignatius stood up and started pacing, deep in thought.

“It doesn’t make sense. Why send me to a city that can defend me from him? It seems like an awful risk to take, especially if I am supposed to be Helmut.”

Ignatius snapped his fingers with enlightenment. “It’s so obvious now. He brought you here because he prepared for this.”

“Come again?” Joe asked, fixing Ignatius with a quizzical gaze.

Continuing to pace Ignatius expounded, “Sikander is a meticulous person, always planning ahead for contingencies. I’ve known him to setup traps within traps just in case the first one failed. It would be just like him to have Salem setup to contain someone until such time as he could deal with them. Salem is also a fine lure as he knows many people of our uniqueness visit Salem throughout the year. He could easily expect and foresee that an enemy of his would one day visit this city, and then he would be able to trigger the binding and thus spring his trap. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s established many such traps like this in all the cities with a large enough concentration of our kind.”

“Makes sense I suppose, but how does that help us?”

“If he readied the binding prior to sending you here then the locus of the binding is here, in Salem. As such we should be able to locate it and then dispel it.”

“How do we do that?” Joe asked.

“Once we know what kind of binding it is then we’ll know how to undo it,” Ignatius said with confidence.

“I meant, how do we find it?”

“Ah. Yes, well that is a horse of a different color, as they say. That will take some old fashioned hard work, and a bit of luck I’m afraid.”

“You mean you don’t know where it is,” Joe said flatly.

“Well, no. Not really. It’s a bit like looking for a needle in a haystack,” Ignatius said moving to stand at the entrance of the gazebo, looking out across the park.

Katarina sighed and explained, “A binding is usually itself bound to a particular object. From that object’s location a radius is usually set which determines the boundaries of the binding itself.”

“So all I need to do is find that invisible wall again and walk it’s circumference and we’ll be able to extrapolate where this binding is,” Joe offered.

“That is one way to do it, my boy, but there might be another,” Ignatius announced. He waved his hands toward the capitol building. “I believe we will find some answers there.”

Posted by Seth Croston Barber at 11:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

In truth I started Chapter Seven last night, but as it was only a few sentences I didn’t feel like posting it then. I managed nearly 2,000 words tonight so for the time being I’m back on track. However, I’m tired and exhausted so I’ll leave you now with the beginning of Chapter Seven, in which Amanda returns to the story and The Gold Man enters the story.

Chapter Seven

“You seriously think we’ll find the binding in the Capitol building?” Joe asked, convinced Ignatius was grasping at straws.

“Not in it but on it. Come on,” Ignatius said striding out of the gazebo. “There is something I need to show you.”

Joe looked to Katarina who shrugged and followed Ignatius wordlessly, clearly willing to trust Ignatius’s judgement for the time being. Having no choice but to follow them, Joe stood up stretching his weary muscles, and shuffled his way out of the gazebo. He got no further than the fountain.

“I thought you were eager to get out of Salem,” a voice called out from behind him.

Turning around Joe stood face-to-face with either Amanda or Shelly. Joe furrowed his brow saying, “Which one are you?”

“Which one do you think I am,” came the playful reply.

“Amanda?” Joe said with uncertainty.å

“Amanda?” she said with mock horror. “And here I thought I had you all to myself.”

Joe was taken aback. He was under the impression Shelly didn’t think much of him. “Uhm,” was all he could say.

“I’m just kidding, it’s me Amanda,” she said with a big grin. “You got it right the first time. What gave me away?”

“Honestly?” Amanda nodded. “It was just a guess. 50-50 odds. You know?”

“So like I said, I thought you were eager to get out of Salem. I’m surprised to see you are still here so late in the day.”

“It seems more than just busses don’t want to accommodate me,” he said with a shrug.

“You know,” she said slowly walking toward Joe, “you were supposed to say, ‘There’s this stunning brunette who has convinced me to stay, indefinitely.’” She drew up close enough to Joe to kiss him, then turned and looked deep into the fountain. “Care to try it again?”

Joe cleared his throat. Never in his life had a woman been so forward with him, and it made him nervous. He was usually quite smooth with the ladies, portraying himself as both dangerous and a gentleman, but he was the one pursuing the women. This was the first time he was the prey and not the hunter. “What I meant to say was, there are some extenuating circumstances that require my immediate attention.”

“Hrm,” Amanda said weighing the statement. “Better, but it needs work. Listen, it’s getting to be about dinner time, why don’t you meet me somewhere, say in half and hour, and we can continue what we started,” she turned her head and raised a questioning eyebrow.

“I, um, might be otherwise engaged.”

“An hour then. There’s a seafood restaurant downtown, McGrath’s. Meet me there in one hour,” she turned and walked away before Joe could respond. “Don’t keep me waiting, lover boy,” she called over her shoulder, then disappeared behind a tree.

Joe stood there nonplussed, arms hanging limply by his sides as his mind rapidly tried to understand what just happened and determine if it was a good or a bad thing. On the one hand Amanda was an attractive woman, and she was clearly interested in him. On the other she was far too forward for Joe’s comfort, and he suspected she might have an agenda. She was far too eager for him to stay in Salem, and now she had just scheduled a date with him that would no doubt take him away from the investigation. Joe was not one to stand girls up, especially pretty girls. He was torn. He was brought back to his senses when a hand settled on his shoulder and Katarina’s voice intruded on his thoughts. “Joseph? Are you alright?”

“I don’t know,” he said distractedly.

“What happened,” Katarina fired back quickly glancing over Joe looking for anything wrong.

“A girl more-or-less decided I would join her for dinner in an hour.”

“What girl?” Katarina said, scanning the park. “I didn’t see any girl.”

Joe looked at her strangely. “She caught up with me when we exited that gazebo over there.”

“Who is she, Joseph?” Katarina asked with a graveness in his voice that made him concerned.

“Amanda. Shelly’s sister,” he was quick to reply.

“I don’t know those girls. Where did you meet them?”

Joe swallowed and looked nervous. “Shelly works at the coffee shop where Mortimer took me. Amanda works at the Greyhound buss station.

Katarina eyed him suspiciously. “I see. I think I know the girl you are talking about. And you say she expects you to dine with her tonight?” she asked her eyebrows arched suggestively.

“Yeah. I’m not sure what happened. One minute we were talking about that I’m still here, and the next she tells me she will be waiting for me at this place called McGrath’s and that I shouldn’t keep her waiting. She walked off before I could tell her I was too busy.”

“If she is the same girl I am thinking of, you should go. You do not want to cross her, and she doesn’t take kindly to being stood up.”

“What about our investigation?”

“Don’t worry Joe,” Katarina assured him. “It won’t interfere. Besides, we’ll need to grab a bite to eat anyway, and I hardly doubt Ignatius will turn down a free meal, even if it is fish.”

“He doesn’t like fish?” Joe asked.

“Decidedly not,” Katarina said shaking her head.

“This should be interesting,” Joe commented.

Katarina nodded. “Come on. Let’s not keep Ignatius waiting. He has the attention span of a small monkey.”

Joe laughed. “Fitting for an old organ grinder.”

“You have no idea,” she remarked.

They quickly walked across the park, then across the street to join Ignatius who was quietly lounging on the lawn, facing the Capitol building. The scene was a bit out of joint, for here was a seeming middle-aged man, dressed as if he just came from work, lounging on a lawn as if he were some young vigorous lad awaiting his gal. The self-satisfied smirk plastered on his face made the scene even more disjointed and odd.

“You look like the cat that caught the prized parakeet,” Joe said approaching Ignatius.

“Ah my boy. So good of you to join us. Here, here, have a seat and enjoy this magnificent view,” Ignatius said with grandiloquence and motioned that Joe should join him on the lawn.

“No thanks. I’ll stand if it’s all the same to you.”

“Suit yourself my boy. Suit yourself.”

“Just what was it you wanted to find here?” Joe asked.

“What I did find,” Ignatius replied enigmatically.

“The binding is here,” Joe said excitedly.

“Sadly, no,” Ignatius admitted. “But,” Ignatius exclaimed as Joe’s face began to fall, “I was right in that the Capitol building has some answers for us regarding that question.”

“I still don’t see how,” Joe said, staring hard at the building desperately looking for anything incongruous. Before him loomed a tall, stately, white marble building, with two wings spreading out from the central room. The front door’s height was exaggerated by tall windows extending nearly the height of the building. But the thing that caught Joe’s attention was the cyclopean fluted column rising from the center of the building, toped with a smaller fluted column, topped with a shining gold man.

“Tell me what you see,” Ignatius said.

“I see a white marble building with a pillar and a statue on top,” Joe said, puzzled at what he was missing.

“Precisely so.”

Joe scratched his head. “I don’t see how any of that helps us.”

“What do you notice about that statue?” Ignatius pressed.

Joe squinted. “I can’t tell from here. It’s just a gold man.”

Ignatius nodded. “Sikander has always been fond of statuary. Once he told me about using the golden statue of a man in some preparations. It didn’t dawn on me until today that he might have meant this one”

“Why this one? Surely there are other gold statues of men somewhere.”

“Ah, but this statue is special. Isn’t that right Katarina?”

A look of understanding flooded Katarina’s face, followed by abject horror. “I hope you are wrong Ignatius.”

“Why?” Joe asked. “What’s so special about this statue?”

Katarina, still staring at the gold man, answered Joe. “Apart from be a rather large statue atop the Capitol building, and apart from being the symbol of the pioneers who settled here and made the Oregon Trail famous, the statue is what you would call ‘enchanted.’”

“Enchanted how?” Joe asked.

“He keeps watch over the city, or as much of it as he is able to see. Back when it was installed the city was much smaller, and one could see quite a bit of Salem from up there,” Katarina continued.

“But he’s only looking in one direction. It doesn’t seem all that useful of a watchman.”

“There is a local legend — which happens to be mostly true — that the gold man, at the stroke of midnight, rotates on his pedestal,” Ignatius added.

Joe paused and considered this. “Had you told me that yesterday I would have said you were pulling my leg. But now… .”

“It’s not entirely true,” Katarina said. “Otherwise many people would know about it, for all they would need to do is stand out here around midnight and observe it. The truth is the gold man is semi-sentient. It was a gift to the city from a master enchanter. Once a day, when no one is watching, he will survey the entire city.”

“If no one can be watching when he does this, how do you know if he actually does it?” Joe asked.

“I should amend that: no one outside of Second City can be watching,” Katarina replied.

“I still don’t see how watching once a day will do much good,” Joe persisted. “It would seem to me you’d need at least four of those guys looking in all directions.”

“He doesn’t so much look with his eyes, as he uses them to — how would you understand it — cast a net of awareness out over the city. What he could see with his eyes, he can see without moving, but the ability fades over time, so he recharges it — like a battery — daily,” Katarina explained.

“So if he watches over Salem, what would he have to do with Sikander’s trapping me here?”

“The gift was from an anonymous source,” Katarina said hollowly.

“I thought you said it was from a master enchanter,” Joe countered.

“It was, but he claimed he did not know who commissioned it.”

“Wait, are you suggesting… ?” Joe left off as the impact of the statement sunk in.

“Indeed I am, my boy,” Ignatius said quietly.

“But … wouldn’t that mean he could watch over Salem all the time?”

“I believe that was exactly the point. The city would accept the gift as a symbol of the state’s history. Second City would accept the gift as it would offer protection and means of detection. It was perfect for Sikander’s uses.”

“Which are?”

“To have influence over this city one way or the other. If he did commission the gold man, it’s more than likely he would be able to affect the enchanting. He would then have an important artifact under his control, and its power could be used by him. So, you see, if Sikander is connected to the statue in any way, then it is more than likely it knows something of your binding.”

Posted by Seth Croston Barber at 11:57 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Tonight I barely managed my 2,000 word goal. In doing so I am now 13,000 words away from the finish line! That seems like a manageable amount. However, I am now certain the story will not conclude at 50,000 words. We shall see.

Tonight we find Joe on that promised date, only it doesn’t go quite as expected. Enjoy!

“So what do we do, just walk up there and ask it nicely if it knows anything?” Joe asked in all seriousness.

“That would be difficult to do, since the building is closed,” Ignatius pointed out. “We only need to enlist the aid of someone who is in regular contact with the gold man.”

“Do you have someone in mind?” Joe asked.

Ignatius looked at Katrina. “Yes, as a matter of fact I do.”

Katarina looked back at Ignatius, “If you are thinking of me you are sadly mistaken. I am not in regular communication with the gold man.”

“No. I was thinking of the Guardian.”

“Ah,” Katarina said, nodding. “Of course.”

“Great! Let’s go find Mortimer and ask him to ask the gold man about this binding,” Joe said enthusiastically.

“It’s not a simple as that, I’m afraid,” Katarina said.

“Why not? He’s helped me before. Besides he did promise to help, didn’t he?”

Katarina nodded. “But he doesn’t answer to any one person’s beck and call. If he is truly needed he will show up.”

“I should think he is needed,” Joe said matter-of-factly.

Ignatius cleared his throat. “I was under the distinct impression there was at least one way for you to get a message to him Katarina.”

“Yes. I can get a message to him.”

“So why don’t you?” Joe asked.

“I already have.”

Joe blinked. “When?”

“When it became clear we needed information from the gold man,” she said primly.

Joe scratched his head. “Well what did he say?”

Katarina smiled at him. “It doesn’t quite work like that.” She glanced at her watch. “But I believe that he’ll join us for dinner shortly.” Katarina gave Joe a meaningful look.

By the time the three of them arrived at McGrath’s there was already a line of people out the door. The place was packed. Joe looked nervously at his watch, then up at the sky and its dwindling daylight. Time was running out on him, and he was now standing in line to have a leisurely sit down meal with a woman he hardly knew. He began to tap his foot with nervous impatience.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Katarina asked Joe conspiratorially.

Joe flinched. “Isn’t this the right place?”

Katarina laughed. “Of course it is. But what are you doing out here?” Joe gave her a blank look. “Go inside and see if she’s already go a table for you,” she chided.

“Oh. Right,” Joe said feeling quite silly for not thinking of that. He was used to being the one sitting at the table waiting. He was quite disoriented now that the roles had been reversed. He stepped out of line, and with a few “pardon me” and “excuse me” and some tight squeezing he made his way to the hostess. Explaining that he was meeting a young woman the hostess offered to let him walk around to see if she was already here.

Joe wandered through the restaurant unsure of himself. Part of him did not want to find Amanda, hoping he could back out and instead skip dinner altogether and get home that much sooner. Another part of him hoped he would find he waiting for him at the next table, looking ravishing and eagerly waiting his company. He got his wish. She was seated at a table for two, quietly reading the menu. Joe didn’t know how she did it, but she had found time to exchange her work uniform for the proverbial little black dress. Joe felt shabby by comparison, which combined with his present disorientation and nervousness served to further push him well outside his comfort zone.

Taking a deep breath, and attempting to smooth the creases in his shirt, he walked boldly to the table. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting,” he said, as he pulled out the chair and sat down.

The menu fell to the table and Joe was treated with a look of surprise and shock bordering on indignation. Finally recognition dawned. “Joe was it? What are you doing here?”

Joe’s face drained of all color. He’d picked the wrong table. Hurrying to stand up he apologized, “I’m so sorry. Your sister told me to meet her here. I must have picked the wrong table. Excuse me.”

“Wait,” she gently commanded. “You were told to come here at this time?”

Joe nodded. “I’m sorry to have confused the two of you again. I’ll just go find her table and be out of your hair.”

“No. Sit. You won’t find anyone else here that looks like me. Please sit,” Shelly said with grace and dignity.

“I don’t want to intrude. Obviously you have a prior engagement.”

“Nonsense. I’m not waiting for anyone. Join me. Someone obviously went to some trouble to arrange this. There’s no reason why we cannot have dinner together.”

“Are you sure?” Joe said hoping to get out of this debacle. “You don’t have to be kind on my account. You didn’t come here to be accosted by some stranger and forced to share a meal with him.”

“Who said anything about being forced? I’m offering. And besides,” she said with knowing grin, “who is to say I didn’t come here expecting a stranger to join me?”

Joe sat down feeling even more uncomfortable. He couldn’t decide which was worse, having Amanda set him up like this, or having Shelly not care.

“I recommend the halibut,” Shelly offered as Joe picked up his menu, “though the salmon is quite good as well.”

Joe studied the menu, taking the opportunity to hide behind it and collect himself. No sooner had he decided what to eat than a waitress came by to take their orders. Suddenly he was sitting face-to-face with Shelly, without a menu to hold between them. He felt vulnerable and exposed, an altogether new feeling for him when it came to dinner with attractive women. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mortimer wave at someone near the front of the restaurant. It became apparent that Katarina, Ignatius, and Mortimer would be dining together without him. Inwardly he cursed his luck, wishing rather to be further discussing his plight.

“Who was it exactly that told you to meet here?” Shelly’s asked, reeling him into an awareness that she was looking intently at him, sizing him up.

Joe, mouth suddenly dry, reached for his glass of water, and swallowing a mouthful croaked out a feeble, “Amanda.”

“Amanda again?” Shelly mused. “Tell me about her.”

“Pardon?” Joe exclaimed, confused.

“Tell me about Amanda. What’s she like?”

“Don’t you know?” Joe asked brows furrowed. “She’s your sister, right?”

“I want to hear your perspective.”

Joe stalled, taking a drink of water. Clearing his throat he said, “Well, she’s quite attractive, but you know that, being twins and all.”

“So we’re twins are we?” Shelly asked lifting an eyebrow.

Joe fidgeted in his chair clearly not knowing where this conversation was going, nor why. Flustered he continued, “She’s forward. She likes to speak her mind, and I gather that she’s not used to being turned down. Though, with her body I can see why,” Joe said, then blushed realizing too late he was also commenting about Shelly. “Um, I really don’t know much else about her.”

Shelly smiled, seemingly undisturbed by Joe’s comments one way or the other. “Where did you meet her?” she asked leaning forward over the table. A faint smile played upon her lips as she noticed Joe’s gaze waver.

Joe nervously swallowed another sip of water as he realized Shelly caught him looking where he probably shouldn’t have. “The bus station,” he said, looking into Shelly’s face, meeting her intense gaze and working hard not to look away.

“The bus station?” Shelly repeated.

“Yeah. The, uh, Greyhound bus depot.”

“I see. And what was she doing there exactly?”

“Working of course. She helped me — well tried to help me — catch a bus out of town.”

“And since we are having diner together I gather that didn’t work out so well for you. Let me guess, she wanted you to stay?”

Joe nodded, “Yes. But to her credit it wasn’t her fault I wasn’t able to get a bus.”

“Wasn’t it?” Shelly asked, reaching for her water.

“Well … no. She got me a ticket on a bus headed to Boise, but it broke down and was rerouted. Why? What do you mean?”

Shelly set her water glass down, a faint lipstick print recording the occasion. “If, as you say, Amanda gets her way, and she wanted you to remain in Salem, don’t you find it a little bit convenient that you were not able to catch a bus?”

Joe looked puzzled and reviewed the details of that morning’s encounter in his head. “No,” he said slowly. “I’m pretty sure it was all just a coincidence.”

“Hmm,” was all Shelly said.

“Do you know something about your sister that I should know about?” Joe asked concernedly.

When Shelly smiled Joe got the impression she was hiding something. Just then their food arrived, and Joe realized how hungry he truly was. Their conversation came to a halt as they began eating.

“A word of caution, Joe,” Shelly said between bites, “Amanda isn’t what she seems to be.”

Joe swallowed his bite of food, nearly choking on it. “What do you mean?” Thoughts of Amanda turning out to be some exotic creature from a fairy tale flooded his mind.

“Be careful around her. Her motives are not always pure, and as I’m sure you’ve already notice she likes to toy with people.”

Joe ate in silence for a while, contemplating this news. Finally, at a loss with what to do he posed a question, “What do you suggest I do, ignore her? She’s quite persuasive. Besides, I was given counsel by someone who knows Amanda to show up anyway.”

“Who counseled you?” Shelly asked, her interest piqued.

“A woman by the name of Katarina. She’s a friend of Mortimer.”

Shelly nodded, “I know her well. What did she say exactly?”

Joe paused, recalling the conversation, “She said I should show up, and that Amanda was not someone that I should cross, and that she does not like being stood up. I got the impression Katarina considers Amanda to be dangerous.” Shelly fell silent, deep in thought, the bite on her fork forgotten, hovering between the plate and her mouth. “Something wrong?” Joe asked.

Shelly looked at Joe, then finished her bite. “No, not exactly. Katarina is a wise woman, and not often wrong. Heed her advice. And Joe, if you can, avoid Amanda.”

Joe looked questioningly at Shelly then nodded in agreement. “One question though, if Amanda is not to be trusted, and if she’s dangerous, I have to ask: is it a bad thing that we had dinner together?”

Shelly looked at him curiously. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, it seems to me Amanda’s real aim here was to get me to dine with you, which we’ve done. If she’s not an ally then what harm was done? And if she is an ally what good was done?”

Shelly smiled. “Are you familiar with the Norse god Loki?”

“Loki? Wasn’t he a mischievous god or something?”

Shelly smiled, “You get my meaning then. Amanda may have aims orthogonal to your plight.”

“You think she has her own goals in this?”

“I think she’s always playing her own game. She may alternately help and hinder you. Just be wary, and do not trust her.”

Finishing his dinner Joe asked one more question, “So what do you think her aims were in getting us together tonight?”

Shelly set her empty water glass down. “I don’t know. Perhaps merely as a distraction.” She paused and considered, “Perhaps she hoped to prevent me from meeting someone else tonight. Who knows?” Shelly shrugged.

Joe rankled at the thought that he was there only to prevent Shelly from meeting someone else. He clenched his jaw in frustration and embarrassment. “So there was someone else you were going to meet with tonight?” he said as calmly as he could.

Shelly looked surprised. “Not to my knowledge.” Looking at Joe she realized he felt slighted. “I often go to dinner alone, but rarely dine alone. Usually the people who need to find me do, and we talk.” Joe relaxed a little. Shelly reached across the table and laid her hand on Joe’s. “As far as I am concerned we were meant to dine tonight, despite Amanda’s plans.”

Joe nodded, soothed by her gracious words. “At least let me pay for the dinner,” Joe offered when the check arrived. “It is the least I can do.”

“I wouldn’t think of it,” Shelly said snatching the bill away from Joe. “You were my guest. Besides, you have bigger issues to concern yourself with,” she nodded her heard toward Mortimer’s table where Joe saw them leaving their table and walking toward him. “I do believe you are needed.”

Joe got up to leave. “Thank you for the dinner,” he said politely.

Shelly reached up, grabbed his hand, and looking him in the eyes said, “Good luck to you Joe.”

Posted by Seth Croston Barber at 12:09 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Tonight I finished Chapter Seven, and have both an ePub and PDF available for download. The story is racing toward the finish line and I need to spend a bit more time working on the final details of the plot. It’s a bit too fuzzy for my comfort.

I wrote part of a scene I’m fairly certain I will cut during revision. I’m not entirely sure why I wrote it other than to just pad out my word count. It started snowing in Salem tonight. That doesn’t happen often, maybe every couple of years, so I got distracted and found it hard to write. I did manage my 2,000 words, though I had hoped to be closer to 3,000. I’m not yet at 40,000 words, but I’m close.

Without further ado I bring you the end of Chapter Seven and the beginning of Chapter Eight:

Joe met up with Katarina and Ignatius outside the restaurant. Joe looked up and down the street looking for Mortimer, whom he saw exiting the restaurant mere moments before. There was no sign of Mortimer. Just as Joe was about to ask about Mortimer Ignatius inquired about Joe’s dinner, “You looked like you had yourself a lovely dinner,” he said with a wink and a grin.

“It was alright,” Joe said defensively.

“Just alright?” Ignatius asked with a frown.

“I trust everything worked out okay with Shelly?” Katarina asked with a knowing look.

“Did you know this would happen?” Joe asked.

“Perhaps.”

“You didn’t feel it was prudent to warn me what I was getting myself into?” Joe asked hotly.

“Would you have gone had I told you this would have happened?”

“Probably not,” Joe confessed.

“Now you know why I did not tell you.”

“But why was it important?”

Katarina fixed him with an appraising stare. “Because of what you learned, Joe.”

“What I learned?” Joe said barely hanging onto his self-control. “All I learned is that there is a girl out there who likes to screw with people, and that you could have simply told me.”

“Did you learn nothing else?”

Joe glared at her. “No,” he said with finality.

Katarina sighed in disappointment.

Ignatius interrupted the conversation, “Well you will be happy to know, my boy, that we had a very productive dinner. A very productive dinner indeed. Would you care to hear about it?” He threw an arm around Joe’s should and began walking away from the restaurant, leaving Katarina to catch up.

“You found a way to get rid of this binding and I can go home now?” Joe asked hopefully.

“One step at a time my boy!” Ignatius said encouragingly. “One step at a time. But, yes. I do believe we have an angle on getting you home.”

“I’m all ears,” Joe said devoid of all enthusiasm.

“The Guardian was able to confirm that the gold man was indeed aware of a dozen or so prepared bindings in Salem.”

“A dozen?” Joe exclaimed incredulously.

“Give or take a few. There were some anomalies we could not identify.”

“So, what now? We visit each one until we find the one holding me here?”

“That would be one way of doing it, sure. But I have a hunch we are going to follow up on. If I’m right it’ll point us in the right direction.”

“So where are we going?” Joe asked, hoping it was somewhere close by.

“To church!” Ignatius said enthusiastically.

“To church?” Joe groaned. “Do we have time for all that?”

“It shan’t take but a moment my boy,” Ignatius said encouragingly.

“Last time I asked God for anything He didn’t answer me,” Joe grumbled.

Ignatius laughed. “We aren’t going to church to inquire of The Lord, dear boy. We are going to a church where I believe we will find one of Sikander’s bindings, and hopefully yours.”

Joe visibly brightened.

They walked in silence for half a block when Joe was suddenly struck with a question. “Why a church?” Joe asked.

“Because that’s where the binding is,” Ignatius replied.

“No, I mean, why did Ignatius place a binding in a church? Isn’t that a bit, well odd?”

“Ah I see what you mean,” Ignatius said nodding. “I suppose he did it to mock those inside. Remember he’s trying to set himself up to be God, and what better way to erode at their faith than by using their own buildings against them, and for his own purposes? Plus, who would think to look in a church — a house of righteousness — for something evil?”

Joe looked troubled. “That’s quite a statement to make. Isn’t he worried of reprisals?”

“I think he rather figures that if God exists and cares He would have acted centuries ago.”

“I suppose that makes a certain sort of sense,” Joe said. “But still, that’s playing with fire.”

Ignatius nodded. “I don’t disagree.”

Arriving at the church Ignatius stopped and looked up, then around, searching the exterior of the church. They stood before a magnificent red brick church, complete with steeples, gothic arched windows and doors, and decorative crosses. All that was missing was stained glass windows, but the large flower-like window above the doors more than made up for their absence. It was unapologetically a church, the kind of church one would expect to see in an old black and white movie. The very building commanded respect, and the steeples, topped with crosses, seemed to point toward heaven suggesting man’s attention should be elsewhere. Joe marveled that such a building would be the target of such dastardly schemes. It seemed a crime not only against God, but against man as well, for to mar such an inspiring example of architecture diminished it’s cultural value.

“This is the church?” Joe asked obviously awed.

“Aye,” Ignatius said, distracted by his survey of the building.

“I seems unconscionable to use this building in such a base way,” Joe said.

“’Tis only a building, son,” Ignatius said, still searching.

“Some would argue differently. Sacred architecture has always played some role in society. It has served to inspire righteousness, goodwill, love, and kindness. Not to mention the impact it has on asserting moral authority over a community.”

Ignatius stopped his search and peered at Joe. “I didn’t take you for a believer.”

Joe shrugged. “I’m an art major. I studied architectural forms and religious iconography. You can’t study that without having something rub off on you.”

Ignatius shook his head dismissively and resumed his search.

“Do you believe, Joe?” Katarina asked quietly.

Joe furrowed his brows and thought a moment before answering. “I believe there is probably something out there, though I’m not sure we can know it. I believe that religion has played an important part in civilizing the world, but it has its limits, you know?”

“I see.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Joe added hastily. “I respect religion and churches and all. I think church is great for some people, I just don’t see the relevance in my life.”

“You don’t need God, is that it?”

Joe pondered the point for a bit. “I guess you could put it that way, yeah.”

“I see,” she said, turning her attention to the church.

A shout of “Eureka!” came from around the corner. Joe and Katarina hurried to see what Ignatius had found. He was crouching low to the ground on the corner, his head down to the ground, sniffing the brick. “That sly old dog,” Ignatius was saying. “One day he will get his comeuppance, you mark my words.”

“What did you find?” Katarina asked Joe.

“There is a brick, here in the corner at the ground, that has all the stench of Sikander’s craft imbued in it. I can’t believe he’d stoop so low as to insinuate his contribution is a corner stone,” Ignatius shook his head in disgust.

“You can smell something like that?”

“Aye, if you have the training. Recall that I worked next to the man for many centuries. I’d recognize his handiwork anywhere.”

“So is it the binding? Can I go home now?”

Ignatius shook his head. “I don’t think so. Something’s not quite right about this one. Give me a moment and I’ll be able to give you more information.” Ignatius first leaned down and endeavored to put his ear up against the brick. He sat there for a while, laying on the ground ear to the building in stony silence, as still as if he were a statue. Without warning he pulled hid head back, stuck out his tongue, and licked the brick. He made a ponderous face as he tasted the brick, then sat up and fished a pen knife out of a pocket. Checking to see he was not being observed he pulled out a handkerchief, leaned down, and scrapped a few flecks of brick onto the white cloth. He waded the handkerchief in his fist, closed his eyes and became incredibly still, even to the point of holding his breath. Finally he exhaled and opened his eyes.

“Well?” Joe asked anxiously.

Ignatius took a deep breath and said enthusiastically, “It’s a brick!”

Joe’s faltered. He just stood still staring at Ignatius stunned into silence. Ignatius broke out into deep laughter.

“Ignatius P. Blackmoore!” Katarina scolded him. “That was a cruel joke to play.”

Laughing he apologized, “I am sorry. I couldn’t resist. But oh my you should see your face my boy.”

“Did you find out anything other than the fact it is a brick?” Joe asked through clenched teeth.

“As a matter of fact I did. I have some good news and some bad news I’m afraid.”

“The good news?” Katarina asked.

“The good news is, this is in fact related to an active binding.”

“And what’s the bad news?” Joe growled.

“This is only part of the binding.”

Chapter Eight

“What do you mean this is only part of the binding? I thought the binding was a single object in a single place?” Joe demanded

“Usually, yes,” Ignatius replied. “However that need not always be the case.”

“So you are telling me there are fragments of this binding scattered throughout the city?”

“Probably,” Ignatius conceded. “Sikander wove a very intricate binding here. This is more complex than anything I’ve ever seen before. It would appear that whenever he intended to use this his goal was to keep the someone here indefinitely.”

Joe groaned. “Are we back to the ‘you should really stay in Salem’ speech now?”

“Not at all my boy!” Ignatius said with enthusiasm. “We have something Sikander did not anticipate.”

“What’s that?” Joe asked blandly.

“Me.”

“Is that supposed to fill me with an overwhelming sense of hope?”

Ignatius frowned. “Frankly, yes. I am familiar with Sikander’s craft, and his style. If anyone other than him has a hope to unravel what he has done it will be me. He did not count on this.”

“So now what? Where do you suggest we go next? I presume we are going to hunt down these other locations now?” Joe looked up at the darkening sky.

Ignatius, looking at Katarina, said, “I suggest we try the Mission Mill Museum next. I seem to recall he once talked about a wool mill he was rather fond of, and the Guardian did say there was something there.”

Katarina nodded in agreement. “It’s not far Joe, just a few blocks. One more spot ought to give us a better idea of what we are dealing with here.”

“Point the way,” Joe said resignedly.

The trio set off down the street past the Capitol building, the gold man standing proudly with his back to them, and on past a university. Joe walked in moody silence, all hope of getting home slipping away. He was too absorbed in his own thoughts to appreciate the beauty around him. Trees grew to proud heights, offering shade alternately to university students and state workers. The fact that they walked by the Oregon Supreme Court went completely unnoticed. It wasn’t until Katarina and Ignatius stopped at a park bench that he noticed they were carrying on a conversation about theology.

“Free will is plainly obvious to all and sundry,” Ignatius was saying. “It is not only ludicrous to suggest otherwise but it is downright terrifying to consider that someone else might be ordering our actions and behaviors.”

“We have free will, I readily admit that point, but not in matters of faith. Our eternal outlook is predestined.”

“I’m just not comfortable with that explanation. Even you must admit preachers and evangelists waste their time proclaiming the gospel if the whole thing is preordained. We might as well eat, drink, and be merry for tomorrow we die.”

“Far be it from me to chime in on a debate I am unqualified to even understand, but why have we stopped?” Joe interrupted.

“Welcome to the Mission Mill Museum,” Ignatius said with a grand sweeping gesture.

Joe looked around. The immediate vicinity presented itself as a small park with a creek running through it, and a few trees. Across the lawn stood a complex of wooden buildings painted a rustic red with stark white trim.

Posted by Seth Croston Barber at 11:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I had to work out some plot-based kinks in the ending of my novel tonight. As I’ve been approaching the end I’ve become more concerned about it. Initially it was never a well defined target, as I knew I would be shifting things around. As it grew closer I had a good idea how I wanted to wrap things up, but as I’m now 10,000 words away from “the end” I’ve grown uncomfortable with it. For one thing it was a bit too vague, and for another I still was not entirely clear how to get the characters from plot point a to plot point b. I’m still not 100% sure I’ve solved it, but I think (I hope) I’ve got it solved enough that I can cross the finish line this month.

Due to the plotting of the novel I had to eat away at my lead. I only wrote 800 some odd words, enough to cross the 40k marker. It’s not what I wanted today, but I have a better idea of how to proceed from here.

For today’s excerpt I am reposting a portion of yesterday’s writing to give some context:

“Welcome to the Mission Mill Museum,” Ignatius said with a grand sweeping gesture.

Joe looked around. The immediate vicinity presented itself as a small park with a creek running through it, and a few trees. Across the lawn stood a complex of wooden buildings painted a rustic red with stark white trim. The uniform construction was soothing to the eye, but did nothing to diminish the feeling of weight the large three story brick building gave to the area. The complex stood out among the more modern buildings of Salem. In truth they evoked a colonial era, rather than a frontier old-west feeling, as if the buildings were wholly transplanted from Salem, Massachusetts to Salem, Oregon. The impression was so strong Joe wondered which building would have been used for a witch trial.

“I can see why Sikander would use this place. It’s … old,” Joe said.

“It has been well preserved,” Ignatius agreed.

“That’s not what I meant,” Joe countered. “I mean the atmosphere of this place. It’s almost as if we stepped into another world in another time. I half expect a young girl in a bonnet and boots with buttons to come out of one of those buildings carrying a wooden bucket.”

“And that is precisely what I meant about being well preserved,” Ignatius responded. “More than just the building structures have been preserved. The very spirit of the place is intact. As you say, all that is missing are the people who originally spent their time here.”

At that precise moment a young girl, in dress and bonnet, exited one of the buildings, walked across the yard and into another building.

“You forgot to mention the museum is haunted,” Joe said sardonically.

Katarina laughed. “Let’s find what we’ve come here to seek,” she suggested. “We won’t have much daylight, and I have a suspicion we’ll need it.”

Joe looked to Ignatius who was simply standing still, staring perplexedly at the buildings. “Where do we start looking?”

Ignatius, looking worried, shrugged. “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

“What do you mean?” Joe asked a bit shocked. “At the church you were able to find that brick, sort of like a bloodhound. Why is this place different?”

“I don’t know how to say it, but I think the whole place might be binding.”

Joe looked from Ignatius to Katarina. “Is that possible? I mean, the last one was just a brick.”

“Size is irrelevant,” Katarina replied. “All that matters is that it exists.”

“But the amount of effort it must have taken to convert this entire place …” Ignatius said to Katarina, trailing off. “How could someone pull that off? The time it would take to complete it, without anyone interfering, makes it so unlikely I’ve never heard of it being done.”

“Are you certain there is not another explanation?” Katarina suggested.

Ignatius furrowed his brow. “Like what?”

“What if there is more than one binding here?”

Ignatius’s eyes grew wide. “You can’t be serious.”

Katarina looked him in the eye, unwavering. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“Frankly, yes. How could they coexist in proximity?”

“It’s been done before,” Katarina prodded.

Ignatius snapped a quick glance at Joe then back to Katarina, “Yes, but that technique was lost with Helmut,” he hissed.

“Are you sure?” Katarina pressed.

“If Sikander learned it, or rediscovered it, he didn’t tell me. I didn’t even get a hint of it from him.”

Katarina gave him an exasperated look. “Are you suggesting Sikander never kept any secrets from you?”

“Of course not,” Ignatius spat, his dander up. “But I assisted him on a great many of these traps, and we went through all kinds of gyrations to place layer upon layer of bindings in the same city. It would have been greatly simplified if he had this technique. No,” he shook his head. “If Sikander knew how to do this I’m sure I would have caught wind of it.”

“Humor me, and see if I’m right.”

Ignatius sighed. “And where do you expect me to start looking?”

“Pick something suitably old,” Katarina offered. “Say a lintel, or part of the foundation.”

“Very well,” Ignatius grunted.

“What’s it going to hurt?” Joe asked. “Wouldn’t that help if the whole place were the binding?”

“It would have some limited uses,” Ignatius grumbled. “But I would not gain anything specific, and details are what we need right now. Without them we will not be able to unravel the binding and you will be stuck here I’m afraid.”

Joe looked to Katarina for encouragement. She stood firm, calm, and composed, as if there was nothing at all in the world to be concerned about. Joe turned back to Ignatius, “It’s worth a shot.”

They walked over to the large brick building, which Joe assumed was the actual mill, and Ignatius began running his hands over the rough rock foundation, muttering to himself the entire time. After a few minutes he gave up, shrugging his shoulders. “Nothing, and everything. I can’t find anything specific here to investigate.”

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Joe asked.

Katarina reached out and laid a hand on Ignatius’s shoulder. “Allow me,” she said softly. “Try again. Please.”

Ignatius sighed resignedly and turned back to the building and began running his hands over the rock wall. “There. Do you feel that?” Katarina called out.

“No,” Ignatius growled. “Wait.” He squinted, then shut his eyes and leaned into the building. “It’s faint, but there is something here. Something distinct from the rest of the place.”

Posted by Seth Croston Barber at 11:32 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I made a last-minute adjustment to my plot tonight, rather spur of the moment. As I’ve known all along I’m discovering and exploring this novel as I’m writing it. I only have a skeleton in mind, and some times I don’t even have that clear. Tonight I realized that Mission Mill was not overtly related to our tale. It’s there, and hopefully my little twist will be developed greater during revision. What this allowed me to do is add in an extra scene (or two), and so our trio find themselves at Deepwood Estate tonight.

Tomorrow being Thanksgiving, and given that I am 2,000 words ahead of schedule today, I may not get any writing done. I want to spend time with family, and while I expect I will have some time to myself before going to bed, I don’t want to push myself if I don’t have to. So with that thought in mind, may these words tie you over:

Joe waited as patiently as he could, but the site of a grown man groping the foundation of a building, while a young woman leaned on his shoulder was too conspicuous. Joe worried that at any minute someone would see them, and Joe didn’t know how to answer the inevitable questions. “Not to interrupt, but could you two look a little less out-of-place?” Joe hissed. They both shushed him.

“I can’t quite make it out,” Ignatius said. “It’s too faint, almost like it’s deep within the foundation.” He stood up from the foundation.

“Let’s keep trying,” Katarina said, leading them into the museum. “They have kept the original water wheel turbine. Perhaps there is something there,” she suggested, walking up to an impressive display of vintage mechanical technology.

Ignatius walked up to the turbine and looked at it. There were some visitors touring the museum, and not wanting to draw attention to himself he refrained from closer inspection. “I can’t be certain,” he whispered. “Perhaps once the room clears out I’ll be able to do a better inspection.”

Deciding not to loiter too long near the turbine they casually walked through the museum, reading the plaques and playing the part of the interested tourist. The museum boasted to have some of the original equipment from when the woolen mill was operational, as well as various artifacts of the time and trade. By itself the museum was far from boring, and listening to Ignatius whisper comments about his recollections of the era preserved in memory by the museum was fascinating. “I still remember the first time I saw a factory,” he was saying. “The thing both impressed and frightened me.”

“Why’s that,” Joe asked quietly.

“Well my boy, for one thing the speed at which they worked, and the amount of work they got done in a day was astounding. The potential to change the pace of life was astounding. But the place was soulless, and inhuman. In a way it felt like it was dehumanizing people.”

“You mean having machines replace humans?” Joe pressed.

“Something like that. Looking back now I see that in some ways it did make life worse, but in many ways it made life much better.”

“And we still have that tension of losing jobs to machines,” Joe chimed in sardonically.

“True, true. But you yourself should know, dear boy, being the designer that you are, that there has been a growing trend of people returning to hand crafted goods and products,” Ignatius countered.

Joe shrugged. “It’s inconsequential. It’s just a few people hawking their wares on the Internet, that’s all. By and large we still consume mass produced goods.” Joe looked up from reading a display and looked over at Ignatius, “But we’ll never manage to mass produce good design,” he said with a grin.

The number of people milling about dwindled and the three of them nonchalantly made their way back to the water wheel and the turbine. As there was no one in the immediate vicinity Ignatius endeavored to take a closer look.

“Careful,” Katarina whispered as Ignatius moved to touch the casing on the turbine.

Ignatius grunted. “Don’t worry, I don’t want to lose my hand any more than you want me to.” He leaned in and let his hand over over the assembly, closed his eyes and concentrated. He shook his head. “I’m still not getting anything.”

“Here, let me,” Katarina said, laying her arm on his shoulder.

Ignatius cocked his head to one side, as if listening for something, then finally pulled his arm back and sighed. “Nothing.”

“So what does that mean?” Joe asked.

“Nothing,” Ignatius said. “It means nothing, except that we’ve wasted time.”

“Humor me,” Katarina said with a knowing smile. “We’ll find something else here. Why don’t we try the waterways, or one of the other buildings.”

They shuffled out of the building and into the waning daylight. Katarina led them across a bridge and toward a collection of old period houses. As they grew closer Joe spotted a giant mass of black metal sitting in a frame on a concrete pad. “Hey, what’s that over there?”

They walked over to it and discovered it was the original turbine. Without prompting Ignatius walked up to it, examining it. He ran his hands over the black outer casing while looking intently at it. He even crouched down and stuck his head inside the turbine inspecting the inside. Being sure that no one was watching he closed his eyes, leaned in, and rested his ear on it. “Well I’ll be a monkey’s uncle… .” he exclaimed, and then raised his head enough to lick the turbine. Pulling back smacking his lips he gave a worried look to Katarina. “You were right. This is a binding, but its signature is different from any other that I’ve come across.”

Katarina raised an eyebrow. “Different how?” she asked, resting her hand on the turbine.

“For starters, it has a unique taste.”

“You sure that’s not just the metal?” Joe asked.

Ignatius turned and glared at Joe until he realized the question was genuine. “No. Each technique of binding has it’s own signature that some of us can actually taste. This one is different. It’s strikingly similar to Sikander’s signature, but distinct enough that it cannot be his. Furthermore, I can say with certainty that this binding differs from the one I felt in the foundations of the building.”

“Is there any way you can gauge how old the binding is?” Katarina asked.

Ignatius shook his head. “No. But I can tell you it’s never been used.”

“So what are we saying?” Joe asked. “Are you suggesting someone other than Sikander has been here and worked an impossible set of bindings?”

“That’s exactly what we’re suggesting,” Katarina replied. “Furthermore, I’m willing to bet that someone is Helmut himself.”

Joe did some quick math in his head. “I thought you said he died a long time ago.”

“Disappeared,” corrected Ignatius.

“Fine disappeared. Either way there is now way this is near old enough for him to have done it when he was known to be alive. So are we saying that Helmut is alive today?”

“Not necessarily,” Katarina cautioned. “He was here at some point in Salem’s history, that much we can deduce. But as to his fate after that, well …” she shrugged.

“I take it we can assume that we won’t find anything of my binding here?”

“I’m afraid not my boy. There’s just no possible way Sikander would even try.”

“Where to now? What is next on our list?” Joe asked tiredly.

“The nearest one is Deepwood,” Ignatius replied. “Though that’ll still be a bit of a walk.”

“Do we have a choice?” sighed Joe.

“Not really,” Katarina said, placing a hand on Joe’s shoulder.

“Let’s get going then,” Joe said.

There was no time for conversation as they hurried to the Deepwood Estate, Katarina setting a grueling pace that had Joe wincing from the sharp pain in his side. When they arrived at the entrance to the estate Joe had to pause for breath, leaning over with his hands on his knees. When he righted himself once again he beheld the house for which the estate was known. Before him stood an exquisite nineteenth century victorian home, right out of a storybook. The house was painted a cool white, which accented its many windows, and served as a relief to show off the curves, arches, and angles otherwise hidden in its frame. Off the center of the house rose tower, serving as the only third story window Joe could see, but the views from that room must have been magnificent. Joe stood and marveled that something so beautiful could exist in such a modern city, in what used to be a frontier of the wild west.

“Joe?” Katarina called turning back looking for him.

“This … this is amazing. This is a Queen Anne Victorian house, right here in the middle of the city.”

“I know,” Katarina said. “Any other day and I would arrange for you to have a tour, but… .”

“What is this town?” Joe asked, still leaning on his knees. “On the one hand it appears to be a modern city, but the deeper you look the more things start popping out at you.”

“This is a town, like many others,” Katarina assured him.

“But how many have all manner of historical sites like these?”

“Many, Joe.” She walked over and laid a hand on his arm. “Come on. The sun is nearly down, and we’ll need what little remains to find what we are looking for.”

Joe stood up and allowed Katarina to lead him around the back of the house and into the formal gardens, whereupon Joe was impressed once again. The care and attention paid to the gardens was evident, as plants were arranged to form paths, and patterns. The grass was kept short, but lush, inviting people to walk and even lounge on it. Small boxwood were precisely trimmed and served to line peat gravel walkways and create borders between sections of the garden. There was not a section of the gardens that had not been given careful attention. It was, in a word: manicured.

Katarina led him through the gardens, around the house, back to the front. They passed through an old tennis court, not yet restored to working order, and ended up meeting Ignatius in a tiny green gazebo tucked away into the side of the hill at the front of the house. Joe could look up and into the windows of the house, and hear cars driving by behind him. “Oh what I wouldn’t give to have seen this place when Salem was young,” Joe uttered.

“It was a sight to behold, to be sure,” Katarina replied.

Joe eyed her curiously and was about to ask a question when Ignatius let out a quite exclamation. “It’s here, and it is Sikander’s.”

“Good news?” Joe asked hopefully.

Ignatius gave Joe a look of commiseration. “Not exactly I’m afraid. I can now confirm that this location and the church are both part of an active binding. I can also confirm that we are dealing with a complex binding with many parts. The thing is distributed throughout the city.”

Joe slumped onto the wooden bench in the gazebo. “Got any other good news?” he asked sarcastically.

Ignatius looked at Katarina and back to Joe. “Just one other thing. I can’t be certain, but it appears this binding is configured to target a specific individual.”

“How is that news?”

“What I mean,” Ignatius leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, “from the beginning this binding was set to only trigger when a particular individual set foot within its bounds.”

Joe sat up a straight. “Are you saying this trap was laid specifically for me, decades, even centuries ago?” he hissed.

Ignatius shook his head. “Not as such. Like I said, I cannot be certain. What I do know is there are certain indicators that only a particular person could spring the trap.”

“So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying it was no accident you were sent here, to Salem.”

“Can you determine any of the criteria the binding is using to keep Joe here?” Katarina asked.

Ignatius shook his head. “I don’t have enough of the binding. But knowing Sikander, if he were targeting a specific individual he would use something of theirs in creating it, like a strand of hair, or a fingernail.”

“Which brings me back to my point. If that were true how could he be targeting me before I was even born?”

Katarina looked at Joe with a measure of pity. Joe caught on. “Wait. No. No, we’re not back to that.”

“It would make sense Joe.”

“No it wouldn’t. Let’s say Sikander used a piece of Helmut’s hair for this binding, and let’s assume I am his descendant. That doesn’t explain why the trap would trigger for me. I’m not an exact copy of Helmut, and before you go thinking it, I’m not Helmut himself pretending to be some kid named Joe.”

“I can assure you we were not thinking that,” Katarina said soothingly.

“The binding may not be so specific that it would trigger for only Helmut,” Ignatius chimed in. “It may only look for certain genetic characteristics. Look, what it means is you were singled out. Sikander thinks you are a threat to him, and whether or not we can get you free of this binding doesn’t mean you should rashly return to your life in Springfield. As long as he thinks you are a threat to him he will come after you.”

Joe wiped his brow. “Nevertheless I need to get back home. I need some kind of normalcy right now.”

Posted by Seth Croston Barber at 11:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I don’t know what happened today. I took the day off. I intended on writing at least 4,000 words. I got a good night’s sleep; my wife let me sleep in until 9. I could not concentrate on my novel. Despite the abundant sleep I even took a nap in the afternoon. I broke my habit: I tried to write during the day, rather than the evening. When I did start writing at my usual time the words flowed better. Things were less forced and I made better progress.

Despite my slow start and underwhelming progress I did manage nearly 2,400 words, most of which is a rather protracted fight scene. I didn’t anticipate the fight lasting as long as it has. I’ll end it soon, as this is not the climax of the story. Until then you’ll have to wait and see just what happens. Again, I am starting this evening’s excerpt with some context from last time.

Joe wiped his brow. “Nevertheless I need to get back home. I need some kind of normalcy right now.” Joe looked from Ignatius to Katarina. “What is our next move?”

“We still need to find the rest of the binding if we are to unravel it,” Ignatius sighed. “That will take some time. We don’t know how many different pieces there are to this one, nor where they are hidden.”

“I thought Mortimer was able to get us a list of locations,” Joe said.

“He did,” Katarina replied. “But as we found out at Mission Mill not all of them are related to your predicament.”

“So we just need to keep looking then,” Joe said with finality.

“It’s getting late,” Katarina countered. “We are losing daylight and we all need some rest.”

“I’ll rest when I get back to my home,” Joe practically growled.

Katarina looked to Ignatius who only shrugged. “There was another location nearby, in Bush Park. We can try there while we still have some light,” Katarina suggested.

“Great. Let’s go,” Joe said, launching himself off the bench and out of the gazebo.

“Do you know where you are going?” called out Katarina as she hurried after him.

“Nope,” Joe called out. “But I expect you’ll show me the way,” he turned around showing a big grin on his face. “Come on, we’re losing daylight, and I’d like to be home now.”

Katarina took the lead, walking them out the way they came in, past the now quiet and nearly dark house, and back to the sidewalk. Taking a left she practically marched up the street.

“I take it that’s the park up ahead?” Joe asked upon noticing the expanse of forested land on their left, continuing off into the distance. Katarina nodded. “It seems like a rather large park,” Joe said, worry creeping into his voice.

“It’s a 90 acre park,” Katarina confirmed.

“Please tell me you have some idea where in the park we are headed,” Joe pleaded.

Katarina nodded at the tall oak trees looming over them. “I suspect it’s one of these trees.”

Joe looked crestfallen. “There must be hundreds of trees.”

“Aye,” confirmed Ignatius. “But we need only concern ourselves with the old ones.”

“They all look old,” Joe pointed out.

Ignatius chuckled. “I suppose they do. I have a fair idea where we need to go,” he said, veering off the sidewalk and into a wooded parking lot. “I think you’ll find it’s this way.”

Joe followed Ignatius without a word, and plunged into the darkening woods after him. The trees stood proud and tall, and sheltered those within their care not only from the sun, but also from the hustle and bustle of life outside the park. There was a quiet and stillness lingering in the forest. It was inviting and lulled people into a sense of safety. As if to prove the point a pair of squirrels ran chittering toward the trio, stopping a short distance from them, and stood on the hind legs, as if begging for food.

“I am sorry dear friends,” Katarina said to the squirrels, “but we do not have any food today.”

The squirrels cocked their heads at this, chittered to each other, then scampered up the nearest tree and vanished from sight.

“Tame squirrels,” Joe commented.

“They’ve come to trust that people are generally kind and giving,” Katarina said.

The came upon a jogging trail in the midst of the trees. Ignatius walked onto it, paused, then strode deeper into the dark forest.

Noticing how dark the forest was getting, Joe was about to ask if either Ignatius or Katarina had a flashlight with them when Ignatius stopped short. He crouched down and motioned that Joe and Katarina should do the same. Joe looked frantically around but saw nothing.

“What is it,” Joe whispered to Ignatius.

Ignatius shook his head then waved vaguely at Joe, who understood Ignatius to mean he should remain silent. Katarina placed a comforting hand on Joe’s shoulder and gave him a reassuring smile. After a moment Ignatius stood up, saying, “I thought I heard something up ahead. Must have been a squirrel.” He shrugged. “This way,” he said, continuing deeper into the gloom.

They walked for a short distance then came upon a small playground nestled in and amongst the trees. There was a single toddler swing standing alone, just off the path, a mere short distance from a slide and a set of swings and a picnic table.

“Seems like an odd place to put a kiddie playground,” Joe said in hushed tones. “If I were a kid I wouldn’t want to play here.”

A cry split the stillness of the moment. Ignatius dropped to one knee, hand outstretched menacingly, pointing off into the gloom of the forest. Katarina moved to stand between Joe and the origin of the cry, then pulled him down to a crouch, whispering to him, “Keep your head down.”

Joe cowered on the ground, crouching, and cursing himself for hiding behind a girl. “What is it?” Joe hissed. “What do you see?”

“Nothing,” Katarina whispered back.

Another cry assailed them, followed by the muffled sounds of a skirmish. Dim sounds of wood clashing against wood wound its way through the forest, followed shortly by cries of victory and painful defeat. A sickening thud sounded just ahead, and a small round object fell to the ground. Joe panicked. “Please don’t tell me that’s a human head,” he whimpered into Katarina’s ear.

A dark, vaguely human shape, bearing what looked to be a menacing knife, or sword, loomed out of the forest, causing Joe to cringe, but he could not look away. It was bad enough to be hiding behind a girl, he would not look away. As the figure drew closer Joe saw it was a young man brandishing a stick wrapped in foam and duct tape. Stooping down he picked up a dripping wet foam ball, which he brandished with a certain viciousness. Turning around he let out a fierce, bellowing war cry, the thew the ball back the way he came and ran forward, his improvised sword extended before him.

Ignatius relaxed and stood up. Joe and Katarina did the same.

“Is that what I think it was?” Joe asked.

“There’s a group of guys who engage in live action role playing round about here in the park,” Ignatius said. “I expect that was what I had heard before.”

“You’ve got those guys out here too?” Joe asked. “I ran into a few of their kind back in college. If you ask me they aren’t all there.”

The woods echoed with a series of battle cries. Joe smirked. “You know, they would sound more frightening if they weren’t so few.”

A branch above Joe’s head rang out with a loud crack and came crashing down. Joe dove out of the way just before it slammed into the ground, where he had just been standing. Picking himself up off of the ground he looked at the fallen limb and saw one end was charred black. About to call attention to this detail Joe looked to Katarina and Ignatius and saw an onslaught of dark figures running towards them. Too late, Joe realized they were under attack.

“Stay down!” Katarina shouted at Joe as the trees around them erupted in a cacophony of loud cracks and explosions. Joe’s head reeled as he realized they were being ambushed. Looking up into the trees he saw branches burst into sudden flame, then just as suddenly extinguish as they came crashing down to the ground. Katarina held her hands aloft and braced herself for impact. The branches and limbs sped toward the trio, and to Joe’s utter astonishment careened off an invisible barrier, sliding safely down away from them.

Ignatius, standing only a few feet in front of Katarina, flung his arm out toward the fallen limbs. Making a fist with his outstretched arm he made a grand sweeping gesture bringing his harm straight in front of him, then opened his fist. A thick limb flew off the ground and hurtled itself with great force toward the onrushing figures. There were a few cries of surprise, and few muffled curses, as the limb crashed into two of the figures with a resounding clangor of wood against metal. Ignatius repeated the gesture sending yet another limb hurtling at another pair of figures who, this time expecting resistance, ducked behind trees, the limb crashing to the ground somewhere off in the distance.

“They’ve got mages!” someone bellowed from the attacking party.

“They can’t attack what they can’t see,” came a faint reply. As if someone flipped a switch the woods outside the playground became impenetrably dark. Tendrils of inky blackness flicked into the playground at the edges, as if the sudden darkness were alive and searching. Ignatius, crouching low to the ground, drew a series of figures in the debris on the forest floor. With a quick exhalation of breath the woods around them were suddenly populated with baseball sized floating spheres of blue-white light. The light revealed a stygian thing winding its way through the trees, gently embracing cloaked figures slowly advancing.

Joe looked all around them, looking for a line of retreat, but finding none called out, “We’re surrounded.”

Katarina closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her lips began to move ever so slightly, though no sound came out, then in a sudden motion she exhaled and slammed her hand into the ground, palm first, fingers splayed wide. The instant her hand touched the ground an invisible wave of force ripped through the air, passing harmlessly through Ignatius and Joe. It sped through the forest tearing through the stygian tendrils, reducing them to nothing more than an incoherent black mist, and slammed into the cloaked and robed figures with such force that many were knocked to the ground.

A lone figure, brought down to one knee by Katarina’s attack, launched himself at Ignatius with a wild cry. Rushing toward Ignatius he passed under one of the spheres of light and Joe saw his face. “It’s the same kid as before,” he hissed in shocked warning. Where before the young man was waving a padded stick, Joe now saw he was brandishing a polished blade of steel, and wore a small wooden shield on his other arm.

Ignatius, aware of his onrushing attacker, remained crouched until his opponent was nearly upon him. Shifting his weight to one side he lunged with his feet and threw himself under the swing of the sword. As the sword arched to the ground harmlessly behind Ignatius, he brought his open palm up into the chest of his assailant. There was a sudden bright flash of angry red where Ignatius’s hand impacted. The would be warrior flew back in a delicate arch and landed limp as a rag doll a couple of feet away, wisps of smoke rising from a charred hole in his chest. Joe gaped, forgetting to breathe. It took a moment for the reality of what he saw to sink in, whereupon he thew up.

“I see you haven’t lost your touch,” a voice boomed out of the trees. Ignatius remained silent and grim faced. “I wonder, old friend, do you know any new tricks?” the voice taunted. “The last time we fought to a draw. Don’t think that will happen again.” An arc of electricity shot through the trees, racing straight for Ignatius. Ignatius snapped his hand up and caught the bolt as if he were playing catch.

“Let the others go,” Ignatius said, his voice carrying with authority. “This is between you and me, Bob.”

The giant who twice before tried to kill Joe emerged from the cover of darkness and scowled at Ignatius. “I can’t do that. I’m here for the boy. This is your only warning old friend: leave now, and I’ll let you live. This need not be your fight.”

“I thought he was dead,” Joe groaned “You said he couldn’t swim,” he whispered at Katarina.

“Stay close, and keep your head down,” she responded.

Ignatius looked up at Bob and cooly defied him, “I’m afraid this is my fight. I’ve grown rather fond of the boy.”

“Suit yourself,” Bob said with a wicked grin, then raised his hand, pointed at Joe, and let out a fierce roar. Joe ducked his head as sparks erupted in violent fury mere inches from him. With a crashing roar the small band of cloaked figures raised their arms high and all at once charged. The blue-white light from the floating spheres reflected off steel swords, maces, and a spear as men of all sizes crashed through the trees with war in their hearts, and thoughts of honor and glory running through their heads.

Ignatius flew into what at first appeared to be a furious dance, but as men were swept off their feet, some by fallen limbs crashing into them, others simply folding under the impact of invisible blows, it became apparent Ignatius was waging war. Another attacker drew near to Ignatius and swung a mighty blow, only to have it dodged. He didn’t have time to flinch in fear or regret as Ignatius drilled his palm into his chest and just as before there was a bright flash, and the man arched back and fell to the ground unmoving.

Katarina whirled around, turning her back toward Ignatius, and extending her arms outward glared at the charging men. Without so much as a twitch of a finger or a quiver of a lip the four nearest combatants collapsed to the ground grasping at their throats trying desperately to breathe. The remaining men slowed, but did not stop. Katarina remained unmoving, as still as a statue, and three more feel clawing at their throats. The charge faltered and drew short as the sight of their comrades turning blue at their feet gave them pause.

In the chaos of the charge Bob slipped back into the cover of darkness biding his time. Ignatius stood still, two more bodies laying still and smoldering on the ground around him. “You would waste the lives of noble men, who seek honor and glory?” he growled into the darkness, shaking his head in sorrow and pity. “You know they stand no match, no matter how many you send. Spare their lives at least, and face me in a duel,” he challenged.

Posted by Seth Croston Barber at 11:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Today was an awkward day for writing. An old childhood friend (he reminded me we’ve been friends for 30 years) was in town today and last-minute we arranged to get our families together. It had been two years since we last saw each other. It was a great time catching up, and I don’t regret not writing during those hours. Despite all my socializing I still managed to get 1,000 words ahead of schedule, and if all goes well I’ll finish Monday night.

I did manage to finish Chapter 8 today, so the usual ePub and PDF versions are available. I’ve decided that once I am done with the entire draft I will put it online in both PDF and ePub, so if you are horribly behind or are have been meaning to get around to reading my draft, you might as well wait until December. Or, you could always start from the beginning.

Here is the closing bits of Chapter 8, in which the battle concludes, and the beginning of Chapter 9, in which the fallout is felt:

Thunder rolled across the sky as bolts of lightning fell from the sky, striking the ground all around Ignatius, forming a tight circle of burnt earth. Ignatius stood resolute, staring into the trees where he last saw Bob. Thunder continued to rumble above, echoing the intensity of the battle below, as more lightning poured from the sky, accompanied by arcs of electricity snaking its way through tress, all destined for Ignatius. Ignatius didn’t waver through it all, until a limb came bursting forth from the trees on a violent collision course with his head. He ducked, dropping down to one knee, then caught sight of a spear hurtling toward him from the opposite direction. He rolled out of the way, and into the legs of an attacker, who toppled on top of Ignatius, mace flying from his hand. Cruel laughter split the air as Bob bellowed, “I win.” A cascade of lightning bore down on the two men, and struck home in a sickening explosion.

Joe screamed, “No!” Bob continued to bark gleeful laughter as the thunder subsided. The few remaining men left standing pressed the attack, charging all at once. Joe looked pleadingly up at Katarina, but saw she stood motionless, eyes closed, a single tear carving a path down her cheek. Joe hung his head in defeat, despair overwhelming him. Joe looked up as the air was suddenly charged with a cackling energy. The hair on his arms and the back of his neck stood up, and his skin tingled. Katarina was still motionless, her posture unchanged, but her hair was now floating, defying gravity, and an aerie blue-white light lit her countenance.

Joe didn’t see her lips move, but heard Katarina said, “Get down,” in a commanding tone, her voice full of wrath. Joe flattened himself into the ground, and covered his head with his arms as the world around him rocked and shuddered with the most violent show of force Joe had ever witnessed. Laying on the ground the breath was knocked out of him, forcing him to lift up his head and gasp for air, but there was none. Panic filled Joe’s mind as he struggled to breathe the air he knew to be there, had always been there, his mind reeling at what could have happened. Slowly his lungs filled with short breaths, then longer, more steady breaths. It took him a moment to gather himself, but looking around everyone was laying on the ground either dead or unconscious.

Katarina knelt down by Joe’s head and whispered in urgent tones, “Are you alright? Can you stand?”

Joe managed a weak, “I think so,” then pushed himself up unsteadily.

“Good. Come with me, quickly.”

“What about Ignatius?” Joe asked standing up.

“I’ve got him. Come we must go now,” she said taking off back up the trail they had come, Ignatius’s limp body flung over her shoulder.

Joe scrambled to his feet and chased after her. “What did you do back there?”

“We don’t have time right now. Just run.”

“Didn’t you take care of them?”

“Run,” came her curt command.

“But where are we going?” he demanded.

“Back to Second City,” she replied.

Chapter Nine

“Why not the hospital?” Joe said, recalling that when they walked to the park he saw a hospital across the street.

“It won’t do him any good,” Katarina barked back. “No more questions,” she snapped back.

Joe had to hustle to keep pace with Katarina, who, despite carrying Ignatius jogged down the path and out into an open field. They ran out in the open, cars were driving up and down the street just off to their right, people were jogging ahead on the same path, and there was a parking lot full of cars and more than a few people milling about. Joe worried what would happen when people realized a girl was carrying a man away from the hospital. Joe lowered his head and followed Katarina, deciding to tune out any distractions, running with the hope that the entrance to Second City was not far away.

They kept running. They past the stadium and ran around the soap box derby run, then veered sharply up a hill, following a path right to the front door of an old farm house. Joe barely had time to register the incongruity of finding a preserved farm house in the middle of a 90 acre park, which boasted playgrounds, tennis courts, a full stadium with bleachers, and soap box derby run. In his distraction at seeing the house he tripped and found himself sprawled out on the ground, his face full of grass and dirt.

“Joe, are you alright?” Katarina called out, stopping and turning to inquire.

Joe spit grass out of his mouth. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He looked up and saw, off in the distance, nestled in and amongst a rose garden, a white gazebo standing proud in the park. “What is it with this town and gazebos?” he asked picking himself up off the ground.

“This way, it’s not far,” Katarina called out, grabbing Joe’s hand and dragging him after her, heedless of his slight limp. Joe stumbled after Katarina as they came around the house heading for the greenhouse. Katarina pulled Joe in after her and carefully checking that no one else was in the greenhouse with them she slammed the door shut, then promptly opened it again. Joe barely had time to shoot her a quizzical look when she shoved him through the open door then lunged through after him.

Joe stumbled, then winced as his ankle screamed at him, and he fell to the ground landing on his backside. He was about to shout something unpleasant to Katarina when he realized he was surrounded by angry looking guards pointing all manner of medieval weaponry at him and Katarina. It took him a moment to realize he was once again on the landing overlooking the impressive Second City, only this time it did not appear he was welcome. Thinking Katarina was still in the park and not yet through he quickly and nervously shouted, “I’m with Katarina!”

“Stand down Guardsman,” Katarina’s voice rang out with authority. The guards faltered but did not lower their weapons. “I said stand down,” she repeated. “I have a wounded man here in need of medical attention.”

“Forgive us milady, but you yourself told us never, under any circumstances, to allow that man into the City,” one of the guards said, an iron firmness to his voice.

“I am well aware of my standing orders,” she replied testily. “I am exercising my right to grant him access this one time. Stand down,” Katarina said with finality.

As one the guards lowered their weapons, and all but one silently melded back into the shadows. “I will escort you and your guest to your destination. He is not to leave my sight. You know our way.”

Katarina nodded then turned her attention to Joe who sat on the ground stupefied but relieved. “I am sorry Joseph,” she said, offering her hand to help him up.

Joe shook his head. “It’s alright. I guess. Now can you tell me why were are here instead of a hospital?

Shaking her head Katarina said, “I can’t give you full explanation, but suffice it to say we are protected here, and his wounds cannot be looked after by the doctors in that hospital.”

Joe took a moment to look at Ignatius. He hung limply on Katarina’s shoulder, color drained from his face, his arms and legs akimbo. Joe had to look hard to discern any sign of breathing. “He’ll be alright?”

“We’ll see, but I fear we must hurry.” Turning to the guard she asked, “Guardsman, are you willing to carry this man to my home?”

The guard nodded his head in a swift, firm motion, then carefully plucked Ignatius up an slung him over a shoulder. Without another word he jogged down the steps heading for Second City. Joe began to follow but winced and cried out when he put his weight on his right foot. Katarina snapped her head looking first at Joe then at his favored foot. “You’re injured,” she said.

“It’s just my ankle. I might have sprained in when I tripped,” Joe said. “It’s nothing. I’ll be fine.”

“Put your arm around my shoulder and at least let me help you,” Katarina said, pulling Joe’s arm around her shoulder with one hand while wrapping another around his waist and pulling him in close.

They hobbled down the steps, Joe sucking in breath now and then as tried to use his right foot, only to have Katarina gently scold him and threaten to carry him if he did not take his weight off that foot. By the time they got to the outskirts of the city the news of Katarina’s arrival had spread as many rushed out to meet her flooding her with questions. She assured them she was alright, though clearly many were concerned given Joe’s state. “It’s nothing,” Joe tried to reassure them. “I sprained my ankle when I tripped over my own feet.” That hardly put them at ease.

“What is he doing here?” they demanded. “You promised he would never be allowed down here.”

Katarina stopped to address the crowd. “Ignatius Blackmoore was gravely injured while trying to protect both me and Joe,” she told them. “He showed great courage and selflessness, and in order to save his life I have brought him here.” The crowd murmured disagreeable. “He is not conscious,” she told them, “and he will remain that way until I am satisfied he can safely return. You have my word.” At that the murmuring subsided, though clearly many were uncomfortable with the situation.

Posted by Seth Croston Barber at 11:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I’m honestly surprised I was able to get nearly 2,000 words written today. Sunday’s aren’t usually a productive day for me, unless naps count as productivity. I pulled some daddy time with my little girl in the afternoon, taking her out to visit with my family and we all played together. She told me she had a good time, and we’ve come to learn she very much appreciates quality time. That is time not spent writing that I do not regret.

I am now 1,880 words away from the NaNoWriMo finish line, but it is certain the story will not be done. I dare not even guess how many words are left, but I expect it will take me at least another week to finish the draft, which I will do. Bed is calling my name, as I have an early morning, so here is the next installment of the story:

“If you will excuse us,” Katarina said with a firm kindness, “we are eager to resolve the situation.”

The crowd made a path for Katarina and Joe. As they hurried into the city people wore looks of worry and concern. A few showed outright panic, locking and boarding up their houses, bags packed and piled in the street. These Katarina stopped to reassure all was well in Second City and their safety had not been compromised in the slightest. The city looked to be on high alert, with more than a few citizens preparing to repel invaders.

“Why is everybody in a state of emergency and alarm?” Joe asked Katarina after she stopped a fourth time to reassure someone they were still safe.

“The guards have not been called into action in over 75 years,” she replied. “It’s supposed to be a rare occurrence.”

“You’d think they would be more curious than panicked,” Joe replied.

“They are there primarily as a first line of defense against invasion. The last time a war ravaged the city, and many lost their homes and their lives.”

Joe fell silent as understanding washed over him. The looks in people’s faces bore a new weight. A little worry tickled his heart, “We aren’t coming under attack, are we?” he asked.

“No,” Katarina said with firm finality.

“How can you be so sure?” he asked.

She stopped walking and turned to look at him. “Because it is my job to know. After all you have seen Joseph, after all you’ve witnessed, have you no faith yet?” she said with exasperation.

Joe looked at her quizzically. “What do you mean?”

“You have seen a great many impossible things today, and yet you still ask if the impossible can happen. You ask for assurances, you ask for a justification, a rationale, for how and why things are. Rather than simply accept things as they are you question them.”

“As you say, I’ve seen a number of impossible things today, and thus by definition they can’t have happened.”

“And yet the did,” Katarina interrupted.

“Maybe so, or maybe I’m delusional and dreaming all this up. The point is I am struggling to come to grips with all,” he waved his arms about gesturing at the city, “this. It’s a lot to take in all at once. You ask if I have any faith, I do have faith. I have faith in the laws of science and physics, laws which you and your cohorts have worked hard at shattering. So you’ll just have to excuse me if I ask questions and poke and prod and refuse to believe what cannot be happening,” Joe said testily, falling into a sullen silence.

Katarina looked at Joe with a satisfied smile on her face. In her mind the walls had been breached. Joe was coming to grips with the newly revealed world. What Joe was going through would be a lot to ask of anyone already initiated, but an Outsider would likely go mad. “Hold onto that Joe,” she said softly. “We do not violate the Laws of Nature as much as you might think. Hold fast to that faith and you will get through this.” Joe simply glared at her. “We’re losing precious time,” she said, turning around and resuming their course.

They walked for some distance further, Katarina still offering words of comfort and encouragement to those in obvious need of it, when Joe realized they were in a part the city he did not remember seeing. They were fast approaching a set of buildings shaped like overgrown chess pieces, some colored white, and some colored black. They were arranged in what initially appeared to be a haphazard fashion, until Joe realized the ground itself laid out in white and black squares.

“Is this the way to your home?” Joe asked. “I don’t remember seeing these buildings before,” he observed. “And there is no way I could forget them,” he muttered under his breath.

“We are not going to my home just yet. I need to enlist the aid of someone first.”

As they walked past a towering bishop Joe sarcastically asked, “Who’s winning?”

“Black.”

Joe stopped in surprise, “You mean to tell me this is a real game,” he asked with incredulity.

“Yes, of course.”

“Who is playing?” Joe asked, intrigued.

“They are,” Katarina said indicating the buildings.

“The buildings play themselves?” Joe asked quite astonished.

“No, the people who own and live in the buildings play.”

“So what, they each decide where to move their house each morning?”

“Each team meets regularly and surveys the playing field, then they collectively decide how to move, and simply move their house.”

“What happens to captured pieces?”

“They are relocated on the edges of the board until the game ends.”

Joe shook his head, “It must be hard finding the right house when you are invited over for dinner.”

“Not especially. The entire city follows each game.”

They walked up to the only remaining white rook on the board. Katarina rattled the door knocker which created a deep echoing sound that traveled through the entire tower. “There is one thing I must warn you about,” Katarina said as they waited, “do not stare.” Joe began to ask what she was talking about when the door opened inward on creaking hinges, and there, in the doorway, stood a nearly naked man, attired only in a pair of black shorts, his skin a vibrant shade of royal blue. Joe momentarily gawked, caught completely off guard.

“Katarina,” the man said curtly. “What a surprise to see you,” he said sarcastically. “Please tell me you are here to offer some advice, one chess master to another.”

“Zuhayr,” Katarina said with a nod. “You know why I am here.”

Zuhayr turned and looked at Joe, and scowled. “And you must be the one who has caused all our present trouble and unrest.”

“What? I — no,” Joe stammered.

“Are you not the Outsider who has been stranded in Salem?” Zuhayr pressed.

Joe nodded dumbly.

“And aren’t you the reason he is now in our city, after we’ve been promised it would never happen?” the last he said turning a disdainful look upon Katarina.

“That is my doing,” Katarina said boldly.

Zuhayr eyed Katarina suspiciously, “That doesn’t change the fact that this boy has brought a world of trouble into our midst.” He turned and leaned towards Joe, “What exactly are you going to do to make amends?” he said menacingly.

“Enough!” barked Katarina. “You will leave Joe alone,” she commanded.

Zuhayr raised his hands in surrender and backed off. “My answer is no.”

“Not acceptable,” Katarina replied.

“I don’t care what you find acceptable or not,” he spat. “I will not help the one who caused the last invasion.”

“You know as well as I do that he was not at fault for that,” growled Katarina. “It is time to let that go.”

“You may let it go, but I never will. You didn’t lose someone you cared about in that invasion,” Zuhayr said, his tone laced with venom.

Katarina’s face noticeably softened, “Yes I did, Zuhayr.”

“You dare compare my wife to your prized pupil?” he shouted, spittle flying off his lips.

“I’ve never told anyone this,” she replied in a hoarse whisper, “but Anna was more than my pupil. She was my daughter.” Zuhayr stared at Katarina in obvious astonishment, his angry fire quickly diminishing. “If anyone has cause to hate I do. But I tell you again, he was not responsible for the invasion.”

“How do I know you are telling me the truth?” Zuhayr cautiously asked.

“You question my honesty?” Katarina retorted.

Zuhayr shook his head. “No. I’m … sorry for your loss,” he offered.

“And I am sorry for yours, but that doesn’t change the fact that a man needs your help right now.”

“Why should I?” he spat bitterly. “He’s a known associate of Sikander Cavanagh Cranmer, and you and I agree he was led the attack.”

“Ignatius is helping us fight Sikander,” Joe interjected.

Zuhayr swung his attention back around to Joe, “And how do you know he’s not helping Sikander?”

“Because he put his life on the line to protect me.”

“Who are you that you need protecting?”

“Nobody,” Joe said. Zuhayr snorted. “A nobody that Sikander wants dead,” Joe finished.

Zuhayr eyed Joe with interest. “Why does he want you dead?”

“That’s not important right now,” Katarina interrupted. “A man’s life hangs in the balance, there will be time enough for explanations later. Will you freely assist or not?”

Zuhayr sighed. “Very well. Let me get my things.” He retreated into his tower pushing the door closed as he left.

Katarina stood facing the door, waiting patiently for Zuhayr’s return. Joe, in contrast, was looking at Katarina out of the corner of his eye. The news that she had a daughter shocked him, for she looked no older than Joe, and the news that this daughter died some 75 years ago further caused him to pause and reevaluate her.

“Yes Joseph, I really am that old,” Katarina said, as if reading his mind.

Joe turned to face her and asked, “You had a daughter?”

“I did. It was a long time ago.”

“Sikander caused her death and you didn’t think to mention it to me?”

“It wasn’t relevant,” she replied a little icily.

“How is it not relevant.? The same man who has trapped me in this city and has been trying to kill me is responsible for your daughter’s death and it’s somehow not relevant? Aren’t you emotionally compromised or whatever they call it?” Joe pressed.

“I agreed to help you before any of us knew who was behind this.”

“Can you honestly stand there and tell me that when you found out that Sikander was behind my situation that you didn’t feel anything?”

Katarina turned and looked Joe in the eye, “I did feel something, yes. I felt the need to help you as swiftly and surely as I possibly could. Sikander is a dangerous man without regard for human life, and if he’s targeted you then without my help you are as good as dead.” Her tone softened, “I don’t want to see that, Joseph.”

Joe looked down ashamed that he pressed her. “Thanks,” he practically mumbled. “Thanks for that.”

“You are welcome. We will get you home safe, that is my promise to you.”

“But after that I’m as good as dead?” Joe asked.

Katarina paused before answering. “If this truly is Sikander’s work then yes. Once he knows you are still alive he will try again.”

“Truthfully, should I stay here?”

“That decision is up to you.”

Joe ran his hands through his hair, “I just want to go home and have my life return to normal. I don’t fit in here. I’m not one of you. I’m not hundreds of years old, or have mystical powers, or am a giant or something. I’m just a guy, a guy who happens to have a screwed up lineage and the dumb luck to draw stuff I shouldn’t.”

“You would not have to live down here, Joe,” Katarina said softly. “And Salem is as good a place as any to settle down, operate a freelance business, and even raise a family … someday.”

Joe snorted. “If I should live so long I’m not sure I would want to curse a kid with my genetics. Who knows what ancient oddball might try to kill the poor kid.”

The door to the tower opened, and Zuhayr, dressed now in a rough spun white robe with a brown leather satchel slung across his body, stepped out and joined them. “Well, let’s go,” he said and started off down the street.

Posted by Seth Croston Barber at 11:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I came down with a flu/cold thing early Monday morning. It woke me up at 2 in the morning and I knew I was done for. What I didn’t know is if I would be able to pound out the last 1,880 words needed to finish NaNoWriMo. The thought of coming so far and losing on the last day was repulsive to me, so last night I cranked out 800 words and this afternoon, still sicker than the proverbial dog, I crossed the finish line. It feels good, and I have earned the right to display this:

I also managed to finish Chapter 9, and confirmed there will be a Chapter 10, as the story is not yet done. I have the ePub and PDF versions of Chapter 9 available, and without further ado the words that pushed me over the finish line:

Zuhayr stayed a pace or two ahead of Katarina the entire walk to her home, striding with rigid purpose. When they arrived at Katarina’s home Joe expected to see a small crowd arrayed outside, either protesting or keeping watch. Instead there was no one loitering about, not even the guard who had carried Ignatius from the entrance. Joe was about to ask Katarina if she were certain Ignatius was even inside when he was shocked to see Zuhayr open her front door and walk in, as if he owned the place. Katarina, showing no signs this bothered her, calmly followed Zuhayr into her abode, Joe in toe.

They found Zuhayr standing in her foyer, looking around puzzled. “Well, where is he?” he demanded. “I assumed he would be here, or did you lead me on a wild goose chase?”

“You were the one doing the leading,” Joe said.

Zuhayr glared at Joe with impatient malice and lifted his hand about to scold Joe when Katarina replied, “He is through here.” She walked beyond the staircase, then took and abrupt left turn and disappeared from sight. Joe hurried to follow after her, not wishing to be left alone in a room with the blue man. Behind the staircase he found a spacious suite of rooms, decorated in a subdued yet tasteful victorian style, complete with a parlor, a bathroom, and a generously sized bedroom. The guard was standing in the parlor, outside the door to the bedroom. His bearing and general air of alertness gave Joe the feeling that should anything go even slightly wrong Ignatius would be dispatched without thought. Joe spied Katarina in the bedroom standing next to the bed, upon which the prone figure of lay, still, unmoving, and barely breathing.

Zuhayr strode in calmly and without a sense of urgency. Joe didn’t like his attitude. He understood why he harbored hatred in his soul, but he gathered that Zuhayr had never met Ignatius personally, otherwise he would know him to be a good man fighting for the right things, and truly remorseful for the harm Sikander has done to people. Zuhayr didn’t even acknowledge the guard standing by the door, which Joe thought odd considering the fuss he made earlier, and strode right past him into the bedroom.

He stood at the foot of the bed and surveyed the motionless form of Ignatius with distaste. “So this is the man who caused all that trouble,” he stated.

“I won’t be baited into another argument with you Zuhayr. Do what I brought you here to do,” Katarina told him.

“You don’t need me,” Zuhayr sneered, “you need a mortician.”

Joe, who had moved into the room, standing just inside the door, interjected, “He’s not dead. He’s still breathing. Look.”

Zuhayr grunted, begrudgingly agreeing that Ignatius was in fact still alive. “I don’t see what I can do here,” he said lackadaisically. “It looks to me like you need a healer.”

“I thought you were a healer,” Joe blurted out.

Zuhayr barked out a laugh, “In all my life I’ve never been confused with a healer before.”

“If you aren’t a healer then what are you?” Joe demanded.

Zuhayr turned to face Joe. “Have you ever been to the circus?”

“Yeah, sure,” Joe said dismissively.

“And have you seen the side shows?”

“What, you mean like the strong man and the bearded lady?” Joe asked, wondering where this was going.

“The very same.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Joe asked impatiently.

“I am a geek.”

Joe looked at him absolutely confused. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Zuhayr furrowed his brows, “Exactly everything.”

“How does your affinity for computers, or comic books, or circuses for that matter have to do with this?”

“What are you talking about?”

Katarina, catching on, stepped in, “He means, Joseph, that he can eat anything.”

Joe looked at Zuhayr questioningly. “What does that have to do with being a geek?”

“A geek,” Zuhayr responded condescendingly, “is someone who can and does eat anything.”

Comprehension struck Joe. “Oh, like that guy in the circus who eats nails and bees and stuff.”

Zuhayr nodded. “Precisely.”

Joe furrowed his brow. “So what does that have to do with this?” A look of worry passed across his face, “You aren’t going to eat Ignatius are you?”

“Don’t be absurd,” Zuhayr chided.

“Then what exactly are you able to do for him?” Joe practically demanded.

“When I say I can eat anything, I mean absolutely anything. It’s not a figure of speech.”

Joe looked puzzled. “I don’t see how that will help us here.”

“Neither do I,” Zuhayr added, looking at Katarina. “He does not look as if he needs my help.”

“Come closer and inspect for yourself,” Katarina offered. “I’m sure you’ll notice it right away.”

Zuhayr simply leaned over Ignatius’s still form and took a breath, then righted himself immediately. “Ah. I see what you mean.” Katarina smiled. “It would appear a certain giant is out running amok again,” he paused. “As I recall they have been feuding for quite some time. How certain are you that Sikander is behind this?”

“Bob, the giant that did this to Ignatius, is also trying to kill me, and has been since I first arrived here,” Joe testily informed Zuhayr.

Zuhayr eyed Joe, plainly curious. “Why would Bob want to kill you I wonder?” he said to himself. “He’s not the sort to attack without reason or cause.”

“We don’t know how, but it is related. Ignatius only got hurt because he was protecting me. Had Ignatius not been there Bob and his merry band of live action role players would still have attacked me.”

Zuhayr addressed Katarina, “I’ll help, but you will still need a healer.”

“His physical wounds are minor,” Katarina said. “Once you are finished we’ll see that he gets medical attention Topside.”

“I didn’t mean for him,” Zuhayr nodded toward the bed. “I meant for the kid here. He’s got a gimpy leg.”

“It’s just a sprain,” Joe protested. “I’ll be fine.”

“Suit yourself. I thought you were being chased and hounded. Maybe I was wrong,” Zuhayr said, shrugging. “In any case I’ll need some room to work, if you would be so kind as to wait outside the room I’ll get started,” he said with politeness.

Katarina and Joe exited the room while Zuhayr poked and prodded at Ignatius’s body. Katarina led Joe to a small sofa and made him sit down. “We should get a look at that,” she told him. “I want to make sure it’s just a sprain.”

“I’ll be fine,” Joe insisted. “It’s feeling better already,” he said with a wince as he tapped his foot on the ground. “See?”

“Right. Off with the shoe. At least let me put some ice on it and wrap it up in a bandage.” Joe began to protest. “I won’t take no for an answer. Either you take your shoe off or I will do it for you. Choose.”

Wincing Joe took of his shoe to reveal a red and swollen ankle. He sucked in a breath when Katarina touched it. “Let me get some ice,” she said getting up to leave. “I don’t have to tell you to stay put do I?”

“No, mother,” Joe said playfully.

Katarina shot him a glance and left the rooms. Joe turned his attention to the bedroom where Zuhayr had carefully removed Ignatius’s coat and shirt and was now methodically working over his chest alternating from smelling, to gently squeezing. He continued doing, across all of Ignatius’s chest and down his arms. Finally satisfied with his explorations he lifted Ignatius’s arm up to his mouth. Joe stifled a cry of alarm as Zuhayr wrapped his lips around Ignatius’s elbow and began to suck with great force. He paused for a breath then sucked at his elbow again, finally laying it down on the bed. He then quickly shuffled over to the other side of the bed and repeated the strange ritual again on the other elbow. Then to Joe’s amazement, and near horror, he leaned over the bed, bared his teeth, and rested his ear on Ignatius’s breast. Nodding to himself he stood up, walked back around to the other side of the bed, and leaning in, hovered over Ignatius’s rib cage, and sucked in three deep breaths of air.

“There. ’Tis done,” he announced, standing tall. He turned and looked to Joe, “He’l live,” he said spitefully.

Katarina returned with a bag of ice, and ignoring Zuhayr placed it on Joe’s ankle and began wrapping it with a bandage. “You are done, then?” Katarina asked Zuhayr, not taking her eyes off of Joe’s ankle.

“Yes,” he said joining them in the sitting room.

“You got it all?” she questioned, looking up at him with frightful authority.

Zuhayr nodded solemnly, “I know better than to cross you.” He started leaving the room, “Since I am done here,” he began.

“We have further need of you,” Katarina called out quietly.

“It’s just a sprain, really,” Joe said, suddenly afraid she was going to have Zuhayr suck the life out of his foot.

Katarina smiled at Joe reassuringly. She called out to Zuhayr, “I know you noticed other scents on Ignatius,” she said.

Zuhayr turned and regarded Katarina coolly. “He still bears the stench of his so-called former master,” he sneered. “He’s just as dirty today as he was back then.”

“What you noticed were two of many pieces of an active binding.”

Zuhayr looked mildly impressed. “I never thought he had it in him to work with such skill,” he said.

“They aren’t his,” Joe protested.

“And what would you know of such matters?” Zuhayr asked snidely.

“I know enough to know and realize Ignatius was as in the dark about them as we were, and that he was surprised to find them.”

“You do know he is a skilled liar, yes?”

“This wasn’t some role he was playing. He practically died trying to save me,” Joe practically yelled.

“I can confirm the binding is not Ignatius’s doing,” Katarina said softly, bringing the heated debate to a close.

Zuhayr grunted. “What is it you want from me? You know eating bindings is a risky affair.”

“We found, and confirmed, there are many parts to this binding,” Katarina explained. “Unfortunately we were ambushed before we could find it locus.”

Zuhayr sighed, “And you want me to help you find it.”

Katarina nodded. “I know you have resources.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Zuhayr said defiantly.

“You may think you act without my knowledge, but you are mistaken.” Zuhayr began to protest, but Katarina cut him off, “Regardless there are two things I need from you. First we must locate the locus of this binding. If at all possible I would prefer if we could find all pieces of it and unravel the binding, but failing that I will need to you eat the binding.”

Zuhayr narrowed his eyes. “You ask a great deal. What is in it for me?”

“You can brag you got the better of Sikander,” Joe chimed in with sass, earning him a glares from both Katarina and Zuhayr.

“I can grant you no more than my goodwill at this time,” Katarina said quietly.

Zuhayr snorted. “I’ve worked for less, but what you ask of me will take time. Time I do not wish to spare. You will have to do better than that.”

“There is naught else I can offer,” Katarina said with firmness.

“You haven’t even told me who this kid is that Sikander is interested in him, nor why I should care to help him,” Zuhayr responded.

Katarina sighed. “Sikander thinks Joe is Helmut.”

Zuhayr’s eyes widened with surprise. He stared at Joe with renewed interest. “I’ll help,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

Posted by Seth Croston Barber at 1:27 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)