'A Hunter and His Prey' Chapter Five- Collection of Information

Jonah Staples and Portenda the Quiet were halfway out of the forest when strange noises first echoed through the trees. At first, to Jonah they sounded like something far away moaning or congealing, like a dog caught in a bear trap. As the sounds increased in volume, and multiplied, coming from all directions, he knew that it was what he had feared: wraiths were coming. “Portenda,” Jonah whispered, coming to a full stop.

“I know,” the Bounty Hunter whispered. He lowered himself off of Jonah’s shoulder, standing tall and drawing his broadsword.

Jonah’s mind reeled, and he searched the forest floor for a hard surface to draw a Focus Site on. His potions and powders would have no effect on spectral creatures like wraiths, ghosts, or wights.

The slurping, moaning noises continued, and the ghastly, otherworldly lime green lights of the wraiths appear around them, initially several dozen yards away. They approached slowly, but purposefully.

Jonah noticed that the faster his heart raced, the brighter the wraiths glowed. Still, from the accounts he had read of survivors’ encounters with these spectral undead creatures, he expected them to be even brighter, their grotesque features visible from a good fifty yards off. Portenda, he thought. He doesn’t fear them.

Then he recalled, from the first reference tome, that a Focus Site doesn’t need to be drawn with or on anything specific. “I’ve got it,” he whispered to himself.

Jonah lifted his right foot, and planted his heel in the soil of the forest and dragged his foot in a full circle. He then knelt to draw the detailed symbols with his finger.

Once he had it completed, he looked and saw that the wraiths had made no further progress in their approach. Portenda stalked about in a wide circle, glaring at them all and baring his teeth, growling like an animal.

Jonah drew the enchanted short sword his father had given him, holding it in his right hand, as he pressed his left palm to the Site. For a moment, nothing happened, and his heart skipped a beat.

“Jonah, stay centered,” Portenda shouted.

During that moment of panic, the wraiths had floated a good ten feet closer. Then he felt the rush of force from the Focus Site. Instead of white light, a bronze mist issued forth from the Site. The scent of burning flesh exploded into the air around him, and he took several steps back as a dome of translucent crimson force sprang forth from the Site and closed over the small area that Jonah and Portenda inhabited. The Simpa looked around him, and then over to Jonah with a grin.

“It’s called a Rolling Barrier,” Jonah explained, sauntering over to Portenda, his short sword still in hand. “It’ll only last about fifteen minutes, but where we move, it moves.”

“And anything that it rolls into?” Portenda looked at a wraith that was trying to break through the barrier.

“Well, if it isn’t a threat to us, nothing. If it’s hostile to the creator of the barrier, it bursts into flames.” Jonah straightened his back. A second later, he almost collapsed as the effects of the Strength Site drained away. He felt suddenly sluggish and incapable of moving, though the need to was great.

Portenda supported him for three minutes as Jonah regained his bearings.

“Damn, we’ve lost time. Let’s get moving.” Jonah followed Portenda, who jogged ahead at a mild pace, as best he could.

Several wraiths erupted in gouts of spectral and Alchemical flames as the barrier rolled into them, their moans transformed into shrieks and howls of agony and unnatural pain. Fragments of their skeletal, semi-solid bodies littered the ground as Jonah and Portenda passed through the forest, and finally, into the open plains north of Desanadron.

The wraiths stopped the pursuit at the forest’s edge, but the two still jogged on. Just before they reached the gates of Desanadron, the barrier fell apart, evaporating into the air in a cloud of red smoke.

When they finally got back to the Staples’ residence, they both took a momentary breather on the porch, and watched as the sun came up.

* * * *

Lunchtime came much sooner than Eileen would have cared for, but only because she slept so late. Her first meal had gone cold when she arose to eat it. Only minutes after finishing that first meal, there was a rap at the door, and it swung open to reveal the masked man, holding a tray. Behind him, almost too small for Eileen to notice properly, was a Kobold, its tan, leathery skin exposed to the hall’s light as it carried a bundle of cloth and a stool.

Aw, Hells, she thought groggily. She hadn’t expected the ivory masked creep to bring an assistant.

“Greetings.” Genma stepped through and a splash of pale blue light fell on him from the top of the doorframe. “Ah, a strength draining spell, locked on the door. Clever girl.”

He continued forward and placed the tray on the table.

As he remained leaned close to her, Eileen tensed. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m not going to hold it against you. After all, I did say that I didn’t want you casting any magic, today. I sense that your spells were locked, yesterday.

The ivory mask had a demon’s face painted on it in fine, red lines, a fitting countenance, Eileen thought angrily.

“Now, eat. We have things to do.” Genma summoned his Kobold servant with a motion of his hand.

The Kobold was roughly the same size and body type of most of his Race, all angles and skin and bones, with a snout-like face that reminded her briefly of Lizardmen. He wore a pair of green cloth tunic pants, with no shirt, revealing a strange mark burned into his chest. The Kobold’s eyes, she noted, looked slack and empty, devoid of thought. She picked at her food, stalling for time, then asked Genma, “What’s wrong with him? He looks like he hasn’t got a thought in his head.”

“That’s because he doesn’t,” the masked menace said flatly. “I’ve used my powers to seal away his spirit and free will, you see.” He pointed at the mark on the Kobold’s chest. “Much as I shall do to you, when all is in readiness.”

She thought she could make out the hint of a smile behind those eyes, that mask and shivered despite her promise to not let this man see her afraid. The prospect of being trapped in her own body as it changed and was made into the form of Genma’s late wife caused glaciers to run through her blood.

Eileen prolonged her meal as long as possible, but the masked man just stood there, watching her with infinite patience.

When finally she finished, she dabbed her mouth and stood up, thrusting her seat back to the floor, again. “All right then, you cretin! Whatever you intend to do, just do it and get it over with.”

“Kobuchi, the stool please.”

The Kobold set the stool next to Eileen.

“Now, my lady, if you would do us the great honor of getting undressed,” Genma said, his voice positively dripping with carnal implications.

My gods, Eileen thought. “No way in all the Hells!” She backed herself to the far wall. She had kept a spell locked on her body, in the event the creep tried to have his way with her, but he had demonstrated preparedness for such tricks when he shrugged off the strength-draining spell. She tried to estimate how long it would take her to sprint out that door. It was so close, and yet it felt as though it were a million miles away, her freedom unattainable. And even if she got out of the room, who was to say that there weren’t more mindless, soulless servants waiting to stop her outside the room?

“Please, dear Eileen,” Genma rasped, pulling his black gloves taut, then put his hands behind his back in a gentlemanly fashion. “I have no intentions of ravishing you. We simply need to take some measurements, to make the proper adjustments when I change your body to that of my dear, lovely wife.” He trying to reassure her and frighten her in the same fell swoop. “If I wanted to, I could strip you of your garments permanently, and I know this room isn’t very well heated. That would only make you more uncomfortable,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders, cracking his knuckles. “But, if it’s that way or no way, then so be it,” he said.

“Wait,” Eileen shouted.

The mask shifted as Genma smiled.

Blushing like the virgin she was, Eileen undid her belt and her buckles, removing her dress and then her undergarments. She stood shivering, not with any sense of chilliness, but with shame and embarrassment. She hugged her breasts, trying to hide them, but she couldn’t tell if it worked or not because she was keeping her eyes fixed on the floor. “There, are you happy?” Tears ran down her face. Before she knew it, a leather-gloved hand was up under her chin, raising her face to meet Genma’s.

Those eyes, she thought, so cold, so dead to the world.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” he breathed to her. “Now, head up, chest out, arms out to your sides, and legs slightly apart, if you please.” He turned his back and walked away, picking up her fallen chair and taking a seat.

Eileen was baffled silent; he hadn’t taken advantage of her, or touched her in any inappropriate way. Such a curious man, this Genma. Before relief could settle in, though, she looked down and saw the Kobold, standing on the stool, a measuring tape in his hands.

Genma had a pad of parchment on the table, a quill ready to jot down her measurements.

She stood as he had asked, letting her body be exposed.

“Kobuchi, floor to waist, please,” Genma snapped.

The Kobold extended the tape measure to the floor, pressing the cold instrument to Eileen’s hip.

She shivered involuntarily at the touch of it. The Kobold rattled off a number, and Genma wrote it down. On and on like this it went, with the measurements growing increasingly intimate.

“I refuse,” she said evenly, keeping her breasts wrapped in her arms. “That thing is cold, for one,” she said, pointing to the flexible tape. “And I’m not letting this little creep touch me there, for two.”

Genma stood and gripping her wrists, holding them over her head with one large hand. She felt a strange flux of power. When he let go, her hands remained above her head. “What sorcery is this? Must be useful for perverts and freaks such as yourself.” She tried to kick Genma, but the Kobold held her feet fast to the floor.

Genma placed one end of the tape against the outside curve of her right breast, and used the same trick he had on her wrists to hold it in place. He walked the tape around her, keeping it pressed against her body. As he completed the circle, he nodded, walked away, and wrote down the measurement.

As Eileen sagged with relief, Genma stalked back over. Removing his gloves, he hefted her breasts in his pale, bare hands.

She gasped despite her efforts to remain calm.

His eyes rolled back and forth, and she realized that he wasn’t fondling her; he was estimating the weight of her breasts. What a freak, she thought, poison rolling through her soul.

Genma walked away again, snapped his fingers, and a moment later, Eileen was standing there in the middle of the room, fully clothed. “How did you,” she started, but stopped as he put up a hand to stay her words.

“I have Focus Sites hidden throughout the room,” he said.

Eileen snapped to attention at the term Focus. She had heard that word often from her uncle Allen and her brother Jonah. It was some sort of form of Alchemy, which would make this ivory masked cretin a very skilled Alchemist. She hadn’t heard from Allen in years, and had no way of knowing how to get in touch with him, but she knew that Jonah would be looking for her by now. There was hope for her yet.

“You’re an Alchemist. You may have mentioned that already, I don’t know. My mind hasn’t felt clear since I got here. Did you use Alchemy to disable the spells I locked on my body? You touched me, sir. You violated my body.” She hissed, slamming her palm flat on his parchment, where he hadn’t written yet. “I want an explanation, damn it!”

“I didn’t violate you, miss.” He barely contained the laugh in his voice. “If those were your thoughts when you locked your spells on yourself, you should be warned to be more thoughtful with your trigger condition wording. I was merely taking measurements, in order to properly adjust your body during the transformation. Your breasts are slightly larger than my wife’s were, and they shall have to be reduced during the process.”

His words caused Eileen to reflexively cover her chest. She had measured her progress into full womanhood with them, and was loath to be changed in any way.

“Aside from that,” he continued, “and the obvious facial adjustments, you’re very much like my wife. Same approximate height, same leg width, close arm width. Yes, you were the perfect choice.” He rolled his parchments tightly, handing them to the Kobold. “You should feel honored. We have other information we’ll be needing, but not today. For now, please rest. I’ll leave this door open for you. You may roam this floor and the one below it for now. But don’t try anything foolish.” Fire blazed in his eye as he looked at her through the mask. “Or you shall suffer dearly.”

He left without another word.

Eileen dashed for the doorway and looked out into a long, slightly sloped stone hallway.

Where was she?

Spotting a window at the far left end of the corridor, she sprinted to it, hoping to get some idea of where she’d been taken.

The news wasn’t good. She was several hundred feet in the air, high in a stone hewn tower, in an area of plains she didn’t recognize.

* * * *

“All right boys, it’s time to wake up.” Jacob Staples gave Jonah a shake and tapped Portenda on the foot.

Jonah had managed to get himself to the living room couch before he had passed out. Portenda hadn’t even made it to a chair, falling on the floor in the walkway to the living room, the loss of blood and the jog back to the Staples’ home draining him beyond measure.

Jonah watched the big Bounty Hunter moan and wobble as he got to his feet.

“What time is it?” Jonah rubbed his eyes.

“It’s time for at least one of you gents to take a shower.” Jacob curled his nose and walked out into the kitchen. “Jonah, your mother put a change of clothes out for you in the bathroom. As for you, big man,” Jacob called from the kitchen, where he rummaged in the new icebox, “I don’t know what to do for you.”

“I’ve got a separate pair of pants,” Portenda replied as he rubbed his eyes.

“Looks like I’m up before you for once,” Jonah said, ruffling his hair. “I’m going to go take that shower. I’ll get you after I’m out.” He sauntered out of the living room.

Portenda felt much better than he had the previous night—at least he didn’t have a ringing in his head anymore. The Simpa stalked into the kitchen, his nose twitching at the scent of freshly made lunch and preserved foods that had been kept on ice.

Jacob Staples prepared a plate and set it at the kitchen table, indicating that Portenda should take a seat and start in on his meal. As Portenda seated himself and tore into the food, the elder Staples prepared a second plate for his son.

“So, what did you two find out there?” He took a sip of some clear, fizzing liquid from a glass. It didn’t smell like alcohol, as Portenda might have expected. After all, the man had been a Soldier all of his life, a good provider and loving husband. He deserved a drink now and then, so long as he didn’t end up like Portenda’s own father.

“I have contacts out there.” Portenda tried to avoid details that might upset the man. “They were able to tell me about the rag we found in your daughter’s room.”

“The Tiverski brothers,” Jacob Staples said.

Portenda’s eyes went wide—the man knew about the Vampire trio and hadn’t tried to stop Jonah and Portenda from going to meet with them. Clearly he had faith in the Bounty Hunter’s abilities, and the power of the short sword he’d given Jonah.

Portenda had waited too long to put more food in his mouth, and his surprise didn’t escape Jacob’s notice. “Yes, I know of them, Portenda.” He took another swig of his drink. “Where do you think I get this, oh, what’s it called?”

“Soda,” Portenda offered, his tone even and flat again. He was regaining his strength and self-awareness quickly, the rest and food just what he needed.

“Right, right, soda.” Jacob hunkered down across from Portenda. “The sword wasn’t for them. It was for the wraiths, although, I imagine that those things don’t give you much trouble. They feed off of fear.” He gave Portenda a sideways glance. “And from what I’ve gathered, you’re not afraid of much of anything, are you boy?”

For a moment, Portenda’s blood boiled; only one other person in the world still called him a boy, and he hated his father enough for the word alone to trigger a response. But he swallowed his pride, and accepted the title from Mr. Staples: the old Soldier had earned the right to call anyone he wanted ‘boy’, he mused.

“Contrary to popular belief, I do have a few fears.” Portenda decided he could be completely candid with the Staples family. “One of them is that I’ll someday turn into my father.”

“And another is that you’ll get attached to someone and then lose them,” Jacob Staples said, more statement than question.

Portenda looked the old Soldier dead in the eyes, and for a brief moment, he saw pity there.

“It’s obvious in the way you carry yourself, Bounty Hunter. From what I can tell, Jonah’s the only friend you’ve had in a long, long time. Am I right?”

Portenda said not a word, simply nodding.

Jacob lowered his eyes. “I know the feeling. Back in the day, when the War of Vandross first started, I was just a young trooper in the army of Desanadron. Our city came under assault and I found that I didn’t have all the answers. My comrades were slain all around me, and I alone managed to keep alive, more concerned about defending myself and the people around me than having a high and glorious kill count. You can count your kills when the battle is over, I’ve always thought.

“But the longer I tried to defend myself and my friends, the more desperate the situation got. Orcs on our left, Shadowbeasts on our right, and all manner of demon and Lizardman in between. For three straight days I stood on the northern outskirts of this city and fought against them, not stopping to sleep, or eat, or take stock in the fact that I was still alive. I just did my duty, and tried not to get killed in the meantime. When Byron of Sidius arrived with his allies, we formulated a strategy as a city, and the rest, well, the rest I’m sure you’ve read in your recent history books. When it was all over, though,” Jacob said, lowering his head again. “I searched for my friends, the men of my unit. I was the only one left, Bounty Hunter. We had all fought and died, with the exception of me. A Soldier’s motto is ‘fight and survive to fight again’, you see. There’s nothing in there about keeping your friends alive.

“I felt so alone after finding their bodies that I wanted to join them. I wanted to go out into the fields and plains and look for a battle I couldn’t possibly win. But before I could get out of the city, a kind, beautiful young woman stopped me in the street, and told me the battle was over, and that I should get some food and some rest before I did something foolish. Sure enough, her name was Anna.” He held his face high, his eyes focused on the past. A moment later, he came down from his trip to memory lane, and his eyes rested squarely on Portenda’s own. The Bounty Hunter hadn’t eaten another bite after Jacob started to recall the events of the assault on Desanadron, so many years ago.

“Not to be rude, but what’s your point?” the Bounty Hunter whispered.

“After the first three days, I would return to her home after every assignment. Every day I was put on single day duty, which was often, I would spend the evening with her in the comfort of her home. We were soul mates, Bounty Hunter. We were friends, and then lovers. Though that second part may not come true for you anytime soon, remember this: no warrior can continue to fight without something to fight for, and money is not a good enough reason to keep going on this way. Understand?” There was gruffness to Jacob Staples’ voice, though it was not heartfelt. The undercurrent of concern made that much clear.

“I do.” Portenda quietly finished his meal as Jonah Staples came into the kitchen in a terrycloth bathrobe and towel, rubbing his wild hair dry with one hand.

“Oh, thanks,” Jonah said to his father as Jacob pulled back a chair where he’d set the meal on the table. “So, what do we do today, Portenda?”

“We take another trip today,” Portenda replied, standing back from the table. “I’m going to go take my shower now. We’ll talk more when I get out.”

Jonah tried to collect his thoughts as he ate. He had not yet shared with the Bounty Hunter that he’d seen traces of a Focus Site embedded in the fabric of the cloak. The abductor had been an Alchemist of some considerable skill but he couldn’t figure out why an Alchemist would want to abduct his sister.

“So, how’d that sword work out for you with the wraiths, son?”

Jonah stared in disbelief at his father. “How did you know about them?”

“Every adult in the city knows about the wraiths. Though, only a few of us know about the Tiverski brothers.” Jacob took a sip of his soda.

Jonah stared ahead into empty space as his father said, “And you probably wonder why I still let you go, knowing what was out there.”

Jonah remained silent, listening to the steady rhythm of his father’s voice.

Jacob Staples smiled broadly, and clapped his son once on the shoulder. “It’s because you’re a grown man, Jonah. I may not know a whole lot about this, um, well, this science stuff you study,” he said awkwardly. “But I do know that without it, you two most likely would have died out in those woods.”

Jonah had to concede that his father was probably correct. On visits to the Tiverski brothers by himself, Portenda had most likely remained in their home until daylight in order to safely recover and remove himself from the Taiwok Forest.

The sound of the shower stopped, and Jonah finished his meal hastily, getting to his feet.

When a knock sounded at the Staples’ front door. Jacob got up from the table, soda mug still in hand. “Now who could that be?”

Jonah followed his father out to the living room where Portenda already sat, his fur still standing in tufts from being damp. Jonah hadn’t heard the big Bounty Hunter move from the bathroom to the living room, demonstrating once again to him just how deadly the Simpa could be: a man his size shouldn’t be able to move through a house that silently. Portenda sat on the reclining chair, his reading glasses on and one of his novels opened to about the halfway point.

From his angle, Jonah couldn’t see who was standing on the porch, but his father’s face showed disdain and reproach. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Hello, Mr. Staples,” he heard a familiar, feminine voice chirp. “Is Jonah here?”

Jacob Staples stood aside, and Nareena stepped through the doorway.

Jonah shot to his feet, and Portenda looked up over the rims of his reading spectacles.  The crow, Talonz, just gave the big man its avian smirk.

“Nareena! How did you find me?” Jonah crossed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around the Elven girl before she could respond, nearly crushing the breath out of her. He set her down and held her at arm’s length. Out of the corner of his eye, though, his father’s expression said, very clearly, I don’t approve, and I don’t like her.

“I have my sources,” Nareena teased. “And I’ll tell you, it wasn’t cheap getting a Teleportation scroll to make it here. The only person who apparently had any had just given two of them to you and the Bounty Hunter.” She waved at Portenda, who rolled his eyes and focused on his book. Talonz flitted through the room and perched on the back of the recliner, looking down into the book over Portenda’s shoulder.  Portenda reached down to turn the page, and the bird pecked him atop the head, as though indicating it wasn’t done with the passages on the pages before him.  I hope she isn’t overly fond of this pest, he thought, because I may have to choke it.

Jacob Staples gave his son and the Elven girl a glare of disapproval, and hastily removed himself from the living room. “If your mother is looking for me, I’ll be out back in the garden.”

Nareena and Jonah let go of one another’s arms and watched the elder Staples man exit through the back door, slamming it behind him.

“He doesn’t care much for you, does he?” Portenda asked without looking away from his book.

Nareena stuck her tongue out at the Bounty Hunter, and gave Jonah a quick and easy smile, holding her hands and bobbing back and forth like a schoolgirl with a crush.

“Nope, but that doesn’t matter. Somebody does.”

Jonah’s cheeks flushed with fresh blood. He rubbed the back of his head and laughed awkwardly, then motioned for Nareena to sit with him on the couch.

“So, where’s Eileen,” she asked, looking around the living room. This was the second time she had been allowed into the Staples’ home, and during her first visit inside, Jonah’s parents hadn’t known of their rivalry. The two of them had both wound up hurling potions at one another, almost destroying the kitchen and each other. Jacob had dragged the injured Elf outside by her long hair, her hands still flying over her face in an attempt to get off poisonous powder that Jonah had blown at her. At that time, Jonah had been writhing on the kitchen floor, clutching his right hand, which had swollen to several times its normal size due to a blood flow alteration brought on by one of Nareena’s violet liquids. As Jacob had tossed Nareena into the street, he’d shouted at her that if she tried to hurt his boy again, he would cut her head off.

“Eileen was kidnapped,” Jonah told her.

Nareena sat stock still for a moment.

“Remember that you said it looked like my mother’s handwriting on the letter envelope? Well, it was.”

Jonah was about to bring her up to date, when Portenda shut his book loudly, and set it on the coffee table. He set his glasses down, got up, and dragged Jonah out into the kitchen by the wrist.

Jonah shrugged his hand off roughly, glaring at him. “What’s the matter with you?”

“I don’t trust her, Jonah,” he replied. “Or the bird for that matter,” he added, rubbing the top of his head.  “Just be careful how much you tell her, understood?” Jonah shrugged and walked back out to join Nareena, who was sitting daintily, waiting for his return.

“Sorry about that,” he said, and Nareena waved her hand, dismissing his need for an apology.

“So, have they sent a ransom demand yet?” she asked hesitantly.

Jonah shook his head.

“This was not an abduction for profit, miss.” Portenda took his seat once again and picked up his book.

Though he didn’t like to admit it, Jonah had known this to be true as well from the beginning. This kidnapping was personal, an act committed by a desperate, psychotic person.

“Therefore,” Portenda continued, “there will be no ransom letter. For now, we need to pursue the evidence and leads that we have at our disposal, which isn’t much.” He gave Jonah a meaningful look, as if to say, be quiet on that subject.

Though he mentally protested keeping Nareena out of the loop, Jonah kept his silence, as requested.

“So, how can I help you guys?” Nareena asked quite seriously.

“Well, I’m not sure you can.” Jonah once again rubbed the back of his head. “I get the impression that Portenda wouldn’t want to have another person along.”

“Actually, Jonah, if she wants to come along, she’s welcome to,” the Bounty Hunter replied softly. “But she’ll have to look out for herself.” He looked her right in the eyes.

Nareena felt as though someone had pierced her chest with a shard of ice, and her blood ran colder than the arctic regions of the northwestern mountains.

“She’s not my responsibility,” he continued, “and she’s not your responsibility. Miss Nareena,” he addressed her now not only with his dead, gray eyes, but his words as well. “Understand two things: firstly, you will not get in our way during this hunt. Secondly, if you do something to jeopardize Jonah’s or my safety, I will cut you down.”

Nareena nodded, conceding the point to Portenda.

Jonah and Nareena sat together and exchanged small talk while the Simpa Bounty Hunter read his book. He was halfway through Montesant’s The Grand Scheme of Things, and wanted to finish his chapter before getting back to the business at hand. He found it difficult, however, to concentrate, with the Human and Elf woman’s low chatting, as well as Talonz’s constant rapping him on the head, and so he removed himself to the kitchen where, for once, nobody was preparing a meal. He sat at the fine oak table, putting his foot up on the opposing leg, and leaning back slightly. He made quick progress at first, but soon found his thoughts wandering.

Removing his reading glasses and putting them back in their hard, leather case, he marked his spot in the book and glared out the kitchen window into the back yard, where Jacob Staples was tending to the gardens he and his wife kept.

He silently admired the old Soldier as he worked tirelessly on the gardens. Jacob Staples had been able to hang up his helmet and sword in exchange for a quiet three meals a day and the company of his loving wife. Most individuals of Soldier Class stayed in service, in some capacity, until their dying day. Many died at the hands of thugs and bandits who were too young and quick for them to handle. He wondered if Jacob Staples would receive the treatment he deserved in death? Portenda hoped so.

“What’s on your mind?” Jonah asked from behind him.

Portenda had heard his shallow footsteps enter the kitchen, his cautious breathing. He smelled the cold sweat that had broken out on his body: he was afraid still of interrupting Portenda’s pattern of thought.

“I’ve just been thinking about your family, Jonah,” the regal Simpa reported. “Your father has seen a lot of strife. He deserves an easy life.” As he spoke, the elder Staples man grabbed his lower back and rubbed it, giving a small grimace of pain, then looking around to see if anyone had spotted his discomfort.

“He has served in wars and battles that he had nothing to personally do with. What was the highest rank he received in the Desanadron regular army?”

“Captain.” Jonah also watched his father toil in the gardens. “He was a Captain when he retired. We were all very surprised when he decided to take his retirement. But he just wanted to be with us in the end. My father has a military record that some folks would consider a legacy.”

“The best legacy a man can leave behind,” Portenda said as he rose from his seat. “Is his children.”

* * * *

Eileen Staples sat crying in the corridor by the window, her back against the stone wall. Her hopes of escape lay dashed and she could do nothing but weep.

Why did it have to be her? Why couldn’t some other girl have done?

As she wiped her eyes, she had an idea occur to her that gave her a glimmer of hope. Perhaps she wasn’t his only captive. There might be other people here, in the cells of the tower. If she could free them, perhaps she would have allies against this formidable foe. Even if they couldn’t help her physically, perhaps they had information that could help her out of this mess.

She darted down a hallway that stretched from north to south as far as she could see, stopping at the first door she came to. A small plaque on the door read ‘Focus Experiments’ in bold letters, and she grasped the doorknob.

It offered no resistance as she turned it and thrust the door open.

Inside, dimly lit by a set of torches that threw more shadows than they did light, were stacks of cages, set one atop the other. Strange, guttural noises and rasps came from the other side of the threshold, and for a moment she hesitated. Gods only knew what was lurking in those cages, or how long it had been since their last feeding. But she could not just stand where she was.

She took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and exhaled slowly before stepping over the threshold and into the chamber.

Eileen Staples kept her left hand opened at her side, a Raybolt spell at the ready in case something wasn’t caged properly. As she took her fifth step into room, an alien beast slammed against the door of its cage, causing her to gasp and whip her arm up, magic at the ready.

What she saw there caused her to withhold her magical attack. Instead, she turned her head and vomited.

The muzzle of a hunting dog pressed against the bars of the cage and its reptilian, lizard body poised, ready to spring. A forked tongue lolled in and out of the beast’s face, sniffing at the air, its face cringing at the scent of fresh puke. An enormous scorpion stinger hovered over its back, venom dripping from the sting.

“How, how could he,” Eileen whispered, worms crawling under her skin. Spasms wracked her entire body at the sheer atrocity of the poor creation. She brought herself around, however, and slowly approached it. She felt no more fear of the creature, but instead her heart sank for its miserable existence.

As she approached, something in her eyes must have caught the creature’s attention, because it lowered its hackles and whined like an injured animal.

A single drop of moisture ran down Eileen’s cheek as she reached out and stroked the creature’s head, and it moaned under her gentle touch. “You poor thing,” she cooed. The creature was no taller than her shin, and no broader than a poodle.

“You never asked for this,” she said, disgusted that Alchemy had been used to create such a wretched beast. “Would you like to come out of there? I think we could both use the company.”

The creature seemed to understand. It got to its mutated feet and backed away from the cage door.

There were no locks on it, simply a pair of clasps holding it shut. Eileen opened the clasps, and the creature bounded gracefully out of the cage and onto the floor, its stinger waggling like a tail.

It barked at her enthusiastically, rubbing itself against her exposed leg like an affectionate pet. “I think I’ll call you Blink,” she said, thinking back to the hunting dog her neighbors had once had. It looked much like this animal, at least so far as its head was concerned.

Accompanied by her new friend, Eileen felt better suited to deal with whatever other atrocities lay in wait in the deceptively large chamber. She took a few steps forward and several more monstrosities, much less friendly and far more aggressive than Blink, slammed against their cage doors.

These cages, unlike that of the beast at her side, had several locks and what appeared to be Alchemical symbols inscribed on their bars.

All of them were freak aberrations, crossbreeds of animals and beasts of the world of Tamalaria. The further into the darker recesses of the chamber she walked, the more twisted and vile the creatures appeared.

Against the far wall, opposite the door, a table of some sort was visible. It was approximately fifteen feet long, and covered the distance between left and right walls almost entirely. Underneath the table, Eileen barely made out three cages. As she got even closer, she saw that ordinary animals cowering in fear in each cage.

The first of the creatures was a large house cat, a pile of feces fronting its cage and a small food and water dish back in the corner it huddled in. Eileen waited for Blink to start growling at it, but the Alchemical beast simply cocked its head sideways at the tabby cat, as if it were fascinated by it. In the middle cage rested a crow, its cage only in slightly better condition than the cat’s. And on the far right, lying on its side, was the largest of the three creatures, its cage coming a couple of feet out from under the table. It was an enormous snow wolf.

“They are the Master’s children,” a voice echoed through the room behind her.

Eileen spun, her palm thrust out, and saw Kobuchi, the Kobold servant, standing in the doorway. Eileen kept her hand out, calling forth all of the magic she had to bear against an enemy. But something was different about the little man. His voice had an inflection to it that said he was not presently a mindless slave.

“His forgotten children,” the Kobold continued, “his failures. This is the room in which he creates them, and most wind up staying here.”

“Stop right there,” Eileen growled as Kobuchi approached.

Blink had started to growl, and the stinger on his back end wavered back and forth threateningly.

“What are you doing here? How did you know I’d come in here?”

“The Master instructed me to keep an eye on you,” the Kobold replied. “I don’t think he’ll care that you’ve decided to take project number three-three-seven-eight for a pet. He may find it amusing, even.” A sad smile crossed the Kobold’s rat-like face.

“I wanted the company, thanks.” She kept her palm aimed squarely at Kobuchi. “It’s better than being alone.”

“And you’ll want the company.”

The Kobold took a tentative step forward and Eileen released a small blast of Raybolt at the Kobold’s feet, blasting apart a small section of the stone floor.

The Kobold gave her a menacing look of disdain.

“The next one will hit your head,” she threatened. This creature, though it seemed now possessed of free will, had likely been under Genma’s influence so long that might enjoy its service to the masked Alchemist.

Kobuchi slithered back towards the door. His eyes narrowed in his face, and he pointed a knobby finger at the Human girl.

“You will watch what you say to me, child. The Master has taken an interest in you, and I shall do no undue harm to you. And though you are free to roam this floor and the upper levels of the keep, you may not do as you please. You were going to set those three animals free, weren’t you,” the Kobold accused.

It had crossed Eileen’s mind the moment she saw them, three pathetic, trapped creatures, waiting for their unnatural and unholy union.

“You are to leave them be. This is one of the Master’s work chambers, and you shall not interfere any further with his labors. Understood?”

Eileen said nothing, just raised her palm level to Kobuchi’s head. The servant stormed away, his grumbling echoing through the hallway and to Eileen’s ears. She looked down at Blink, who ceased his growling and looked up at her with interest in his eyes.

“What say we take a look around?” she asked.

Before she could move, Blink sprinted to the three cages beneath the table and used his stinger to undo the clasps.

The cat, the wolf, and the crow all made hasty escapes, their exhaustion temporarily forgotten in the face of opportunity.

“Good boy,” she whispered, and Blink smiled a canine smile as they exited the chamber.

* * * *

“I’m telling you, sir, the information you’ve requested is not available to you,” the Dwarven Sergeant repeated from his seat behind the booking desk.

Portenda, Jonah and Nareena had gone to the nearest constable station, to request a report of Eileen’s abduction. The Dwarf had told them there was no such report, and though Jonah had worded the question several ways, the Dwarf’s answer remained the same.

Exasperated from getting the run-around, Jonah screamed at the top of his lungs, “I’m her brother for gods’ sakes! I demand to know what sort of progress you people have made. No one has been out to see my parents about the incident since I got back here—why the foot dragging, Sergeant? What’s the matter with you people?” Talonz screeched aloud from Nareena’s shoulder, for once helping Jonah drive his point. 

As Jonah slammed his hand flat on the desk, all of the conversation in the other officers around the small department came to a stop. All eyes were fixed on the Alchemist and his companions: nobody moved, or made a sound.

The Dwarf just looked up from his pile of paperwork, his chain mail armor rattling as he shifted his position, leaning back in his chair.

“D’you want ta be arrested, young man.” A wicked grin spread across the Dwarf’s bearded face. “Disturbin’ the peace and causing a ruckus in a constable station?”

Jonah took a hesitant step backward, shaking his head slightly.

“Good. Then bugger off, and take yer friends wif you.”

Jonah shrugged his shoulders, and turned to leave, Nareena putting her arm across his shoulders as they started for the door.

But Portenda the Quiet had a weapon up his sleeve, a surprise attack that the Alchemist hadn’t imagined.

“According to the Desanadron Charter of 865 A.F.,” Portenda said, “drafted just after the city’s reinstatement of military and police forces, Chapter 6, Section 8, Article 17, all information pertaining to the victim of a crime, or to a crime itself, wherein a relative or family member has been involved, another family member is due a report on the status of the investigation, and a copy of all statements taken by witnesses upon request. Sergeant.”

Jonah and Nareena turned around, eyes wider than the Dwarven Sergeant’s, a spectacular feat in itself. The crow bobbed its head up and down in agreement with the Bounty Hunter.  Maybe he isn’t all that bad, thought Portenda.

The little man rummaged around in his desk, pulling out a red, cloth-bound book, and turned to the section that Portenda had quoted from. As his hand moved along the print, the Dwarf looked up every few words at Portenda the Quiet.

“All roit, all roit, so you’ve got me there,” the Dwarf grumbled.

Jonah shouted excitedly, giving Nareena a quick embrace and patting Portenda hard on the back.

The Simpa didn’t even blink as the Dwarf grabbed the arm of a passing Werewolf Corporal.

“Corporal, pull the reports on the Staples abduction.”

The tan-furred Werewolf, his wool uniform serving as his only armor, nodded, giving the trio a toothy smile.

Newcomer, Portenda thought. They’re always eager to please their superiors and the public.

The average sized Werewolf left the main office, returning a few minutes later with a manila folder in hand.

The Dwarf indicated Portenda, who reached out and gently took the reports from the Werewolf.

“Thank you very much, constable,” the Simpa said to the Corporal, who positively radiated pride. “Let’s sit over there,” he said to Jonah and Nareena, indicating a small, circular table near the coffee station in a cubby off of the main office.

Gnomes had created a quick, compact brewing machine to make coffee, but it always came out burnt, which was why the Simpa still made his the old-fashioned way. He didn’t trust most mecha, and he wasn’t going to have something like the squat, white device burning his morning fix. Still, for some reason, constables and military men seemed to love the stuff burnt to a pot of sludge. ‘Adds body to it,’ they often said.

Portenda sat with the other two members of the party, and opened the folder.

There were several pages to the report, along with a few witness statements and secondary reports. He took the main report, handed the witness statements to Nareena, and gave the secondary reports to Jonah.

The trio read their given information several times, memorizing it as best they could, Nareena giving Portenda a look as he put his reading glasses on.

As they finished, they rotated the reports to the left, and read the new information in front of them. They continued like this, pulling new sheets from the folder a few times, until all three had reviewed the entire file.

Portenda then returned to the desk with the folder, and requested a copy of the contents, which the Dwarf was only too happy to provide. “It’ll take about an hour,” the Dwarf said, offering him some coffee from the machine.

“No, thanks,” he said.

“Ah, but it’s got body,” the Dwarf replied with a smile.

“Yes, probably an arm and a few legs,” Portenda muttered as he returned to the round table. “All right, Jonah. Nareena. Any thoughts?”

“Well,” Nareena chimed. “They had a registry of all of the people who came into the city the day before Eileen went missing. A few names stuck out at me.”

“Like who?” Jonah had also taken note of a handful of unfamiliar names. Anyone whom the constables deemed strange or a potential threat to city safety had to sign a registry upon entrance to the city. Portenda had escaped registering because he had Teleported in. Anyone with that many weapons and that bearing would be considered a potential threat to public and private safety.

“Well, like Answoir the Rebellious,” Nareena said, remembering the Race as Illeck.

“Not likely,” Portenda said. “His listed Class was ‘undeclared,’ which is classic code for ‘Rogue’ or ‘Pickpocket’.”

“Or what about Talvus Strossum,” Jonah offered.

“His Race was Werebear,” Nareena said, dismissing that name. “They’re peaceful people, and when they do get mad, lots of people get hurt or killed. It wouldn’t have been him.”

“Well,” Jonah said, trying to think back on the list. “What about Kobuchi? The Kobold? That got my attention.” Jonah said.

Portenda rubbed his chin. The name had also caught his attention, and apparently Nareena’s as well, because the Elf woman nodded, her eyes twitching back and forth. “His Class listing said ‘manservant’, didn’t it?”

“Yes,” Portenda said. “But to whom? There were several other names on that list, but to be frank, I didn’t memorize them all. Just the reports.” And the reports hadn’t even been too enlightening. They had read like statistics projects, all names, addresses, and timetables. No motive or theory had even been listed. The officer in charge of the investigation, a Lieutenant Christopher Viper, had stated that he would be ‘treating this investigation like any other major crime’, which Portenda knew was the administrative way of saying, we haven’t got a clue, and aren’t going to find one anytime soon.

Jonah thought over the witness statements, which had all been rather vague except for the testimonial given by his parents. A man wearing a long, black leather cloak and a nobleman’s outfit had stayed the evening with them, boarding in Jonah’s old room. The man hadn’t given them a name, and they couldn’t see his face because he wore a pale, ivory mask with a demon face painted on.

That’s it, Jonah thought, a revelation taking hold of his mind and heart. They had also mentioned that a short Kobold had helped carry the man’s suitcase up to Jonah’s room, and had then left.

“I know whose manservant that Kobold was. He carried my sister’s kidnapper’s suitcase for him, and he just left without a word!” His eyes met Portenda’s, and he saw a brief grin on the Bounty Hunter’s face. “We have a lead. We have a lead,” he shouted, jumping up and down excitedly.

Nareena gave him a look like a teacher might give a hyperactive child in the schoolhouse, and he sat back down, his cheeks flushed.

“Very good work, Jonah,” Portenda said. “I wondered when you’d make the connection.”

Jonah glared at him. He’d known and he hadn’t said a thing.

Portenda leaned back and the trio sat in silence until the Corporal came over with their copy of the file.

Clutching the copy, Portenda stood and shook the Werewolf’s hand firmly, giving him a slight bow.

The Werewolf returned it in kind, and sprinted off to another duty.

Jonah eyeballed him for a moment. “Samurai. The katana at his hip, the way he walked, the sash around his shoulder and hip. Bowing is a sign of respect to them. Come on,” he said, putting the folder in his rucksack. “Let’s go see if anyone in town knows this Kobuchi.”

Portenda took the lead with Jonah and Nareena, arm in arm, following behind.

Jonah had begun to enjoy Nareena’s company again, like he had before Alchemy split them apart. He wondered how long it could last before their own pursuits tore them apart again.

Though Portenda claimed to only have come to this city a few times, Jonah noticed he knew an awful lot about its laws and charters, and he had quickly become acquainted with the layout of the city.

They headed into the poverty-stricken residential district, an area of the city that Jonah had hitherto avoided for fear that someone down on their luck might find him an irresistible mark. Many constables left these parts alone. After all, one or two policemen patrolling the streets versus a small mob of hungry thugs wasn’t much of a match, and wasn’t worth the meager four gold pieces a week of their salary.

The city’s reconstruction budget had run nearly dry when this area of the city, in the northernmost region, where the damage had been heaviest during Richard Vandross’s assault, was slated for repairs. As a result, most of the damaged homes and businesses had been patched up. Squatters had set up homes in condemned buildings, taking the risk of a roof collapsing on them, so long as that roof kept some rain off of their heads for a while.

As he thought of rain, a light sprinkle began to fall. Jonah squatted down for a moment and drew a Focus Site in the dirt. He pressed his palms to it, and a moment after the flash, he held an umbrella over his and Nareena’s head.

“That was the art of Focus, wasn’t it?” she asked.

Jonah simply smiled and nodded, having used a ‘practical accessory’ Site to produce the umbrella. At the moment, he didn’t think of where the material had come from for the umbrella’s creation.

Unbeknownst to him, a Dwarven woman in a nearby domicile wondered what had just happened to the spatula she had been using, or the rain slicker she had hung on the wall.

“Why are we here?” Nareena asked Portenda after a few more minutes.

The rain-soaked Simpa looked around at a ring of decrepit apartment buildings and condemned businesses. Only one store stood open, a general goods market manned by a rough-looking Jaft who stood outside the door and puffed on a smoke stick.

“The Kobold was listed as a manservant, correct? Most Kobolds who go into personal service live in squalor, and this place would be the perfect fit. He may have stayed here while his master abducted your sister. Kobolds are not loners, by nature. They tend to travel and stay in packs of their own kind. Someone might have seen him or hosted him during his stay.” Portenda moved toward the Jaft and his store.

The blue-skinned humanoid started to take a hurried drag on his smoke stick, but Portenda put a hand up, and the Jaft finished his drag as normal.

“Wot can I do for you, gov?” the Jaft asked, exhaling smoke.

“I need no purchases right now,” Portenda said as Jonah and Nareena came up behind him. “I was wondering how many Kobold customers you get in an average day.”

“Oh, I get a handful of them.” The Jaft took another drag. “Seven or eight of them, every day or so. Same bunch, always come in together.”

“Would you recognize them?”

“Of course.” He took the last drag of his smoke and tossing the butt into a puddle.

There was a slight fizzing noise, and Jonah watched the last bit of smoke plume up from the spent item.

“Nice enough little guys: always pay up front before they take their stuff. They get the same things every time.”

“Has there recently been anyone new among them, maybe only stayed with them a day or so? Did they make any odd purchases?”

Portenda raised an eyebrow as the Jaft crossed his arms and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. His eyes lit up, and he held up one finger.

“Now that you mention it, they did. A few days ago, they brought a new guy in, had a weird mark on his chest, like a brand, you know? The kind they put on cows ta say, hey, this is mine, don’t mess with it, you know.” He spoke hurriedly. Jafts, it was well known, were not the brightest of the Races. They prided themselves, however, on having crystal clear memories for anything that wasn’t black and white and written on paper. Reading tended to elude them, but they were big on picture books. “Well, this new fellah, he doesn’t say a word, you know? Just sort of walks with them, but he keeps a little distance from them. The wee folk, as we calls ‘em, they’re usually very touchy-touchy with one another, like contact with one another, you know? Well, they all make their usual purchases, like preserved rats, couple of wheels of cheese, and a loaf of bread.”

“How do they pay,” Nareena asked aloud, knowing now that most of the people around here didn’t have real jobs.

“Dey all got jobs, mostly cleaning constable offices after hours,” the Jaft said with a smile. “Dey’s a respectable bunch, them ones. I even checked on their story once, and it turns out they all clean the seventeenth precinct building at night. Dey get two gold pieces a week per person, so they can easily afford the stuff I got. I only charge a few silver fer anything I got. Not that it’s not quality stuff, but I gets it pretty cheap, and folks around here ain’t got a whole lotta money, you know? I don’t crap where I eat, as the saying goes.”

“You keep prices low in order to ensure business and customer satisfaction,” Jonah said.

The Jaft smiled and nodded.

“That’s very sporting of you. Most people would take advantage,” Jonah remarked.

The Jaft shrugged his shoulders. “Hey, I’ve always been a commoner. I know life can get tough sometimes. Oh, hold on a second folks.” He followed an elderly Elven man into his shop, giving the trio a smile and a tip of his feathered keppy. “Afternoon, Mr. Sola. Need the usual?”

Jonah watched the big blue man reach up to the higher shelves. My gods, Jonah thought, that Elf has to be almost a thousand years old. They don’t grow beards like that until they’re almost near Death’s door. Once again Jonah marveled at the kindness some strangers had for others, even in a city like Desanadron.

The Jaft patted the old Elf gently on the back and sent him out of the store without payment.

The Elf smiled again at the trio, and shuffled away to the apartment building across the street.

Portenda gave the Jaft a curious look.

“What?”

“You didn’t charge him.”

“I never charge Mr. Sola. His wife passed on last August, so it’s been real hard on him.” The Jaft looked after the elderly Elf. “She used to come in here every couple of days, paid up front like the little guys, always had time for conversation. I miss her too, but not half as much as he does.”

“It’s good to see there’s still people like you around,” Nareena said with a sad smile at the Jaft.

“T’anks. Anyway,” the Jaft said, turning back to Portenda. “This Kobold, he a friend of yours?”

“You could say that. We’re hoping to find him,” Portenda said. “We have something that he left behind. Where do the other Kobolds live?”

“Same building as Mr. Sola, in the basement apartments.” The Jaft lit another smoke stick and exhaled a plume of smoke the color as Portenda’s steely eyes. “They’ll be home, this time of the day.”

“Thank you for your time.” Portenda handed the Jaft five gold pieces from his pouch.

The trio moved away, and Jonah looked back at the surprised Jaft, who gave him a quick wave good-bye. Jonah returned it as Portenda led him and Nareena to the apartment complex.

* * * *

Hunger pangs drove Eileen back to her quarters where she found a tray of food waiting for her—along with Genma.

She sat and tore into the food, handing a few strips of the meat to Blink. The animal took them gently, and hunkered down to eat. “Have you even been feeding them?”

Genma chuckled softly under his mask. “Not really. They’re failures, all of them. I keep my success stories down on the fifth floor. As you can tell, it’s the middle of the afternoon. You’ll have a couple of days before I’m ready to take the other measurements I need,”

Eileen stopped mid-bite to glare at him. “What other measurements?” She gripped her fork like a dagger.

“Well, I couldn’t use the blood sample from your home for analysis, as the drug I’d given you altered the readings,” he said. “I’ll need to take a fresh one, along with some other readings.”

He was being purposely vague, she sensed, trying to lure her into asking questions. But she wouldn’t fall for that: she knew the kind of person he was behind that mask. He wanted a person to ask him questions so that he could feel smarter than them, superior in some way. Instead, she continued to eat and give bits of her meal to Blink, who wagged his stinger.

“I can keep him, right,” she asked between bites.

“By all means. I’ll even have extra food sent for him, if you want,” Genma said quite seriously. “In a week or so, you won’t be you anymore, and I’d like to make your time left in the world to be pleasant.”

Gods, she thought, this is frustrating. He has to keep bringing that up. Does he expect me to be afraid? Fire coursed through her veins. I’m a Staples, and we aren’t afraid of anything.

Genma got up and headed for the door. “Wait five minutes before you go roaming again. Kobuchi shall bring your meals for a couple of days. I won’t be available, except to take those measurements.” Then the only sounds Eileen heard were his retreating footsteps and Blink ravaging a small, boiled carrot she’d decided she didn’t want.

She looked down and patted the creature on the head, and Blink licked her hand affectionately.

“Come on, Blink,” she said, rising from her finished meal. “We’ve got a lot of rooms to explore. It’s best to get acquainted with the place if we want to get out of here.” She left the room, her only companion following closely behind.

There were doors everywhere on this floor, and she realized just how massive the tower must be. Most of the doors had labels: those that didn’t, she dismissed as more holding cells.

As she stalked down the western corridor, a plaque on a solid steel door caught her attention. It read, ‘Observation Lounge’.

She turned the knob and found herself looking at a comfortable, living room-style chamber, complete with couches, two recliners, a fireplace filled with ashes and two unspent logs. Several notebooks sat on a coffee table in the middle of the couches.

This guy isn’t exactly careful about what he leaves lying around, is he, she thought to herself. Probably no need, as nobody would likely want to read the notes or have the opportunity to relate them to anybody on the outside.

She sat on the fluffiest couch of the three, and opened one of the notebooks to the first page.

The handwriting was elegant and almost feminine, curly and looped at every turn. The first few pages read like a journal entry, relating how the author, presumably Genma, had erected the tower with the help of several other Alchemists. A list of mountain ranges that had been altered due to the huge amount of Focus used followed the description of the process, and the author then made a note about how he had used the basement to conceal the bodies of his fellow Alchemists.

Rather grisly, she thought, but it suited the madman’s style. ‘This tower shall be my tribute to my family,’ the journal had read. ‘Nobody else can have it.’

The rest of the journal had been used to log experiments that Genma had performed, all of which had either ‘success’ or ‘failure’ written at the end. Most of the entries, even the earlier ones, were marked as successes. Only a handful were reported as failures.

The man was skilled, she had no doubt about that.

Blink jumped up on the couch next to her, circled around for a moment, and then laid down for a nap. His own entry didn’t appear anywhere in the first notebook, and so she set it down, and picked up another.

Know thy enemy, she thought.

* * * *

Portenda rapped softly on the basement apartment door for a third time.

Jonah and Nareena heard a commotion on the other side of the shabby wooden door, and a moment later, a three and a half foot Kobold opened it, leaning back as he looked up at the massive Bounty Hunter. “Squeeee!”

The door slammed shut in his face as Portenda opened his mouth to speak.

“Typical,” he muttered, knocking again. “I’m not going to harm you! I am not a slaver.”

Their people were often kidnapped and sold as slaves on the black markets, and they had become distrustful of anyone who wore armor and had weapons.

The door opened a crack, and a small, brown-skinned snout poked out. The Kobold’s eyes were wide, and he visibly trembled.

“You not hurt?” it asked.

Portenda gave him a gentle smile.

“No, I will not hurt you,” he said again.

The door opened wide showing the three other Kobolds, each holding makeshift weapons. One clutched the handle of a broom, another a frying pan, and the third one had a fireplace poker in his small hands.

The Kobold at the door waved his hand down, and the others dropped their weapons to the floor.

“You come. We very sorry about mess. And speech. We not speak good Common,” the Kobold leader said.

“Where are the others?” Jonah asked as he entered the tiny apartment living room, almost laughing as Portenda tried to straighten and whacked his head on the ceiling.

He knelt down, getting closer to eye-level with the Kobolds.

They seemed to relax, visibly easing up.

“They live across hall,” the first Kobold said as the others went back to their strange card game. “You want lunch? We have much fried rat left.”

Jonah, Portenda and Nareena all waved off the invitation.

Portenda shuffled close to the other three, who were engaged in a version of an old card game called Royal Shuffle. There appeared to be a different set of rules, however, as the jacks, instead of being of equal value to the kings and queens, held a higher value and placement on the playing field. He watched them intently for a moment before speaking.

“What is your name?” he asked, not looking across from the Kobold group’s apparent leader and speaker.

“Me Upton. Upton moog Gala.” The Kobold laid a jack and an ace, crossing the ace of hearts over top. “What called are you?”

“I am Portenda the Quiet,” the Bounty Hunter whispered, watching the hand unfold. The smallest of the Kobolds, who could stand at perhaps two and a half feet at best, seemed to have the best field thus far.

“This is Jonah,” he said, pointing vaguely at Jonah. “And this is Nareena. We’ve come to ask you about a visitor you may have had recently.”

“Oh. Well, this Maki ex Tus,” Upton said, patting the smallest one to his left. “This Roga min Vak,” he said, indicating the only female in the apartment, sitting to his right. “And next to you Parag min Vak, Roga husband,” he said.

The Kobold at Portenda’s side beamed at him with pride. “Their Common very bad, so me do most talking,” Upton explained.

“Very well.” Portenda observed Upton’s next move, a placement of a five of diamonds next to his jack-ace cross. “Flanking defense?”

Upton smiled and nodded vigorously. Portenda had once played Royal Shuffle in his off time with some of his tenants, meeting with them every week or so for a few hands. The game was complex and long-lasting, so he appreciated the obvious skill and intellect of the Kobolds. Commonly brushed aside as tribal and primitive, Kobolds were often viewed as foolish little creatures, good for little beyond servitude. Portenda knew better, now. He could see that they clearly made good tacticians. However, Kobolds were pacifist by nature, and so he doubted he would live to see a Kobold General in anyone’s army.

“You say you looking for guest we have. What him named?” Upton asked.

“Kobuchi,” Jonah offered. This was his first time watching a game of Royal Shuffle, and he had been whispering questions to Nareena about it.

She had played often when she was younger, living in the Elven Kingdom. It was the most commonly played game among both police officers and militiamen in the Elven territories, and she had developed a knack for it.

“Oh, yes. Him stay here, with us, several days ago. Him only stay one day and a half, but very memorable. Him no like be touched, which odd, because we like touch.” Upton patted Maki on the shoulder after the little Kobold made a bold move of his hand.

Maki smiled at him, and then at Jonah and Nareena, giving them a shy wave, which they returned in kind.

“Him speak very good Common, very good. But, him cold, not really there. His eyes, they blank were.”

Portenda sat silently for a moment, then watched Upton pull a striking maneuver to his right.

Roga discarded three of her cards from the field.

“When you say blank, what do you mean?” Nareena wrapped her arms around Jonah’s right arm. She felt out of place with the little people, and clung to him for reassurance.

He understood the feeling; these people were clearly clever, and willing to fight if need be. But Portenda kept them at ease, simply sitting and watching their game, asking questions between turns.

“It, hard explain.” Upton got up and moving into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a bowl of some sort of salad. He ate as he watched the playing field develop. “Eyes show us soul,” he said thoughtfully, apparently searching for the correct words in the Common tongue. “His soul, cannot be seen. This, unusual. All souls, visible in eyes. Even his.” He pointed his fork at Portenda.

The Bounty Hunter stiffened reflexively, attempting to put up a barrier of cold professionalism. “Slow, quiet rage. Anger is much in you,” Upton said directly to Portenda. “But not hate. You have small hate, one person,” Upton peered into the Simpa’s cold, gray eyes. “Control feelings, bottle up most times,” the Kobold said.

Once again Portenda had been caught off guard. This city, it seemed, was full of fascinating people. The gentle-hearted Jaft, the tough old Soldier, and now this keen, insightful Kobold.

“A good analysis,” Portenda offered, clearing his throat awkwardly. “But what about this Kobuchi?”

“Him, him like, dead man walking,” the Kobold said gravely. His muscles tensed under his thin flesh. “His soul, cannot see. Him talk about, duty, and a Master. Call him Master Genma.” Upton finished his meal and laid down his last two cards. “Maki win again,” he said jovially, patting Maki on the head. The cards were collected and shuffled as the Kobolds settled in for a new game.

“Did he tell you where he lives?” Jonah blurted, unable to control himself.

The Kobolds looked at him, confusion in their faces. “All Kobold live between earth and sky,” Upton said. “Where live not matter. Who live with matter.”

If his grammar hadn’t been so poor, Jonah thought, this little man could be a sage.

“Him say he live with Master. But him, not like us, say direction. Him say live out east, somewhere. Near mountains,” he amended as he dealt the hands. He stopped halfway between Maki and Roga, looking at Portenda. “You play?”

Portenda smiled and shook his head. “I am afraid I must decline,” he offered with a friendly lilt to his voice. “We have not the time. We may visit you again, I hope?”

“Yes, again some time. But not night. We work night. Clean constable station, we do.”

Without another word, the trio exited the apartment.

“Very nice little people,” Jonah observed. “I’ll have to come back and visit them again.”

Nareena let go of his arm as they walked out onto the street.

“I’ll be back,” she said abruptly, moving away from the two men. “I’ve got to get some things from my hotel room. Where should I meet you two?”

“The Roast Cafe,” Portenda replied before Jonah could decide on a meeting place. “We’ll be there for a couple of hours.”

The Human Alchemist gave Nareena a quick smile and wave before hustling to catch up to the Simpa Bounty Hunter, who had already moved away.

* * * *

“Someone will come looking for her,” Kobuchi said to the darkness of his Master’s chamber. No torch or candle illuminated the room, just a slit of light from the door that the Kobold always left slightly ajar when speaking to Genma in his personal quarters.

“I’m well aware of that, Kobuchi,” a voice replied from the darkness.

The ivory mask, Kobuchi knew, would be sitting on the dresser to the right hand side of the doorway. He often felt drawn to grab the mask and whisk it away, though he wasn’t sure why. Probably some sort of instinct of his Race.

“I already have certain measures in place. You know, of course, about the officers in Desanadron. But I also have another insurance policy.”

Kobuchi straightened up, and kept his hands behind his back. “And what would that be?” The Kobold was always curious about his Master’s machinations, again, attributing it to the natural curiosity of Kobolds as a whole.

“I have hired additional help on the matter,” the voice echoed through the darkness. “A mercenary, if you will.”

“And what sort of man is this mercenary,” Kobuchi asked politely. Always remain polite around the Master, he thought. Be polite, and you’ll be rewarded for your efforts.

“A Werewolf who is posing as a militiaman. He has just sent me a report via the Focus Site in his home. A Bounty Hunter, her brother, and some young Elven woman are already trying to track the girl.

“And what are the Werewolf’s orders at present,” Kobuchi asked.

“To observe them and report on their progress to me,” Genma said.

“You should have them slain, Master.” Kobuchi kept one foot firmly planted in the slit of light, however. He knew better than to come fully into the Master’s black solitude. “You should not take the chance that they will find this place.”

A whip-like tentacle lashed out from somewhere, knocking Kobuchi against the door and shutting it firmly, leaving him cloaked in shadows. His heart hammered and fear, a bull elephant gone mad, rampaged through his mind.

“Do not presume to tell me what I should and should not do,” The voice of his Master, slightly altered, rasped from his place in the far corner of the room. “I am the master. Do not forget your station.”

“I am sorry, Master.” The Kobold scrabbled for the doorknob. He opened the door a crack, and felt slightly less in danger when the light spilled over his body. The purple, scaled tentacle that had struck him slithered at the edge of the light, its pink suckers moving toward him. With a hiss of air, the tentacle disappeared.

“I shall not forget,” he said. “Excuse me.” Kobuchi rushed into the well-lit corridor. He would not forget his place.

Something in his mind shrieked to leave this place while he could. The symbol on his chest flared briefly, and he remembered that he could not. He belonged to Genma. Soon, the girl would too.