The hands of Yendin Baddo

The next three days sailing the obsidian deeps on board the Void Dog saw great improvement in my physical condition under the ministrations of Sachiko. She was a fascinating woman, and was apparently descended from a long line of 'deep sailors', as they called themselves. I gathered that they looked upon people who traveled the dimensions only by using gates as hopelessly limited, never really knowing the wonders that existed in the rich vastness that was accessible to them, and thought only slightly more highly of those like myself, who could Step across realities under our own power. A ship like the Void Dog could safely reach places that were almost myths to me, so far off my normal path were they. Her attitude towards the Traveler's Guild, the most powerful cross-dimensional organization I knew of, was dismissive at best, and the invective she leveled against the Jump Cops made very clear her feelings toward those gentlemen.

The Void Dog was still a day and a half out of port when Sachiko compared me to Yendin Baddo. When I told her I didn't know the name, she related the story of Baddo and his miraculous metal hands.

Yendin Baddo, it seems, was the youngest son of Master Artisan Brethon Baddo, chief artisan for the Compact of 8 Kingdoms, a legendary union of advanced people long ago lost to the mists of time. Master Artisan Baddo, stories said, was the only person to master the crafting skills of all 8 Kingdoms, and as such could create items of incredible intricacy and beauty.

When Master Artisan Baddo's youngest child was born without hands, Baddo decided that she would give her son what life had not, and set about creating as perfect a mechanical substitute as was possible. For a woman of the Master Artisan's skill, giving Yendin, her son, hands that functioned as well as any natural hands was just a starting point, and, as Yendin grew, each new set of hands the Master Artisan crafted for him surpassed the last. When Yendin grew into full manhood, he was presented with the greatest pair of hands his mother could devise.

One hand was golden, the other crimson. Each one was strong enough to crush steel, and sensitive enough for Yendin to feel dust motes as they landed. Each one incorporated all that an artisan would need to work metal, or stone, or any other substance as easily as normal hands could work clay.

Yendin, while schooled in creating artifacts by his mother, and possessing great skill, was not interested in becoming a Master Artisan. Shortly after Yendin Baddo received his newest hands, he vanished from the 8 Kingdoms. The Master Artisan was brokenhearted, and while she continued to create, some spark had vanished with her son.

Stories of Yendin Baddo came back to the 8 Kingdoms, and to his grieving mother, over the next decades. The stories told of Yendin becoming a mighty warrior, of single combat with dragons and trolls, liches and vampires, of towns and princesses saved, and these tales gladdened the heart of the Master Artisan, for, if she must be separated from her favorite child, at least she knew he was a good man.

Gradually, the traveling bards had no more stories to tell, and nothing was heard of Yendin Baddo for more than three score years. Rumors of his death were told in taverns in the 8 Kingdoms, although no two were alike, and none could claim to have met any who might have sure knowledge of Yendin Baddo's demise. The Master Artisan grew old hearing these rumors, and created less and less as the years passed.

The stories of Yendin Baddo's heroism and death faded from public interest, and were told no more. The minds of the people dwelt, as always, on the day to day task of making way through the life they had.

When word of the Army of Brothers conquering the warring duchies in the Outmarches drifted to the Compact of the 8 Kingdoms, few, if any took much notice. Many had tried to unify the Outmarches, and none had succeeded for any length of time. Few noticed when the Outmarches declared they would now be known as the Empire of Brothers. Few cared when the newly minted Empire reached out and added Balykan to itself. Some expressed admiration when the Empire managed to subdue the mountain strongholds of Urk in the Star-Capped Range, and crushed the thief clans that ran roughshod over the cities on the edge of the Shining Deserts.

It was not until the borders of the Empire grew near to the borders of the Compact of the 8 Kingdoms that the common citizen began to become uneasy. It began to impinge on the consciousness of the mass of the 8 Kingdoms that the Empire had a habit of doing the unthinkable when expanding itself, and nothing had seemed more unthinkable that a direct threat to the Compact. Five thousand years had passed since the last invader had threatened the 8 Kingdoms, and they were long in the habit of assuming that any invader would look at the Compact as invulnerable.

When the war came, it was more destructive than any could have imagined. The Empire had vast numbers on its side, and they were led by the First Brother, a masked general of whom even his enemies said was the greatest war leader any had ever known. The 8 Kingdoms had shaken free of its complacency, and rediscovered the arts of war and of creating war machines, and fought the invading Empire for every inch of territory it took, but all came to nothing. Five years after the Empire's soldiers had crossed the border into the Compact, the First Brother himself stood in the highest chamber of the Compact's government and personally executed the last Sanhedrin of the Compact, and the 8 Kingdoms ceased to exist. The land that had belonged to the Compact was ravaged by the war, the cities destroyed, the forests burned, any semblance of order cast aside.

It is assumed that the First Brother thought he would rebuild the Empire's newly conquered territory, as immediately after victory, he had his men bring before him the Master Artisan Baddo. Her ancient eminence stood before the First Brother as his lieutenants asked her to put her genius at their disposal, so the Empire could begin its rise to surpass the 8 Kingdoms in every way. The Master Artisan stood silently, ignoring the entreaties, orders, and threats of the generals of the Army of Brothers and the leaders of the Empire. When at last one of the soldiers became so angered at the Master Artisan's refusal to respond that he made a move to strike her, the First Brother finally spoke, his voice halting the soldier and causing him to kneel with his face pressed to the stone floor in apology for having aroused the First Brother's ire.

The warrior emperor towered over the wizened craftsman, and he was forced to bend at the waist to put his masked face near to her ear. None could hear what words passed between them, but the Master Artisan became pale, and open despair was seen to break over her worn features. She spoke to him in the same near-silent tone. The First Brother straightened, and extended his arm towards the door of a small room, which they entered together, shutting the door on all others.

Two hours later, the First Brother's retainers screwed up their courage and broke down the door. The found the Master Artisan Baddo seated in a chair, wrinkled hands folded in her lap, a serene look on her face, dead. The First Brother sprawled on the floor at her feet; his face, for the first time any could remember, was bare, his dead eyes staring at the ceiling.

If any had still been alive to remember, they would have seen Yendin Baddo, First Brother of the Empire of Brothers, lying dead at his mothers feet, the stumps of his arm stretched out on either side of his inert form.

The Empire of Brothers fell apart without the First Brother to lead it, and the lands it had encompassed sank into anarchy. All vestiges of the Compact of the 8 Kingdoms, every wonder they had created, was destroyed by the centuries of petty war that followed. The hands of Yendin Baddo, the First Brother, became things of legend, and vanished.

The Void Dog

The first thing that I became aware of while gradually returning to consciousness was the sound of creaking wood. Then there was the feeling of my weight shifting back and forth, in time with the creaking.

Various parts of my body were telling me that I was not in perfect condition. My left arm wouldn't move at all, and it was obvious from how it lay that I wasn't wearing my hand. There was a stretch of my right side, from below the ribs to the knee, where I was pretty sure I'd lost more than a little flesh. The ankle on that side didn't feel right, either, and the last two fingers on my right hand were braced as though they'd been broken.

Opening my eyes showed me a ceiling made of wide boards and thick crossbeams, all stained a deep brown. The boards seemed to swing back and forth as the hammock in which I was wrapped moved back and forth against the rocking motion of the ship. After a moment, I used my right elbow and left foot to slide my head towards the top of the hammock, to make it easier to dismount. The groan this caused brought some sounds of interest from the part of the room that had so far been hidden by the canvas the hammock was made from.

“Has the light of dawn appeared on the face of my passenger?” A lilting voice said. “How does the new day find you, stranger?”

I managed to raise my head high enough to peek over the edge of the hammock. Across the room, a woman had just risen from a heavy upholstered chair. She must have been reading the large book she had tucked under her arm, causing the silk chemise she wore to bunch up over it. The bright silk was the only bright thing she wore, as the shirt underneath and her dungarees were both of a dark gray, and her boots were a dusty brown. She did have hair of deep, shiny black, held up in a bun by two crossed sticks. Her face had an oriental cast, and she gave me a friendly smile as she waited for an answer to her question.

“Ahh...” I answered wisely. I regrouped, and continued, “The day finds me in more pain than I really like.”

“It is to be expected, stranger. You appeared on the deck of my boat in quite horrible condition, and while the three days passed since that time have seen you heal with impressive speed, there would seem to be some distance still to go before you can claim perfect health. Rest easy, as you are welcome on the Void Dog as long as it may take for such dearly wished result to be achieved.” The lady finished with a slight bow, accompanied by her extending her left hand, palm down, out to her side.

“Thank you. I hope to be able to return the favor, sometime soon.” I swung my legs, as gently as I could, so that my bare feet touched the wooden floor. “I'm sorry I've imposed on you, milady. I don't think we've been formally introduced. I'm Runcible Hand. People usually call me Red.”

“I ask that I be called Sachiko. Please know that there was no imposition in lending aid to one in such obvious distress as yourself. May one inquire as to how you came to be in such a condition of disrepair on the deck of the Void Dog, as we made course across the obsidian deeps?”

“Uh... I'm not sure. I know I was Stepping to meet my friend Jack...” Slowly, worked my way forward from there, telling Sachiko everything I could remember. She looked appropriately perturbed when I described the abomination I had run into, and more than a little interested when I described how my left hand had torn holes in the fabric of that place.

“Speaking of that,” I said, “Did you remove my hand? Or did I arrive one hand shy of the full compliment?”

“No one attempted to remove your prosthetic appendage, Runcible. As steps were taken to begin your healing, the process was unexpectedly aided by it, in fact. If you would please look at your arm...?”

I looked down at the shirtsleeve that was covering my left arm, and, before I could reach over to pull it up, the sleeve began to retract on its own. As the arm was revealed, I could see that the sleeve was being pulled back by small servos attached to the red framework that held my arm rigid. I held my arm up and the framework slowly straightened it out. When the arm was fully extended, the red framework began to slide down towards the stump of my forearm, shifting and twisting until it reformed into the metal hand I was used to. Unlike the rest of my body, my left arm felt just fine.

“Runcible, your metal symbiont seems to be quite useful. It would allow no interference with its repair of the arm, and I believe would have done much more to heal you, had it the power. As it was, it took some soothing before it would allow the treatment of your other injuries. We were able to reach detente quickly, though, once it began to believe my intentions were to help you. It is a most careful friend, indeed.”

“Yeah, I guess he is, at that.” I turned the hand back and forth. It seemed proud of itself and, all on its own, snapped its fingers.

A short while later, Sachiko and I stood on the deck of her boat. The Void Dog was about seventy feet long, and 20 feet wide at its widest point. Three masts extended 20-30 feet out from the boat on each side, diaphanous sails extended to catch whatever it was that allowed the boat to move. While the Void Dog moved by sail power and rocked like an ocean-going vessel on the water, the currents it sailed seemed to be pure void. Sachiko explained how the Dog didn't actually move, but entered the void and waited for the correct reality to rotate around to it, how the sensation of rocking was caused by the forces of various realities moving past us, and how what I had thought were sails were actually some sort of nets, used to capture 'cthonic energy', which she bottled and sold to a number of different customers. She and her assistant, who lived in a cabin below and tended the constant duty of collecting the energy the Dog's net snared, were the entire crew of the vessel.

“This one has heard many stories of odd things appearing from the endless void,” Sachiko said, adjusting the angle of a net just slightly. “Some were quite entertaining. All were folklore and hearsay, and descended from a rumor and something a mate had seen while drunk in a far off port. I did not doubt they were stories made up to pass long nights, and to impress credulous listeners who might be enticed to buy one a drink, until your battered form appeared sometime in the night. I should be vexed with you, I suppose. I do so hate being incorrect.”

“I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to be any trouble...”

“Not at all,” Sachiko said, laughing musically. “It was jest, pure and simple. Your appearance and your story have lent interest to an otherwise mundane transit. I have been enriched, and in no way put upon.” She took a closer look at me, the said, “You look as though you have enjoyed enough your time awake, strange new friend, but that you must now rest again. Allow me to assist...”

We made our way back down to the cabin with the hammock I had been enjoying. Sachiko made a quick check of various bandages and, after helping me to lie down again, fed me a tonic she said would help me to sleep deeply, and heal. “Rest well, there are three more days to heal, before the Void Dog enters port again. You have naught to do save gather your strength 'til then...”

A little slice of terror

The place I landed was dark, dank, and smelled of decay. There were no walls in sight, only oily shadows occasionally interrupted by massive pillars of crudely cut greenish, dank stone. The pillars rose out of sight, vanishing into darkness that was punctuated, but not illuminated, by leprous whitish green lights that oozed through the sky like diseased fireflies. Disturbing shapes moved and slid in and out of my peripheral vision, vanishing when I turned to face them.

A loud, horrible dragging, tearing sound came from the inky patch ahead of me. As I watched, seven rubbery phalanges flung themselves towards me, latching onto the pillars. The dragging sound resumed, and something hauled itself into the insufficient light.

Whatever the thing was, just the sight of it made my eyes burn, and the world seemed to bend in disturbing and impossible directions. Whatever the thing was, it had many, many tentacles, mouths, and eyes. Parts of it seemed to fold in and out of somewhere I couldn't see. Black, burning ichor seeped from it where it had torn itself open while dragging itself across the floor. It open its mouths and screamed, and the whole world tried to shake itself apart.

I turned away from it, covering my eyes. As the thing's jagged scream beat against me, compressing my skull, and making my brain feel like it was being pounded flat and folded, I tried to gain control of the disgust and terror that gripped me. I tried to feel out where I could Step to escape, but the odd shape of this space kept me from being able to sense where the threshold was; it would be there, then vanish and reappear somewhere else, with no rhyme or reason.

I needed to see more, and so the third eye in my forehead opened, exposing the glowing under-structure of existence to me.

Even through that eye, the world I found myself in was dank green and shadowed. But the shadows glowed, outlining the shapes it had hidden before. It became clear that the horrid abomination I had thought was in front of me in fact surrounded me. Even the sickly lights I had looked up at previously were revealed to more of the creature's eyes, hanging from the parts of it that were stretched from pillar-top to pillar-top.

The section of the thing that had dragged itself into my view screamed again, sending discordant vibrations cutting through me. I turned towards the open mouths, seeing clearly now how the thing was folding out from a direction I had never known existed. I stumbled backwards, pressing my back against the dank emerald stones of the pillar behind me.

As I watched, some of the unholy thing's mouths stopped screaming, which made it easier to think. Of course, the only idea I could really hold on to was that I was going to die very soon.

The mouths that had stopped screaming stretched themselves wide, and from each a large, moist tentacle shot in my direction. As I leaped to the right, barely in time to avoid the strike of the tentacles, I dragged the fingers of my metal left hand along the face of the stone pillar. As I landed on the ground, I could see that the tentacles had struck exactly where my back had been pressed against the pillar. Instead of the continuous stretch of stone I had felt against my spine, though, the mucous-covered appendages had struck some sort of hole in the pillar, which, even to my special eye, was just an irregular shape of perfect black, with a section of the stone hanging from the edge like a piece of ragged, peeling skin.

I scrambled to my feet, and stumbling, ran as fast as I could to hide behind another of the stone pillars. I could hear the wet smacking sounds of other out-flung tentacles striking the ground behind me as I ran, and then hitting the vertical stone of the pillar as it came between me and my attacker.

Hanging from the tips of my fingers were strips of the stone my hand had torn from the pillar, creating the obsidian hole. The strips still felt like stone, but it seemed like all of the underlying structure that made stone act like stone had been stripped away, so it hung loosely, floating back and forth as my hand shook.

Another tentacle flashed into view, wrapping itself around the pillar just above my head. As I fell away from the stone, yet another squidlike appendage whipped into view. Instead of gripping the pillar like its mate, it nosed back and forth, searching for me. My heels scrapped on the ground, and the slimy finger came right for me.

My arm lifted, and the metal hand, fingers spread, reached out. Somehow, the fingers gained purchase in the very air in front of me, and another hole was rent in the space between where I lay and the approaching end of the questing tentacle. Like the others, this one vanished into the black, and couldn't extricate itself. The tentacle that had sent me to the ground unwrapped itself from the stone. Ignoring me, it took a grip on the captured tentacle, and vainly tried to assist it in freeing itself. From where I stood, I could see the first group of tentacles. They were stretched tight between the hole in the pillar, and the writhing mass of creature from which they had been extruded. The main body of the thing seemed to have been pulled forward quite a ways, and its keening seemed to have taken on a frightened edge.

The two holes my hand had cut seemed to be calling to me. In the disturbing geometry of this place, to my eye they looked like the only solid points I could latch on to.

Without thinking, I lunged forward and cut the two captured tentacles nearest to me with the same hand that had torn the holes in this place. As soon as the outstretched tentacles parted, the section that connected to the hole shot forward and vanished into the blackness. The stumpy appendages waved madly in the air, spraying ichor, accompanied by the shocked scream of the creature of whom they were a part of.

The hole that had eaten the severed tentacles still floated in mid-air, gradually growing larger, seeming to be eating the very fiber of reality that surrounded it. But through the hole, I could sense a place where I might be able to make good my escape. There was a pull the hole was exerting on the surrounding area, and I could hear air whistling past my ear towards the hole. As the aperture grew, it's pull increased. Took two steps forward and leaped into the air, the hole pulling me towards it as I lifted my legs to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. In less time than it takes to say, I passed through the plane of the hole. The screaming of the creature vanished, and blackness surrounded me.

I was now less than sure this had been a good idea.

Some questions, some answers

"So, this was a demon, come to make yer confused self an offer o' some sort.” Grindlebone sounded more than a little confused himself. That made two of us.

“Yeah.”

“What did he look like?”

“He looked like a demon, like the devil. Red skin, sharp black fingernails and toenails, horns on his head, pointy ears, sharp teeth, general smarmy 'let's make a deal' kinda manner. And a lovely pinstripe suit. I mean, beautiful suit. I might be willing to make a deal for a suit like that.”

“Eh, probably wouldn't fit you right. Or you'd get a pin the ass every time you sat down.” Grin was sitting behind his desk, examining the card that Vard the demon had given, right before he popped me back into Grin's office.

“Grin, I thought nobody could teleport or Step into the bar.”

“Well, in the normal run o' things, I'd say that was right. Thing is, even the Guild Seals are only so good. Average yob like you or me'd never be able to swing the kinda power ye'd need for such a thing. A Power, though, a serious Power, it'd brush aside anything the Guild might use. Yer friend didn't even break through Ix's defense systems. Went right through 'em, or around 'em, without even sending a twinge to the alarms. Shouldna been possible, from what I know. I don't think I have to mention, Red, that if it was anybody but you, I'd assume the bugger'd overdone the sot-weed or such.” Grin leaned back in his chair, holding the card between two fingers. “This here's pretty interestin', as well. You can feel the heat off'n it. Near hot enough to light a pipe all on its lonesome.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. That's something, at least.” I drained the last of the fine whiskey out of my glass. “You know what strikes me as odd?”

“Red, I'll bet ya 40 Crowns you can't name something about all this that isn't odd.”

“What strikes me as odd,” I said, ignoring him and gazing speculatively at my glass. “is neither the angel or the demon actually told me what they wanted from me.”

“Howzat?”

“Well, the angel just beat a couple of people up and told me I had to come with him. And from the way Vard spoke, it seemed like he might not have known, either. So he and I have something in common, at least. Grin, none of this makes any sense.”

“Boyo, you're speaking the truth there.”

“Where's Jack, anyway? I need him to read this crystal Jubjub gave me.”

“Ah, about that. The Warden from Charom, the one what took that Tub'la fella and his mates off our hands, he got in touch with me. I'd mentioned to him that we'd no idea why that crew brought all the ruckus here. He wanted t'offer us a look at the ghost they'd made of him, before they ended him. Jack offered to make a run and pick it up.”

“Huh. That was awful friendly of the Warden.” Grindlebone, staring at the ceiling, grunted in agreement. “I've always wondered how it felt. I mean, you know you're gonna die, and then you wake up a fake brain in a computer. How does it feel, when you realize you are dead, really, and as soon as they've wrung your digital mind dry, you get to die all over again?”

“Anybody ever told you you're a morbid son of a bitch, Red?”

“Once or twice.”

I got up and poured myself another glass of Walker's. Grin waved me off when I offered to pour him some. Both of us, me by the bar and Grin behind his desk, spent the next few minutes in silence, lost in our respective thoughts. Might have gone on considerably longer, with all the mental fat we had to chew, if Van Zandt hadn't joined us.

She stepped to where I stood, giving me a kiss on the cheek and stealing my drink, before sitting on the edge of the desk. Grin handed her the card and gave her a short rundown of my recently ended meeting with Vard. I poured another drink.

“Red, you find the oddest ways to pass the time!” She laughed, raising my former glass to me.

“Grindlebone said you knew something about this Mayfair person? The one all the guys who looked at the book-locket thing told me about?”

“Oh, yes. Part of the reason I'm here is because of Mayfair. Nobody I've ever talked to has had any first hand contact with Mayfair. But everyone who's interested in finding out about whatever new peoples pop up out on the newly opened areas, reads the studies Mayfair puts out. They're incisive, with a surprising depth of understanding. No one knows how Mayfair does it. Whoever Mayfair is, they have been able to conduct simultaneous studies of as many as four different new peoples of vastly different type and in widely separated areas. Each one was of a quality to make every other specialist in the field green with envy. The most common theory I've heard is that an incredibly well-funded and connected secret organization sets up each study, and then publishes under the Mayfair name. If that's true, though, no one has ever met anyone connected with them. Oh, there are third hand accounts of secret job offers and clandestine meetings and various other types of jiggery-pokery, but nothing that can be confirmed.”

“Great. Might as well have told me only the Ghost of Christmas Past could tell me about the thing. Whatever Jubjub gave me about finding this guy is probably gonna be full on moonshine. At best. At worst, it's gonna be some exotic way to die, so there ain't any chance I'll come back to have words with him about it.”

“Well, now, Red, I can't make any certain statements about how honest another fella might be," Grin said, rubbing his chin. "but, for all he's as weird as a man with a pant-load o' squirrels, Jubjub's made his reputation on bein' on the level when he offers a sale. Just sayin' is all.”

“Eh,” I grunted. I took another sip of the Walker's. “When did Jack head out, anyway?”

“I saw him leave through the Parkside Door, mmmm, half an hour ago?” Van Zandt ventured.

“OK. Look I'm feeling too wound up to sit around and wait for him to get back. Grin, you got my cut of the bounty you got off the Warden?”

“Surely do, Red.” Grin did something down under his desk, and came up with a surprisingly large valise. “Here ya go. Your fifteen percent of the bounty. This doesn't include your cut of the weapons, 'cause I haven't sold 'em yet, so there's a bit more comin'. The case has a couple of little things Mr. Ix added to keep nefarious souls from figurin' out you're transportin' cash. Good?”

“Better than good, choom.” I knocked off the rest of my drink, then reached into my vest. “I'm gonna head to the Free City, have them worry about keeping my money safe. You mind holding onto the data crystal? If Jack gets back before I do, go ahead and have a glance at it, how 'bout?”

“Don't mind a bit.” He took the crystal from my outstretched hand.

“Thanks. You too, Van Zandt. I'll be back before too long.” I grabbed the valise full of my money and headed out the door.

Getting another offer

Having committed a spot of kidnapping, in order to obtain the location of someone who might be able to tell me something about an artifact I'd pulled off of a terrorist, which had a symbol on it that I'd seen tattooed on a angel in a very realistic dream, I was feeling less than proud of myself. Not out of pity for silver-toothed thief I had secured for Jubjub; He struck me as the type who was due for a richly deserved beat down. And not for committing a crime, as I am, at best, indifferent honest. But I like to think that I usually have better reasons for breaking the law. Whatever kind of kicking around the guy I'd snatched deserved, I felt like I'd delivered him unto it for pretty thin reasons.

Alcohol was the answer, as usual. When I got back to Grin's, the thing behind the bar had mind-waved me that Grin had asked that I be sent back to his office. That worked for me. Grin doesn't water his drinks, but the stuff he keeps in his personal bar are the best of the best.

I had a hard time choosing what I wanted. The Romulan and Andorian ales called to me; I'd been wanting to try them for a long time. I briefly considered making a gargleblaster, but I didn't want to get quite that messed up, not yet, anyway. The decision was made for me, though, as soon as I spotted the bottle of Walker's White Label sitting quietly in the back of the second shelf. The best whiskey ever made, I'd heard. I'd seen serious drinkers get misty just at the sound of the name.

Two fingers of Walker's and ice in a beautifully made glass, a seat in one of the incredibly comfortable chairs that Grin populated his office with, and time to enjoy both. It felt so nice I completely forgot about feeling like a heel.

I took one slow sip, and felt the delightful liquid burn smoothly down my throat and make a warm spot at the center of my being. I was considering a second sip when the world around me suddenly seemed to go thin, like it was all made out of paper. At first I thought that the Walker's was simply living up to its name, but it became obvious that something else entirely was happening. It felt as though a bubble was growing under the floor, rising up and causing everything, my whole reality, to warp out of shape. My soul seemed to stretch painfully. Then the bubble burst.

The first thing I noticed was that he was wearing a very, very nice suit; a black pinstripe three-piece, with a pearly white shirt, a red striped tie, and matching pocket square. Given that the head rising out of the collar, the hand coming out of the sleeves, and the unshod feet all had ruddy red skin, the fingers and toes had pitch-black, talon-like nails, and his forehead sported two spiraled horns that curved back over his bald head, it might seem odd that the suit was the first thing I noticed. On the other hand, it really was a lovely garment. I'd always wanted one just like it.

“Runcible Hand!” He said jovially, striding forward through the barren whiteness that we were standing in, hand outstretched. “It is good to meet you! It's my pleasure, believe me, to meet another up-and-comer like yourself. You would simply not believe how many rivals I had to destroy to land this gig, to be the one to bring you this Offer!” Reaching me, he seized my right hand and pumped it furiously. His crimson face was split in a wide grin, showing of dangerously long and sharp incisors.

“Wha?” I stammered.

“Oh, of course, you're still a bit thrown by the transition. Mea culpa! Take a moment, gather yourself!”

He waved a black nailed hand, and another chair appeared next to mine. He threw himself down in it and crossed his legs. “Lemme apologize for that right now, Red – you don't mind if I call you Red, do you? - but Lower Management says we have to make an entrance, y'know, play up the arrival, so there's no question in the rube's mind that we're the real deal. Not that you're a rube, of course, far from it. Heck, if this were a normal Offer, I'd be 20 feet tall, spitting fire, with a dozen helpers, and the landscape would be much less friendly, y'know what I mean?” Chuckling, he removed his sunglasses and wipe away a non-existent tear. “Just between you and me, Red,” He said, lowering his voice conspiratorially and focusing his red and black eyes on mine, “All o' that? It's BO-Ring! I mean, it's symbolic and all, I get that, it's what they expect, but after a couple of millenia, you just get so tired of it! You cannot believe how refreshing it is, just to be able to throw all of that out the window and just sit down with someone! On a comfortable chair, no less. Have you ever tried sitting on a throne made out of skulls? Two minutes, and your ass feels like you took a meat tenderizer to it! So, you just take your time, catch your breath, no rush at all! I could sit here all year!” He closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the chair, sighing contentedly.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again. Blank white vastness, two chairs, proverbial devil sitting opposite me. Yep, this wasn't because of the whiskey.

“Uh...” I started. The devil's eyes popped open, and he cocked an ear towards me. “Who are you?”

“Oh, man, I'm a dope. I'm Alvavardinbeklamarol.” He leaned forward, offering me his hand again. His grip was firm, and not-unpleasantly warm. “I represent the Lower Management. Just call me Vard.”

“You're... you're a devil.”

“Ah, devil, demon, a nether-dweller, child of Lilith, take your pick. Technically, I'm an Enticer, but I'm pretty close to moving up to Beguiler. Working my way up the ladder in the Department of Temptation. Demon really belongs to the guys who work in Chastisement, and technically, there's only one 'Devil', y'know?” He said, flicking his eyes downward for a second. “Anyway, you don't care about that. Like I said, I represent the Management, and they've sent me here to make you an Offer.”

“Look, uh, Vard... I'm not really interested in selling my soul, y'know, or anything else, really...”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, who said anything about your soul? C'mon, you think they'd send me if they wanted something like your soul? Making that kinda deal takes big time mojo to set up a deal like that. I mean, gimme five more millenia, and maybe I'd be the guy to talk to, but now? Not a chance.”

“OK.”

“See, thing is, I'm not even here to make a deal right now. My bosses know you've been contacted by the other side. They want me to make it clear that we're willing to deal, too. They want you to know you have another option.”

“The other side?”

“Yeah! You think we don't keep an eye on where they go, and who they talk to? You better believe we do, and they follow us just as closely. It's about maintaining the balance. They appear to someone, we appear to them, too, and vice-versa. And you would not believe how many people take our offer when they make the first move. I mean, did they even make an Offer?”

“Uh, you mean the angel? No, not really...”

“Oh, you don't even have to tell me. I know these guys. Just showed up, right? No getting to know you, no handshake, not even a hello? Just gave you an order?”

“Well, no, he, it, whatever, he got into a fight with some friends of mine, actually.”

“Now, that kinda stuff really chaps my ass.” Vard shook his head in disgust. “I mean, just because their boss is supposed to be the creator of everything, an idea I'm not even close to being sold on, by the way, they figure they can do whatever they want, and nobody should ask any questions or look pissed or anything. I mean, where's the courtesy? Where's the friendliness? Would it kill on of them to take five minutes, make the guy they want something from want to help them? Maybe make the guy feel special for being approached to help them? No, it would not, but they go stomping in like Godzilla into Tokyo and expect everyone to bow and scrape. Freakin' zealots!

“Sorry, didn't mean to wander like that, but it bothers me.” Vard shook himself and refocused his attention on me. “Anyway, the Management wants you to know that we're prepared to make a very, very serious offer, if you decide to make a deal with us. I don't want tell tales out of school, but if come with us, you won't be dealing with low-ballers like me. Maaaaaaybe you'd be talking to my bosses boss, but it'll probably be his boss, at least. That's how serious we are.” Vard winked knowingly at me.

“Well, that is nice, but I'm not really...”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Vard said, cutting me off with a wave of his hand. “Don't worry!We're not trying to rush you into anything, I swear. This is just a handshake, a courtesy visit to let you know we're interested. I'm not even allowed think about trying to do anything else right now. We are in no rush, whatsoever. I mean, we have forever, and if you don't want to make a deal, maybe the next guy will. We like you, though. Like I said before, you're an up-and-comer, somebody we think has a lot of potential, and we wouldn't mind forming a relationship.”

“OK. OK, well, why don't you let... uh...”

“The Lower Management.” Vard prompted.

“Right, let the Management know that, uh, we had a good meeting, I guess.” Vard smiled brightly and nodded at that. “Let them know I'm not even close to making a decision about, uh, which way to go, there's a lot of stuff to weigh, a lot to think about...”

“Of course!” Vard stood up. “You take all the time you need. We're not going anywhere. Whenever you're ready, let us know.

“Just keep hold of this...” Vard reached into his coat and pulled out a business card, which he pressed into my hand. “I think I've taken up enough of your time today. Again, it's been a pleasure meeting you. I never get a chance to just sit and chat like this, We should do it again sometime.”

Vard slipped his sunglasses back on. With one last sharp-toothed grin, he snapped his fingers.

I had the sensation of being grabbed by the shoulders and shaken out like a sand covered towel, and suddenly I was back in Grin's office. In one hand, I still held the glass of Walker's. In the other I held a business card with raised crimson lettering that spelled out 'Alvavardinbeklamarol, Enticer, the Old Established Firm'.

Making a grab for the bird

Bloodflies are actually quite beautiful. They appear to be huge butterflies, sometimes having a wingspan of five inches, and their wings are delightfully colored and covered in fascinating patterns. They smell good, too. You want to get close to them, so you can examine the lovely wing pattern and marvel at the lively hues. You want to hold still, and let the thing investigate you, and find the perfect spot of exposed skin on you to land on. And it won't just land; no, what it'll do is spread its wings and flatten itself against you, at which point you'll feel a pinch that signals that the bloodfly has tapped into your circulatory system. And now you have the thing permanently attached to you, unless you remove it by force, leaving a huge scar that never quite stops bleeding, or until you die. Since bloodflies always travel in swarms, and the one that found you will alert the others of its swarm that it's found prey, death will most likely come very quickly, as they surround you in a brightly colored cloud, fighting each other for space on any exposed inch of flesh, and they suck you dry faster then you thought possible. People can, and have, studied them quite extensively, while sheathed in fully sealed containment armor.

I, of course, did not have containment armor. If I was very careful, I wouldn't need it. See, it is possible to get very close to a bloodfly swarm if you are very careful, while they are in their sleep phase. The get logy in cooler temperatures, and several infestations have been destroyed by approaching very, very quietly, and lighting the suckers on fire. Whatever makes their coloring so bright also makes them very, very flammable.

If I wanted to, I could take my lighter out of my pocket and apply it to the bloodflies that hung in huge numbers from the chandelier above me in the ruined ballroom, making it look for all the world like there was a tie-dyed Christmas tree hanging from the ceiling. Touching it to one of them would have set the whole swarm ablaze in moments. Of course, then I would have been buried under the weight of several hundred pounds of dead, burning insects, so I wasn't about to go for my lighter. I needed these things alive for a while.

Moving as quietly as I could, I moved to the center of the room, just under the chandelier on which the bloodflies were most heavily festooned, and pulled two things out of my pocket. The first was a small, round device with a ruby set into the top of it, and the second was a type of firework, designed to spray a shower of sparks about a dozen feet, when activated. I attached the activator for the spark-thrower to the ruby-topped device, and set both on the floor, directly under the lowest hanging part of the slumbering swarm. Then I turned the ruby one half turn in it's setting, and waited five interminable seconds until it began to shine. Then, almost shaking with relief, I Stepped out of that dimension, arriving at my final destination.

I arrived on the side of a rocky hill, looking out over a small compound set on the edge of a desert. I was hidden by a copse of trees to keep my arrival from being noticed, and after taking a moment to check the local landmarks to make sure I'd come to the right place, I began walking the half-mile to the gate of the compound.

I felt like I was carrying a couple hundred pounds of dead weight while walking up a steep hill. The mystical cord that bound me to the place I'd started out wanted to pull me back to that place, and each step was just a bit harder to take than the last. I was almost where I needed to be, though, and when I was, I could stop fighting it and let it do what it wanted, let it go home and take me with it.

The feeling of weight helped with my disguise. I was wearing loose, badly made clothing of the local variety, and a turban. My plodding walk and hunched posture, caused by the pull of the cord, made me look as beaten down as the locals, and, for added verisimilitude, I had removed the Hand, back at my starting point, and held the stump of my left arm against my side. I looked like life had worked me over pretty hard, and like I expected it to keep doing so. Just like the locals.

I arrived at the gate of the compound. A small hole, set behind a grate, popped open in response to my rhythmic knock, and then closed after accepting the note I proffered. A few minutes later, a door opened in the gate and I was pulled roughly through.

I found myself in a courtyard, surrounded by buildings that looked like adobe, and by a half dozen armed guards. They pushed me around a bit while passing my note back and forth, until what looked like their captain walked up, trailed by another of the guards.

The captain read the note. He sized me up with a beady eye for a moment before stepping forward and shouting something directly into my face. His breath was unpleasant, but his closeness did let me see that he had one silver tooth, right up in front. Jackpot.

Standing almost nose to nose with the foul-breathed captain, I said the one word of the local language I had learned. The guards around the two of us froze for a second, then began to glance at each other in that universal way people do when someone crosses a line and is about to get a serious beating thrown on them. The captain froze, too, his face turning a bright red. He grabbed me by the throat, and had opened his mouth to begin shouting in earnest, when I reached up to take hold of his wrist with my one good hand, and stopped holding out against the pull of the cord.

Instantly, the captain and I were pulled out of that dimension, the cord yanking my body in an odd direction, and him coming with me because of our physical contact. There were four pauses lasting less than a second apiece, as we were reeled back to my staring point. The first pause was in the ruined ballroom where I had set the spark-thrower under the swarm of bloodflies. The second found us on a a tree reaching across a deep gorge over a raging river. Third came a bubble of air, deep underwater, with us in the center of a circle of black boxes, and lastly we blinked through a metal room, the airlock of a space station.

Is we passed through each, the four small devices, inset with rubies, I had left at each spot activated another item I had left behind. If anyone in the compound we had just left possessed the ability to follow me across dimensions, they would find themselves stepping into something quite deadly at each Step. The spark-thrower would have already ignited the swarm hanging above it, filling the ruined ballroom with fire. Explosives on the tree would have split it and dropped it into the river below, leaving a pursuer to arrive without support in mid-air. The black boxes holding the bubble of air open at the bottom of an ocean would have deactivated, allowing the water to rush back and fill that area with its killing pressure. And the airlock on the space station would be opening, exposing the next person to Step into that spot to the void of space.

If there was anyone who could follow me and survive all of that, just to get the captain back, I'd probably just let them have him. They would be way out of my league.

Not that it would have been my problem, if someone had followed us to the end of the line, since the last stop was Jubjub's aerie.

Jubjub's raths, green pig-like creatures, took charge of the captain as soon as we arrived, and by 'took charge' I mean 'tackled and began to summarily pummel'. This set the borogoves seated on ledges all about the wide room to burbling and chortling in evident joy.

“Oh, frabjous day!” This came as a cry from across the room, where Jubjub had been lounging. It outgrabed loudly in happiness as it strode across the room. “Ah, Redhand, thou'rt manxome in pursuit of that which thine eye desires! Truly, it soothes my frumious temper to have this uffish oaf of a thief returned to me for well earned punishment. Beamish, I am, I say I am beamish, the mimsy mood has fled, with your galumphing back to me, bearing that which I requested! Callooh! Callay!”

If you're wise, you will never comment on how much Jubjub looks like an angry chicken. It's killed for less, much less. But this loud, absurd bird was also possessed information I needed. The borogoves, the raths, and the toves it employed were all constantly ferreting out secrets which were brought back to the mercurial Jubjub, who then bartered them to any who could meet his price.

The book-locket I had shown to Jack and Van Zandt had led her to suggest a few names as to who might be able to identify it. They had all come up empty, but each had suggested the same individual as the next person to ask. She, of course, had vanished some time ago, on one of the exploratory expeditions that were her specialty. And the only one, apparently, who knew her location, was Jubjub the information broker. So here I was, delivering the captain, who had stolen I know not what from the bird, in return for a location.

“Glad to hear it, Mes-sire Jubjub,” I said, feeling a load lift from me as the 5-dimensional cord that had reeled the captain and me in was removed. “Very glad. So, as I promised, your thief has been returned directly to you. Do you have something for me?” I went about reattaching the Hand and changing my clothes as nonchalantly as possible, praying there wouldn't be any complications.

“Aha, to business, yes, o manxome one!” Jubjub clucked, pulling a green crystal out from... somewhere. “All information, pertinent as can be, which you requested. Jubjub thanks you for your patronage, yes, and begs you to come again soon!”

Stories for Jack

Automatic Jack was sitting at the front bar, chatting with Van Zandt, when I came back up from making the deal with Grindlebone. Van Zandt is Grin's partner, in a number of different senses of the word, so, even though his name's on the door, it's her bar as much as his. She has some strong Asian genes in her make-up, and tops Grin by a couple of inches, although her thin build makes her seem a bit smaller. Number of individuals have made the assumption that Van Zandt is less dangerous than Grin, but they only do it once. Grindlebone's size keeps people from starting things around him, but Van Zandt is actually quite prepared to lay hands on rowdy customers in order to keep the peace in the bar. She's also a hell of a good bartender, the kind a place needs to give it a soul; She remembers names, faces, favorite drinks, good jokes, personal histories, and how long it's been since you've seen each other, and generally makes you feel like the party was just waiting for you to show up so it could start. A hell of a lady, in other words. Grin calls her his lucky charm.

She and Jack were laughing over a shared joke when I slid onto the stool next to Jack's angular metal form. Van Zandt drew me a pint of Shuggoth's Old Peculiar and listened in while I gave him the details of my little meeting with Grin. Jack was as surprised as I had been that Big Hairy and his boys were wanted for a terrorist action on Charom, and delighted by the percentage I'd managed to wring out of Grin. Hearing that I'd gotten 30% of the bounty earned a whoop out of Van Zandt and a couple of free shots; seems as though he'd sworn up and down to her he wasn't going to go higher than 20%, and had made the mistake of accepting her bet on it.

“But that wasn't the fun part, Jack.” I said, after raising my glass to Van Zandt and gulping down the Liquid Fire she'd filled it with. “The fun part was when Big Hairy, or Gundar Tub'la as his mother named him, managed to get himself free.”

“No skoob?” Jack said. “Well, I guess a guy like that has been restrained more than once in his time.”

“No doubt. When I got there, Grin had him trussed up to this chair, wrists, ankles, lap, chest, all strapped down, and the chair was bolted to the floor. And he didn't really get loose, he broke the chair apart. So, he's still strapped in, really, and he only managed to break one of the legs free of the floor, so when he tried to start walking, he fell over.” Van Zandt had her hand over her mouth, trying not to laugh out loud, unlike Jack, who was guffawing hugely. “Now, the fall managed to break the other leg free, but he couldn't really get up, because the band across his lap was still in place, keeping him strapped to the seat of the chair. So, he thrashed around for a minute...”

I explained to them how Hairy, or Gundar, had finally managed to push himself to his feet, and had danced around a bit, trying to keep his balance on legs he could only bend at the knees. I told them how Grin had used the time Gundar had spent thrashing on the ground to pick up and prime the stick-trap one of Gundar's boys had been carrying when they were captured, and how Grin had used it to trap the poor fool just after he'd gotten himself upright.

“Stick-trap? What's 'at?” Jack asked, tapping his empty cup on the bar.

“I haven't seen one in a long time, even though they're a perfect non-lethal way to take someone out. Thing looks like a chopstick, maybe a little longer than most, but, after you prime it, the next person that comes in contact with it gets caught in this cage of connected sticks, spreads all over whatever the person and locks them down. Real beauty of the thing is, it manages to lock them in in such a way that if they try to break free, the sticks will transfer the force back onto the person in the trap. Basically, they'd have to severely damage themselves to even get a hand loose. Last time I saw one used, the guy inside did manage to break a couple of the sticks around his hand, but doing it broke his leg, a couple of ribs, and his shoulder. Guy couldn't even fall over to take the weight off his broken leg.”

Jack gave out a low whistle. “Did Gundar try that?”

“For a second, until something o' his almost broke. Then he just stood there. Couldn't even move his jaw enough to yell at us. When the Chiromi came for 'em, they just picked him up, cage and all, carried him off. From what the Warden who took charge of him said, it meant Gundar'd be a hell of a lot less trouble that way.”

“So, that's the last of them, huh?” Jack said, sipping from the glass of oil Van Zandt had brought him.

“Looks like. The Warden said they'd been tried in absentia and found guilty. All five of them are headed to some Chiromi hoosegow, and they'll be executed in pretty short order.”

“And we got the bounty?”

“Grin and the Warden were taking care of that when I got the word you were up here. When it's done, Grin said he'd meet us up in his office.” I downed the last of my Old Peculiar. “I did want to ask you something, though. You too, Van Zandt.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out a necklace, from which hung a large square locket.

The necklace was silver, and there didn't seem to be anything special about it. The locket, though, was made of a greenish metal, which seemed to have veins of a dirty white running through it. The metal had been shaped to resemble a book, with a hinged spine on one edge and a lock holding it closed. What I would normally think of as the front cover was blank, and the back cover had been engraved with a very strange design. I'd picked it out from the midst of the various gear the five dead men had been stripped of. Mr. Ix said it wasn't one of the things that had flummoxed the bar's security, so I'd claimed it as part of my share.

The design on the cover looked almost exactly like part of the tattoo on the angel from my dream last night.

“Have either of you ever seen this design before?” I put the locket and necklace down on the bar, with the cover bearing the design facing upwards.