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“Did ya hear?” asked the slightkin boy. Enjoying her breakfast at the inn, Asp’s ears perked up to catch the conversation at the next table.
“About the playhouse?” replied the Ronan'el woman. “Yeah, it’s too bad the show is canceled.”
“No, the museum. They’ve had to fire two curators in the last few days,” the boy explained. “They’re talking about closing down until they can find someone new for the job.”
“Well, what happened to the new one? I heard the old one was abusing some of the other museum workers,” said the Ronan'el, her eyebrows arched in anger.
“I guess the new one was a con man,” the slightkin said, his voice different on the phrase “con man,” as though it were something unspeakably cool. Asp smiled to herself. The slightkin continued. “He was making everything up, but I heard some reporter figured him out.” His voice was sad now, like Candlewax-Hobbson had been the victim of a scoundrel manipulating public sentiment.
I suppose he is, Asp thought. She nearly chuckled. But the kid’s got one thing wrong. He wasn’t the con artist. She drank the last of a cup of coffee and motioned to the newtkin waiting tables for more. The newtkin navigated to her and refilled her cup with a smile. Asp placed a cap on a stack of a few others on the table; she’d stacked another every time the newtkin helped her. She was feeling especially generous this morning.
“So the show really is canceled?'' asked the slightkin boy.
“Yeah, they said it’s postponed until tomorrow,” said the Ronan'el, her voice deflated.
“So it’s not really canceled. It’s postponed,” corrected the slightkin.
“Oh shut up, you little twit,” clucked the Ronan’el. “You knew what I meant.”
The boy smiled in defiance. “I insist that I didn’t.”
Asp smiled to herself, drank a bit more of her coffee, placed a few more caps on the table, and made for the door.
“Excuse me, miss?” an uncertain voice behind her said.
She turned. It was the newtkin who had served her.
“You forgot this,” he said, hefting a small purple bag. She took it in her hand, considering it. It was not hers. The plush fabric appeared to be velvet, and it had something relatively heavy for its size inside.
Act natural. “Thank you,” she gushed. “You’re a lifesaver,” she added, flipping the newtkin one more copper-dipped coin before she strode out of the inn, the somewhat heavy bag held in her hands.
She stepped outside into the morning light and considered the city. Where can I go to open this in private? she thought to herself. Just checked out of the room, I think the abandoned house is probably still being watched, I’m not sure about the rest of the gang . . . Her eyes probed over a nearby alleyway. Hmm. Not the most secure, but I want to know what this is before I go lugging it around town. She walked through the morning crowds and into the tiny space between buildings.
After checking in both directions to make sure she was alone, Asp opened the bag. Inside was a strange shape composed of some manner of metal, likely a steel alloy, but somehow shinier. Nickel? It’s not chrome. The shape had regular faces of five sides each; counting quickly, it seemed there were twelve faces on the thing. She turned it over in her hands. It’s smooth, maybe polished. She stood there, turning it over and over, inspecting the faces. No marks. What the hell is this thing?
“Your confusion is understandable, small one.” A tinny voice seemed to come from the strange shape. Its voice was quiet and sounded harmless, innocent.
“If you’re the one talking,” Asp whispered to the shape, “I believe you are smaller than me.”
“True,” said the tinny voice. “But you are smaller than most I have met, which are admittedly few.” The shape shifted in her hands, twisting so that a different face was pointed up. “I am to understand that your kind exchange names and greetings when meeting,” said a slightly different voice–still tinny and distant, but a bit deeper.
“My kind, meaning people?” Asp said quietly. Am I talking to a hunk of metal?
“Choose your term. My creator says ‘humanoids,’ because it is a scientific term.” The shape shifted to another face, its voice turning somewhat female but still tinny and distant. “I believe that the word ‘people’ is more informal.”
“You mentioned greetings,” said Asp, trying to focus. “I’m–” she began, then stopped. “Well, I’m–” she stopped again.
“You are one with many names,” said the shape after a moment and shifted again, now speaking in a tinny voice that reminded Asp of her next door neighbor back home. This is home now, she corrected herself.
“You’re right,” said Asp, more than a bit surprised that the shape seemed to know about her. She tried to balance her curiosity with caution. “For now, you can call me Penelope.”
“I will not call you Penelope,” replied the shape. “I will not call you any of the names you have been given by yourself or others.” Asp shifted the shape in her hands–it was beginning to feel heavy. It continued in its tinny voice, now higher and tinnier. “I will call you . . . Orchid. That fits with your scheme, correct?”
Asp dropped the shape, which made a dull clunking sound when it hit the ground. She scooped it back up and stood with her shoulders hunched, trying to keep it from the eyes of the public.
“Listen, I don’t know how you know about me or what else you know about me, but obviously you want something. Let’s just cut to the chase.” Asp tried to focus her eye contact on the thing, but it was difficult to menace an eyeless geometric shape.
“You misunderstand, Orchid. I want nothing from you. It is my creator who wishes to speak to you.” The shape hummed after saying this, then quieted.
“And you’re going to take me to them?” Asp asked, unsure if she needed to be patient with the shape.
“If you are willing,” said the shape. “My creator does not wish to force your hand.”
“What’s your creator’s name?” said Asp, her eyes narrowed.
“That is for them to reveal. But I can tell you that I am called Xyz,” buzzed the shape.
“And how do you spell that?” deadpanned Asp.
“Ex-why-zee,” it replied.
“Wait,” said Asp, her gaze rising in thought. “Xyz, like the mythological idea of a realm of nothingness?”
“My creator tells me that I am named for something great and powerful, but they do not say specifically what it is,” Xyz said. “I do not think it matters because I am my own being.”
“Without the ability to move by yourself,” muttered Asp.
As if to prove her wrong, the shape levitated up out of her hands and hung in the air before her. The edges of each face of the shape separated, and brilliant white light poured forth from inside. Asp narrowed her eyes against the blinding light, then was forced to close them completely as the brightness became too much.
-
“Welcome,” said a mid-ranged elven voice from what must have been twenty feet or so away.
Asp opened her eyes. She was in a darkened room, or perhaps just a room where everything was a dark color. It was a round space with only one piece of furniture–an obsidian throne at one edge of the room–and one door, which was on the opposite side of the room from the throne. An elf with long, flowing blond hair sat on the throne. It was impossible to tell how old they were, but Asp would have guessed the slightkin equivalent of at least sixty. That means they’ve got several hundred years of experience on me. Keep it together, and keep it careful.
“Hi,” said Asp as naturally as possible. “Xyz was just telling me that you wanted to talk to me.”
“Hmmph,” grumbled the elf. “I expected you to be more . . . concerned.”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” said Asp, “I am very concerned.” She raised her eyebrows and sighed. “But concern tends to get in the way of things.” She found she was struggling to make eye contact. “What may I call you?”
“Melwi,” intoned the elf.
“Wait . . .” Asp looked for the right words. “Like the elven word for ‘snail?’”
Melwi smiled. “The snail is an elegant creature. It takes its time in life, getting only what it wants. It has everything it needs. As a well-prepared elf, I relate.” Melwi gestured to the ceiling.
Asp’s eyes had adjusted by now. The ceiling of the room was a counterclockwise spiral from the center to the outer edge. It looked just like a snail’s shell.
“I have something to ask of you, Orchid,” intoned Melwi.
“I get the flower thing,” said Asp, “and I’m impressed you know enough about me to give me a flower name.” She tried to sound polite. “But why ‘Orchid’? Kind of a clunky name, no?”
Melwi stared back, eyes burning. “You are Delia and Penelope and Gilbert. Female and male at once.”
Asp furrowed her brow in confusion. “. . . And?”
“The orchid combines both its male and female anatomy into one structure.” Melwi looked almost self-conscious. “I thought you might appreciate this.”
Asp nodded along with Melwi, then studied the elf’s clothing. Nondescript robes. Ambiguous hairstyle. Mid-range voice. Oh.
“Melwi . . .” mused Asp, then smiled. “Snails don’t have a gender. They can create life all by themselves . . .” She turned and scanned the room for Xyz, spotting it floating a few feet off the ground opposite the throne.
Melwi’s face lit up. “I knew I could count on you,” they said with something approaching warmth.
“Well, that remains to be seen,” cautioned Asp.
“But of course,” Melwi said. “Let me present my offer.” They stood up, paced towards Asp, and stopped about five feet away. “I’m going to cast a spell–don’t be alarmed.”
Melwi muttered something under their breath. Light green and dark blue light emanated from their fingertips, creating arcing designs in the low light of the throne room. The lights separated, then zoomed together in the center of the room, creating a column of blue-green light that seemed to stretch through the high ceiling. The column of light grew narrow, then widened to envelop both Asp and Melwi.
Suddenly, they were both standing in a room familiar to Asp. It was the exhibit room at the museum. It seemed to be closed down and roped off from the public, and white sheets hung over the few pieces that had been assembled before the removal of both curators. When Asp turned to Melwi, she saw that the elf was transparent. She glanced down at her own body and found that she too was transparent.
“We are both here and not really here,” explained Melwi. “No one who is there can see or hear us.” They placed a hand on the sheet which covered a pedestal and moved as if to lift it. The sheet didn’t move at all. “We cannot change anything, but we can observe.”
Asp looked around the room. It was functionally identical to how she had left it, and yet it felt different. Somehow, it being closed to the public made her actions seem more permanent, more impactful. Being here was almost like seeing the ghost of her own past.
“So, what are we doing here?” Asp asked.
“You didn’t know it, but I had a careful plan in place. A plan that you rendered useless.” Melwi spoke without emotion, but Asp still froze at the thought of inspiring anger in this powerful person.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t–” Asp stammered.
“No. I am not upset. As it happens, your plan has actually improved my plan.” Melwi seemed beyond calm.
Asp stared back, surprised. “I did?”
“Orchid, my child,” began Melwi, “I wanted to destroy that museum exhibit. The first curator, Gorman, was a dupe. He wanted only to be paid and to have a position of power. I had hope for the second one, Candlewax-Hobbson, but when you threatened to talk to his colleagues at the university, he instantly gave in.” Melwi made a motion with their hands as though washing them. “I had hoped that he would have real integrity. But alas, he did not.” They frowned. “But the next one could be the real deal.”
Asp fidgeted. “I would like it if the museum were filled with good exhibits, too. I just don’t see how I can help make sure the next curator is any good.”
Melwi smiled, then laughed. “Don’t you see it yet, Orchid?”
Asp stood still, running different angles in her mind. They suggest the next curator, and I vet them? I make sure they’re legit? How am I the expert? Unless–no.
“You don’t mean–?” Asp blurted.
“I do.” Melwi smiled again.
“That’s a much bigger job than I’ve ever done, though,” protested Asp. “I talk to people for a few minutes and get out. You’re talking about weeks of work. Delicate work. I don’t think it’s worth the risk.”
“Orchid?” Melwi made deliberate eye contact. “You’re going to be the next curator, or I am going to have to make your life very difficult until you agree. You foiled my plan, so you now must help me with a new one.”
Asp slumped her shoulders. “I don’t doubt you can make me cooperate if you hurt me.”
Melwi straightened their posture. “I’m not talking about hurting you.”
Asp looked back at them, confused. “Not–”
“Yes, Orchid. Wanda. Iris. Your mother. The whole gang.” Melwi whispered these words, and they cut Asp more for their quietness.
“But Xyz said you didn’t want to force my hand,” protested Asp.
“You’re not being forced to do anything,” said Melwi. “You have a choice.”
Asp sat down on the floor and stared into the distance. “So you want me to create a genuine museum exhibit as the curator. How much time do I have?”
“Oh, don’t pout. Back on your feet,” ordered Melwi. Asp struggled and then stood. Melwi smiled again. “I feel that two weeks should be perfectly adequate.”
Asp considered a rough timetable in her head. “It’ll be very tight, but I guess it’s possible.”
Melwi smiled again, and the look of it scared Asp. “And Orchid?”
Asp had been distracted, trying to make sense of the situation. She turned back to fully face Melwi.
“When you succeed, I’m going to pay you quite handsomely.” Melwi rubbed their palms together in the universal sign for money.
At least there’s that. “Okay. I’m ready to get to work,” said Asp after a moment. “Actually, wait. One more thing, and then I’ll get to it–why do you even care about there being a place for people to look at old things?”
Melwi looked irritated for a moment, then returned to their smile. “I know you don’t really think that’s what the exhibit is about. You’re just looking for a reaction.”
“That’s not an answer,” pointed out Asp.
“But it is true,” countered Melwi. Then, they clapped their hands, sending a blinding white light flashing in every direction.
When Asp’s vision cleared, she was standing in the same alleyway, a now-familiar pentagonal shape in her hands.
-
“Orchid, do you require any assistance in your task?” Xyz asked as soon as Asp was conscious of her surroundings. Its tinny voice jarred her mind back into the present moment.
“Xyz, do you think you can make me feel like I’m not going crazy?” Asp pleaded. She glanced out of the alleyway to orient herself.
“I am not designed to respond to emotional needs, but I can tell you that my creator believes in you.” Xyz’s tinny voice sounded cheerful for a moment.
“Great, thanks,” she said, laying on several layers of sarcasm in her delivery.
“You are welcome,” replied Xyz.
“I’m gonna put you back in your bag for now, okay?” said Asp, sliding the purple velvet cloth around the metal shape. “I’ll pull you out again when I need help. But listen up, okay: do not talk unless I say, ‘Hi, Xyz.’ If I don’t say that, and especially if anyone is around, do not talk. Understand, Xyz?”
“I understand. Standby,” crackled Xyz, and the lights between the faces of its shape powered down.
Asp slipped Xyz into her pack and set off through the city. I think Melwi can’t hear my thoughts, so I’m at least safe here. Probably, anyway. She turned a corner at an especially busy tavern and kept walking. Is it just because they’re magic that they know all this stuff about me? Or have I been slipping? She cut through a side-street to bypass a crowded intersection. I don’t think I’ve been slipping. I feel like I’ve been at the top of my game. Is this just what happens when you make it? People start aiming for you? She arrived at her destination and stepped inside.
She strutted past paintings and sculptures and historical objects. She knew the museum well now, perhaps better than any other building in Strey. She noticed more guards than before–she judged that it could have been from the heist or perhaps a product of the curator firings, maybe a combination of the two.
Asp entered the exhibit room and approached the two people standing at its center. They were an elderly elven woman and a mustached dwarven man, and they chattered between each other. The dwarf turned to Asp and said, “I’m sorry, we’re closed to visitors at the moment.”
Lady Penelope bowed. “Oh, I am afraid there’s been a misunderstanding. I’m Lady Penelope Jasmine–I am the delegate from the slightkin diplomat council on the matter of public education. I was–very frightfully, I admit–the financier for your most recent curator.”
The assembled docents chattered amongst themselves at the mention of Candlewax-Hobbson. Lady Penelope held up a polite hand to quiet them.
“Believe me when I say that no one is more disappointed with his conduct than we are,” she said, adding a tone of anger to her voice. “And believe me when I say also that we are more invested in setting this right than you can imagine. Just think about this from our perspective: we sought to educate the public about our great shared history of technology, and our council is assaulted by a criminal?” Penelope pronounced the word “criminal” as though it were a mouthful of bitter herbs.
The docents once again chattered, this time more in curiosity. Lady Penelope silenced them once more with her raised hand.
“I arrived last night to deal with Candlewax-Hobbson–” she said his name very delicately, as though it were dangerous to say, “–and that problem has been dealt with. From our end, at least. I would be happy to help you if you seek further prosecution against him. But of course there’s the more pressing matter of your exhibit.”
“We’re frankly considering canceling the exhibit until a curator can be secured with–” the dwarf searched for the right word, “–more rigorous investigation.”
Lady Penelope nodded. “I agree–a more thorough search is in the best interest of the museum.” She curtsied to emphasize the point of agreement. “But I do think that you stand to lose face if the exhibit is canceled altogether.” She toyed with a strand of hair in what appeared to be an unconscious habit, but which was actually a carefully-considered action.
The elven woman shook her head. “The damage may have already been done, Lady Jasmine. The typewriter and telescope previously obtained have been repossessed. Our exhibit currently consists only of a few rusty gizmos and what seems to be a child’s plaything.”
Penelope met the woman’s eyes and smiled. “What if, though–” she paused for effect, seeming to look for the right words, “–what if you had a temporary curator, someone with standing in the social order, someone who you know is committed to the education of the public?”
The docents conferred, with especially spirited whisperings from the dwarven man. After a few moments, the dwarf said, “It seems you have such a candidate in mind?”
Lady Penelope looked around, then spread her arms wide. “Look no further!”
The docents looked at her in surprise, then began to consider what she had said.
“Public standing,” mumbled the elven woman.
“Committed to education,” muttered the dwarven man.
“Only until we find a replacement,” added the elf.
“Only until you find a suitable replacement,” Penelope reassured them. “I only want to make good on the museum’s promise and then move on. But I would be honored if you allowed me, say, two weeks to construct an honest exhibit. I swear to you, if there are genuine artifacts to be found, I will turn them up.”
The docents conferred once more, the elf now dominating the conversation.
“We accept your proposition, Lady Jasmine,” said the elf, “but if we can find a curator before your time is up, we would like to get them into the position as quickly as possible.”
“I of course understand,” said Penelope, bowing her head. Then, crossing her fingers behind her back, she added, “I just hope you’re able to find someone ideal before I’m able to completely assemble the exhibit.”
“We will expect you back bright and early tomorrow, then,” said the elf. “Thank you for saving us from this utter disaster.”
“We are helping each other,” replied Penelope. “Thank you.”
-
Asp knocked on the door to the warehouse. Judging by the sun, it was well into the afternoon, and she wasn’t sure whether anyone would be there. When her light knock had no answer, she tried the door. It slid open easily.
Inside, Oslo and Dancer sat across from each other at the table. The rest of the warehouse seemed empty, or, at least, was silent. Oslo and Dancer looked up at Asp from across the room.
“Asp!” cried Dancer, standing. “You’re okay!” He ran around the table to greet her, wrapping her in a hug. “We checked the house you were in a few times, but you weren’t there. We were starting to get really worried.”
“Well, I’m okay,” said Asp. “It’s kind of been an eventful day.”
“I wanna hear about it,” said Oslo. “But first, we’ve got to cover our bases. You’ve got some time to account for.”
Asp tried to look expressionless, but knew that she was probably showing her frustration at being treated like a child. “Okay,” she said in as neutral a voice as she could manage, approaching the table.
“Dancer,” said Oslo, turning to the newtkin. “Why don’t you run out and fetch us something to eat?”
Asp recognized the same look on Dancer as he registered that he was to be an errand boy–and that Oslo wasn’t allowing him to hear the conversation that would follow.
“Anything in particular?” asked Dancer.
“Something light. Maybe some elven food?” Oslo was staring at Asp, not sparing a glance to Dancer.
“You got it,” said Dancer, his discomfort obvious, and he left the warehouse. The door closed behind Dancer, and the warehouse grew quiet.
“On with it, then,” ordered Oslo.
“I didn’t get us in any more trouble,” said Asp.
“On with it,” urged Oslo.
“Fine,” spat Asp, sitting back in her chair. “A few guards came to the house I was hiding in. They started to check under the floor, so I got out of there. I changed into Penelope, as you can see,” she said, smoothing her dress. “I arranged to be arrested as Penelope, and when they took me to the Captain, I explained that I had hired the curator and was here to fix his mistakes. I ensured that they don’t believe Candlewax-Hobbson, which means that Gilbert and Delia are safe again. I got some money for us,” she added, spilling the crowns from her exchange with the Captain the previous night on the table, “from framing Candlewax-Hobbson. Then I stayed in an inn on the west side of town. This morning, I puttered around town a little before I–” Asp searched for the right word.
“Before you what?” asked Oslo, clearly frustrated.
“It’s something I can handle on my own,” said Asp.
Oslo slammed his hands on the table. “You don’t get it, do you?” He knocked over his chair. “There is no ‘I’ in this gang. There is only ‘we’! You don’t have it handled. We have it handled. Together. Do you understand?”
“Well, of course,” said Asp, folding her arms.
“I don’t know if I believe that. Do you?” insisted Oslo.
“I do!” she yelled. Asp stormed out of the warehouse, slamming the door behind her, and moving quickly to blend in with the crowd around her.
-
“Do you have the time in Hammergrad?” asked Asp. Her eyes were bleary.
The ragged-looking elf she had spoken to made eye contact. “Isn’t it the same time as here?” he said.
“I suppose it is,” said Asp, scurrying away. She walked several paces and tried to gauge whether the elf was still within earshot. She took a few more paces to be safe and directed her attention to a young dwarf nearby.
“Do you have the time in Hammergrad?” she asked.
“What, I’m a dwarf, so I must know?” he countered.
“My apologies,” she replied and scurried away. Several more paces, this time towards an elderly Ronan'el woman in a long cloak. Asp looked the woman in the face and spoke.
“Do you have the time in Hammergrad?” she asked.
A sly smile spread across the Ronan'el woman’s face. “It’s always ten there,” she said.
Score. Asp grinned. “I was hoping it would be six, actually.”
“I suppose we could compromise,” said the old woman. “Perhaps it’s eight o’clock.”
Asp was beginning to propose seven o’clock, but then she thought better of it. She counted out eight helms into her palm, but under her cloak so that only the old Ronan'el woman could see. Asp held out her hand with the silver coins inside, and the old woman took her hand. With the helms transferred, the old woman gestured to a small black silk bag at her feet, mixed in with a variety of similar silk bags of various colors. Asp knelt, grabbed the black bag, and waved her appreciation to the old Ronan'el.
With the black bag in hand, Asp walked idly through the city. Ordinarily, at a time like this, she would be looking for the cheapest, nastiest inn she could find. But she was dressed as Lady Penelope, and that tactic would raise suspicion quickly when performed by a noble diplomat. A quick change to Delia would be impossible without the privacy granted by a room, and then what would be the point? She’d already be in a room. Asp scowled. No one’s gonna make it easy for me to self-destruct, now are they?
She entered the inn where she had woken up this morning, holding the black bag within the folds of her cloak. She approached the counter and waved her second hello to the human lad behind the counter.
“I’ll be in town for a while longer, it seems,” she said. “May I keep the same room I already have, or do I need to move?”
“Uh, gimme a sec . . .” said the boy as he studied the inn’s ledger. “You can stay where you are. You know how long you’re staying?”
“At least two weeks,” Asp said, hesitating before adding, “Can I pay for my stay now, or shall I pay night by night?”
“Either way,” said the boy, shrugging. “It’s cheaper if you pay in advance, though.”
“Fair enough,” said Asp, piling several caps and a few helms onto the desk. Appearances can be expensive.
“Enjoy your day, my Lady,” said the boy.
“You too,” replied Asp, turning to the hallway that held her room.
She headed down the hallway, fingers wrapped tightly around the black bag. She twisted the knob at the door to her modest room and pushed it open; inside were a straw-filled mattress on a simple bedframe, a wooden chest at the foot of the bed, a small basin of water, and a chamberpot in the corner. She secured the door and sat on the side of the bed. Leaning back, she lowered herself so that her torso and thighs were lying across the mattress, her feet dangling over the side.
She lifted the black bag in front of her. It had almost no weight at all. She opened it and turned it over. A small grey cube fell into her palm. It was made up of a great many tiny grains of black and white, like a sugarcube made of salt and pepper. Slowly, Asp ground the cube between her fingers, sending the grains of the cube floating off down its surface. She braced herself and inhaled deeply, sending the floating grains up her nose and into her sinuses.
It worked right away. The room became a blur of itself. The bed felt for a moment like a bursting mess of prickles, then like a long, smooth tube down which Asp was sliding. Her fingertips, the tip of her nose, and the tips of her toes all became numb. Even more delicately, she ground the cube again. It was now about half the size it had been when she started. She inhaled deeply once more, sending the black and white grains flying into her body. She was floating now, weightless, and there was a buzzing sound in the middle distance. The familiar sights and sounds she had come to know swirled around Asp, and she became suddenly aware that the buzzing was new. She had not heard this before. What was it?
Her body wrenched. Seizure? she thought. Poison? Her body was jackknifed at a ninety degree angle, which made her ache. The buzzing was louder now. If she could only make out the shape of the sounds . . .
“Ask!” said a voice through the haze.
Ask what?
“Ask!” repeated the voice, louder. The steady hum in Asp’s mind was split by the word.
What am I supposed to ask?
“ASP!” Kyrn’s voice was clear now. “ASP, wake up!”
Asp squirmed, flailing from Kyrn’s arms back onto the bed. She struggled to sit up straight. The ash was hitting her too hard; she hadn’t been prepared to talk to anyone.
“Wha is it?” Asp mumbled in a daze.
“Oh, no, Asp,” muttered Kyrn. “Not right now. What did you take?”
“I put the ash in my body,” mumbled Asp, as though this were an apology.
“Ash? That’s serious stuff! Shit, how much?” Kyrn sounded panicked.
Asp held up the half of the remaining cube.
“That much!?” cried Kyrn. “Are you trying to hurt yourself?”
“Only a lil’ bit . . .” mumbled Asp, her tongue feeling big and heavy.
“Asp . . . we’re about to meet the fence.” Kyrn paused, expecting Asp to connect the dots. “The fence insisted that you be there. They wanted to meet the person who took care of Candlewax-Hobbson. But you’re . . .” Kyrn cringed. “You’re not really ready for that, are you?”
Asp sat up in a jerking motion. “I can do anything,” she muttered. “I’ll talk to your fence,” she said, jabbing her thumb into her chest.
“Right,” said Kyrn as though there were someone else in the room to commiserate with.
Asp managed to stand and steadied herself against Kyrn’s leg. “Le’s go,” said Asp, waiting for Kyrn to lead the way.
The ash continued to kick in as Asp wandered almost blind, clinging for dear life to Kyrn’s knee. The city that passed by was something of a nightmare. The common people going about their days were spidery creatures with long, spindly legs. The houses and shops around her became towering mountain ranges, covered in piles of humanoid bones. The very cobblestones underfoot seemed home to scorpions, vermin, and snakes. She tried to close her eyes, but the visions continued behind her eyelids.
Never leave your safe room when you take ash, she thought, trying to anchor herself. Never do most of the things I’ve done recently, actually.
Kyrn came to a halt, and Asp took another step and a half before she stopped as well. She opened her eyes. It was difficult to tell what was real and what the ash had conjured. But if her eyes were to be trusted, she was in a squat building of simple design–perhaps an old manufactory or a humble temple. At her immediate left stood Dancer, and beyond her, Candace, Gregorio, and finally Kyrn at Asp’s side. To her right were Jehosaphat, Annabel, and Oslo. And ahead of her stood an elf with long blond hair, flowing robes, and a face which seemed neither male nor female. They gestured to a chest in the middle of the room–the chest the gang had stolen from the museum.
“Thanks for joining us, Asp,” said Oslo, his voice genuine–or a good facsimile of genuine.
Oslo looks kinda like himself, minus the pincers. But he sounds just like Oslo. So if that looks like Melwi, is it?
Asp steadied herself against Kyrn. “I understand you wanted to meet me,” she managed after a moment.
“Yes,” came Melwi’s middle-range voice. “I know that it’s unorthodox for an entire criminal organization to meet for such occasions, but I recognize that you all had a hand in this.” Melwi pointed a forefinger at the chest, then pointed the same finger straight up. The lid of the chest shot open. “So I thought I would reward you each in an unorthodox way. You may each take one item from the chest to keep or sell,” they said. “All but you,” they said, pointing towards Asp. “I have something for you.”
Had Asp not been overwhelmed by an oversized Ronan'el’s dose of ash, she still would have reacted the same way: dumbly asking, “You do?” Had she been sober, she might have noticed that the entire gang was even more shocked than she. But as it was, to Asp’s mind, there was only her and Melwi.
“Take this,” whispered Melwi from inches away, holding out a silver pendant. “If you say the wrong thing to someone, just place your thumb on the pendant.” Melwi mimed placing their thumb on the pendant, but held it an inch away. “Do you understand?”
“Yes,” said Asp. Then, suddenly: “Well, actually no.” She shifted, her mind pulled in too many directions. Is this the ash, or am I not getting something obvious?
“Don’t worry,” said Melwi. “You’ll figure it out.” Then they turned and faced the rest of the gang. Everyone was clutching an ornate piece of treasure. “You’ve done a lovely job. Please enjoy your rewards,” they said, and stepped over to Oslo. The two shared a brief private conversation, neither showing emotion. Melwi handed a package tightly wrapped in brown paper to Oslo, who turned and gestured a rounding up motion with his free hand. The gang grasped their respective treasures and lined up near the door.
“Let’s get going,” Oslo ordered. He turned to Melwi. “If you ever want to work together again, you know where to find us.” He led the gang toward the door. “And if you ever feel like sharing your name, maybe we could find you.”
Oslo’s working for Melwi but doesn’t know their name? And if they know Oslo, is that how they know me? Asp turned to follow Oslo.
She stopped short when she heard Melwi’s voice inside of her head. “Do keep our arrangement a secret, Orchid.”
Of course, she thought, unsure if Melwi could hear her response.
Outside with the gang, Oslo said, “Everybody split up. Meet back at the warehouse. Go.”
Asp veered toward Kyrn, reaching again for her leg.
“I gotcha,” said Oslo, maneuvering between the Asp and Kyrn. Asp frowned to herself and did her best to walk alongside Oslo without help balancing. Uncertain, Kyrn shrugged her shoulders and headed in the opposite direction.
“A few things,” droned Oslo. “It’s not a good idea to leave during a conversation like we were having. It’s also always for the best that someone knows where you are. That way we don’t have to desperately find you when something does happen.” His voice was quiet but intense, more like an angry parent than a colleague. “And if you feel like handling something strictly on your own, you better get used to doing it that way. It’s one or the other–you’re with us, or you’re not.’”
The funhouse mirror world that Asp was living in grew darker. “Well listen to you,” she said with sass. “You’re so sure I’m lying? How about you go ask Melwi about it?”
“Melwi?” Oslo’s face was purely puzzled.
Fucking ash. I can’t believe I just said that, and right after Melwi’s warning. Thick waves of nervousness washed over Asp, and she touched her temples, her jaw, her neck . . . the pendant. Asp placed her thumb onto the surface of the pendant.
A loud snap sounded, and a burst of yellow light flooded Asp’s perception. Damn, this is some good ash.
But then, as the snap receded from her ears, she heard Oslo’s voice: “–you better get used to doing it that way. It’s one or the other–you’re with us, or you’re not.’” His tone was like an angry parent.
“Riiiight,” said Asp. “Next time I’ll just tell you the truth.”
“See that you do,” said Oslo. “Any idea what that pendant does?”
Asp considered the question, then laid her thumb against the pendant. Nothing happened. I’ve heard of this. Magic stuff needs to charge. Maybe it’ll work again later. She walked alongside Oslo, trying hard to keep pace. Holy shit, am I experimenting with time travel? Or is this just the ash? “Not really,” she lied.
They’d arrived at the warehouse. Oslo held the door open wide for Asp to totter inside, where the rest of the gang had already assembled.
“You probably need to lie down,” said Candace with a laugh. “You got ash eyes.”
“Candace,” said Asp, dripping with exhaustion, eyes tracing the shapes of nightmare creatures all around, “I have never needed to lie down more in my life.”
You can read the next chapter here!
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