SciFi and Fantasy Stories: Ch 2 The Circle of Ice & Fire

Written by Alice "Muffin Girl" Smith

Chapter finished Saturday, May 17, 2003

=^.^=

Part One (Parades and Bar Tabs)- *

Part Two (Cutter Monopoly)- *

Part Three (Rude Hen Sparkles!)- *

Part Four (Farthen E. Point)- *

We were eating with maybe fifty or so people, at this giant mess hall in the Ice and Fire House. It put even the mess hall at the London Point to shame, and that's saying quite a bit. Excluding the four biggest tables I've ever in my life seen, it was completely undecorated. Not even a coat of paint, just the hard wood it had been constructed from casting multifaceted shadows as the lamp light played across it. The lamps were everywhere, set into the walls and ceiling, and amidst the rows of grub on the tables. No electricity here, apparently. All and all, the tables were decked out to look like a scene from "A Christmas Carol." The one when Scrooge wakes up to find the ghost of Christmas Present sitting in his bedchamber, drinking that lovely drink of his. All the assembled folks fit into the first two tables with room to spare, but that hadn't stopped the chefs from loading down the two vacant tables just as heavily. When I'd asked Ken about this, he'd said that the Riders ate in shifts. All the tables were arrayed at one time so that the following shifts wouldn't have the inconvenience of waiting on the chiefs to bring everything out like we had. They would be fresh from the field, and that small luxury was the least they deserved. I absently wondered just how many of these Riders there were as I toyed with something that vaguely resembled a two-headed turnip. It tasted something like a stewed Furby. Don't, for the love of Weasel, ask me how I know what stewed Furby tastes like. It's part of that whole 'Cutter and Mellow freaked me out so much my first day that I couldn't sleep for a week' thing. Honestly, why did Mellow have a Furby with him? That's all I want to know, and is it really so much to ask?

The table that Ken sat at, we did, too. He was on the right corner with Jen facing him from the left. Then Cutter and the Canary Lady next to each of them respectfully. And then the Kid and me. For any of you having trouble picturing this, I'd better clarify; that put Canary Lady square between Jen and me. The fellow that came up with that bright idea had gotten himself a lobotomy beforehand. Which really would explain how Ken could sound so innocent all the time... Not to name names, or anything. The entire place was dead silent, as all of the lovely men and women tried to nonchalantly overhear the running conversation coming from our location. On a whole, it involved a lot of growling from Canary Lady, a lot of religion from Cutter, a lot of innocence from Ken, a lot of awkward and horribly confused silence from the Kid, much squawking from Jen the rude Hen, and me trying very hard not to get bitten.

Cutter and the Kid had missed my little stunt earlier. From the confusion on the Kid's face and Cutter's raised eyebrow that had 'vacation, Mather' written all over it, it was clear they knew I'd done something. They just had no clue what it was. Point one in my favor.

Canary Lady was in a new blouse; a hideous yellow thing. 'Thing' for lack of better terms; you'd have to see how bright it was to believe it. Picture the sun exploding, and you'll come close. Jen hadn't changed from her finery earlier, and neither had Ken for that matter. Why am I telling you all this? Because I was nervous as a first grader with his hand stuck in the cookie jar just then, and I noticed stuff like that. It seemed very important. Plus, it helped not to think about Jen's Flame Bird too much. It was sitting in the near corner, and every time I started thinking about it I'd feel its eyes drilling through my backside. Not a fun feeling. So yes, Jen and Ken hadn't changed. And both of their names have three letters, the last two of which are the same, and they've only got one syllable to their credit... two to their combined credit.

Yup, I was doing a good job of not thinking about the Flame Bird. Or- Stop it stop it! Ken and Jen hadn't changed from earlier, had I mentioned that? But Canary Lady had.

"What's a canary?" Jen asked pleasantly, causing me to choke upon some sort of lime green vegetable that loosely resembled carrot pudding.

"I think I'm full." I wheezed out through a lung full of lime green goodness. It tasted like chicken, by the way.

"What's chicken?" Jen inquired as a response, grinning devilishly. She wasn't ticked with me ever since I'd reduced Canary Lady to a growling heap of over-bright fabric, but I wished she was. Maybe then she wouldn't be so nice. Or sociable. Or... smiley. I was so very scared. Though scared wasn't the right word for it... I was so very disturbed. On many levels. Levels that if I thought too deeply upon... I'd become scared.

"What's so scary about trying to be nice?" Jen asked innocently.

"I've already gone through that." I quipped back. Jen grinned wickedly.

"All right, then. What's so disturbing about it?"

"Could you get out of my head?"

"I'm not in your head, Percy. It's more like I'm rummaging around... Yes, exactly! So what's a trash can, Percy?" Jen laughed at the visual in my head. It involved a raccoon rummaging through a trash can, eyes glowing as I shone a flashlight upon it. "And what's a 'rude hen'?"

I stood up slowly, and graced the assembled company with a dashing smile.

"I think I'm going to look around your wonderful city, if you'll excuse me." I said politely, very politely. So politely that Cutter couldn't possibly say, when I returned later, 'Mather,-'

"What's a vacation?" EEEIIIIAAAHHH! Jen winced, and I couldn't help but grin. SO VOLUME IS TRANSMITTED THROUGH THOUGHTS TOO, HUH? "Unfortunately... Well, Percy, just don't get lost." I WON'T!

"I hope you enjoy yourself, Ambassador Mather. Our city has many things to offer, to someone willing to barter." Ken made his statement while he was looking at me, but Canary Lady's face soured. Even more than it had already. Cheeks across the room puckered just looking at her (here Jen laughed again). "If you do lose sight of the place--it's surprisingly easy to do, after nightfall--just ask someone for directions back to the Ice and Fire House. Not to the Cathedral." His emphasis was delicate, but it left me wondering. I cast a quick look at Cutter, and he nodded imperceptibly. All right, the powers that be have granted me permission to leave this disturbing scenario behind. Don't have to tell me twice. SEE YOU LATER, JEN! The Flame Bird squawked in annoyance as I walked serenely towards the doors.

Outside, it was a long trek to the front gates. I bypassed the Cathedral, by default that I hadn't the faintest clue how to get through that place without a guide. It looked strange in the night. The crystal had lost all its color, and I could quite literally see straight through it to the other side. It was like viewing the world through a kaleidoscope of black. I had to run one hand along its wall the entire way to avoid crashing into it. The crystal felt smooth but yielding, pleasantly warm but with a cold undercurrent. The best comparison I can think of is like one of those hand warmers, the ones where you break something on the inside to make them work. But one that has been broken for awhile, and it's almost all out of heat. There was a breeze going, so I must admit that the heat was welcome. But that didn't stop it from being creepy; rock is not supposed to feel like that.

In the ice at my feet, a multitude of creatures danced about. They seemed curious to find out who this weird fellow was that had the audacity to touch their Cathedral.

I wouldn't have minded knowing that myself. Ever since Kurk... Cutter was right. I hadn't been on my game lately. But hey, it's understandable. Kurk was my third untamed world; I knew just enough of how the game works to think I knew everything. Suffice to say, I got put in my place. This world was my fourth untamed, and I didn't have any intentions or inclinations to start thinking like that again. If things happened, they happened. But my personal goal on this Circle was not to die.

Always a good objective, I thought.

It was strange, looking back at the Cathedral from outside the gates. I couldn't see the place, except for where the moon was catching at the very tops of its towers. The whole place looked a mere ghost, like the building had set with the sun.

I set off down the streets, happy to leave the rustling flock of Flame Birds that adorned the gates behind.

^*^*^

The streets of the city were brightly lit by a multitude of hanging lanterns, and people of all sorts waltzed from store to store. Men with purpose in their stride went into one joint or another, not glancing about but intent upon their targets. I couldn't read the lettering on the signs. It seemed to be made of elaborate dips and curves, created of different colors. To be honest, I think the colors were more important to the meaning than the curves. Pure white seemed to be associated with grocery stores, but that was about all I could gather right off the bat. Women were idly window shopping in front of stores that varied through the spectrum of deep blue, purple, and green. Some were mothers dragging behind children that would much rather have run into the brightly colored stores. On closer inspection of this later, I couldn't blame them. Those places were havens of toys. Mostly wooden carvings, but there were a few places of Canary's yellow color that boasted metallic toys with moving parts. One palm-sized Flame Bird that I remember with particular clarity hopped about and turned itself into a molten ball of fire at seemingly random intervals. Apparently this Circle wasn't too keen on child safety. Either that, or their kids were just smart enough not to stick a molten ball of fire into their mouths.

Hey, I liked this place already.

The average garb seemed to be a pair of darkly colored pants and a white shirt, usually covered over by a cloak or coat. The cut of the clothing was similar enough to my own black uniform that I didn't feel I stood out all that much. Most of the men carried swords, though, so I felt kind of left out in that respect. Circle Scouts aren't allowed weapons on untamed worlds. At least, not until the Negotiators have begun working their magic. A few women carried swords, as well. And though it didn't seem to be the norm, no one more than glanced at such women. However, when three ladies graced the crowd with their presence, white and black striped dresses swaying at their ankles, the effect the women with swords hadn't gathered was received. Stares upon stares, with a few remarks that made me blush. I mean, the ladies looked perfectly respectable. No makeup adorned their features--in fact, I hadn't seen so much as a spot of blush on any of the women of this world--and their dresses were conservative in a manner that an old grandmother would have approved of. Their hair was tied up in tight buns at the back of their necks, reminiscent of harsh schoolmistresses everywhere. But when the triplets turned and filed into a building with a white and black striped sign, there was more than one drooling male that followed closely at their heels. I idly took note of the building's location for future reference.

As I kept walking, a subtle change occurred. The further from the Cathedral I went, the less buildings were lit. And the less well cared for they were. Here and there a broken window was boarded over, or a roof was in desperate need of new shingles. To be honest, I didn't notice it at first. When I finally did, I just shrugged it off. The crowds didn't care, so why should I?

^*^*^

The parade started about an hour after I'd left the Ice and Fire House. Its beginning was abrupt. All of the sudden, the crowd just parted down the center to allow the first of the Ice Dogs through. Its Rider, resplendent in his fiery cloak, stood proudly on the Dog's back. His arms were crossed and his eyes straightforward as if the cheering crowd was nonexistent. How anyone could stand on an Ice Dog's back as if it were a solid floor was quite beyond me. Close at his heels flew a Flame Bird, slow and graceful, the tips of its wings nearly brushing the heads of the crowd on either side of the wide street. Its Rider was much more animated. She smiled and waved to the bystanders. Yet she was standing, as well. That's gotta hurt! I winced on behalf of the poor bird.

Next came a triangle formation of three Ice Riders, followed by three Fire Riders. The Ice Riders sat atop their mounts with quiet dignity, and I got the impression they were more tired than anything else. The women, on the other hand, had their Birds flashing through elaborate twists and turns, now and then touching down for a moment, now and then disappearing from sight in the sky above. A constant flurry of happy, utterly undignified movement.

The third part of this ensemble was obviously the centerpiece. A line of carts, each drawn along by a riderless Ice Dog. I was disgusted by their contents, but for a different reason than the obnoxiously loud pedestrians. Men and women sat in the carts, their faces defiant through the bars of their cages. Defiant... Yet resigned. I was near to the buildings and didn't have the best view, but even I could tell that they were all seriously injured. And not a single attempt had been made to care for their wounds. One fellow, in the last of the cages, I don't think I'll ever forget. He couldn't have been more than thirteen. His face was turned towards my side of the street, his right hand clasping the bars as he pressed his face against them. He wasn't wearing a shirt, giving a rather unpleasant view of his left shoulder. Blood caked his chest, not all of it yet dried. His shoulder had been stabbed clean through with a sword, breaking the collarbone. As I watched, my gaze frozen on his face--he looked exactly like my nephew, a joyful little kid named Steve--some moron nailed him between the eyes with a small rock. He smiled in response, a thin trail of blood already gracing the bridge of his nose. Smiled, and stuck out his tongue.

I turned my back on the infuriated mob. As they rushed forward to swarm the wagons, I walked away with a scowl on my face. Circle Savages. They're all the same. It would be good when the Negotiators came. Within a generation, all the little Steve's of this world would be worrying over their homework instead of... instead of that.

I kept my head down, kept walking until I'd thoroughly crushed the desire to run back and play the hero. I had to remember my goal; not getting myself killed. One Kurk is enough, thank you very much. Sorry, Steve. But it's either you or me. You understand, right? I might not even be able to save you at all, and then it'd be for nothing.

You can forgive me, right...?

I wasn't expecting an answer, and I wasn't overly surprised when I didn't receive one.

It must have been just about an hour later that I realized I'd left the brightly lit area of the city far behind. My path had been erratic; whenever a sound that could have been the cheering crowd of the parade route reached my ears, I turned and went a different way. Now I looked around, anxiety beginning to grow in me. The wind briefly gusted down the street and a tumbleweed--an honest to Weasel tumbleweed--rolled past. Shaking my head, I turned the street corner.

Wow, an improvement, I thought sarcastically. On this street, one building was lit. It emanated the interstellarly recognizable sounds that could only mean one thing. A pub. Well, beggars can't exactly be choosers. I approached the place, and entered through the doorway. As for the door, the marks of bolts torn from their places told grimily of its fate. Above my head, its sign was constructed of red and black curves.

The place was lit dimly by candles placed high in the ceiling above the bar at the far end of the room. It was about twenty feet by forty, and a slimy sort of people inhabited its numerous chairs. Obviously, chairs were in a shortage, for standing people lined the walls. The atmosphere was not unfriendly. Rather, it held more an air of being ready and willing to be unfriendly at the slightest provocation.

I received a few passing glances as I made my way to the bar. Somehow, I managed to find a path through the tangled mass of chairs that didn't lead to bumping into anyone who wouldn't accept a hastily spoken apology.

"Ah, hello-" I began. The bartender glanced up from a rather lewd--but not wholly uninteresting--conversation.

"What will y' 'ave?" He questioned, looking me up and down. He looked to be in his late thirties, and was amazingly buff. The only fellow I had ever seen that could compare with him had been pulling a bus by his pinkie finger.

"Actually, I'm kind of lost. Is there any way you could give me directions to the Ice and Fire House?" I said, hoping that I was recalling the name correctly. The man was looking at me as if I was from another planet. Well, bad example. But you get the idea.

"The Ice and Fire 'Ouse?" He inquired, gawking at me. I nodded, and he grinned at me unpleasantly. "Hey listen up, ya bums!" He yelled over the conversations in the pub. Silence settled with an unexpected rapidity. I was uncomfortably aware that almost every set of eyes in the place was now in my direction. "This fellow's lookin' for an escort to the Ice and Fire House!" He shouted gleefully. I was uncomfortably aware that all eyes were focused upon me. Not a friendly atmosphere, I thought, wondering what I was doing wrong. Ken had said to just ask for directions if I got lost, and that was what I was doing, right?

"You pullin' our legs, Kep?" One of the men at a table close to the door called, his voice quite disbelieving.

"Hey, little man, tell 'um where you want to go." The bartender urged me. I was getting the distinct impression that I was the center of some joke that only I didn't get.

"I'm new in this city, and I'm lost. If any of you could give me directions to the Ice and Fire House, I'd be very grateful." I said hesitantly, trying to speak loud enough so that they all could hear me. Dead silence greeted this statement. What was going on here...?

"I'll give ya directions!" A man at one of the tables closer to me said, standing with enough force to send his chair toppling over backwards. He drew his sword. Nope, this game was not one to my favor.

"Hey, I don't want any trouble-" I protested, backing away from the man. He was walking towards me slowly, obviously aware that I was unarmed and he was blocking my path to the door. The crowd begun cheering him on, and I prepped my self for a dash around him. I came to the sudden conclusion that I really didn't like this Circle all that much. Too bad the feeling was mutual, huh?

"Lay off 'im, Jer." A quiet feminine voice said from behind me. I turned my head to see her, while making sure that I still had the man in view. She was sitting, her back to me, at a table about ten feet from my current position. That made her the only person in the place not watching me. The crowd began to quiet down, though there were still muttered outbursts of encouragement that were not in my best interests. The man, at least, had paused temporarily.

"But-" He began, obviously still wishing me harm.

"Lay off of 'im." She repeated firmly, turning in her chair to stare at the man. With a grunt of disgust, the man sheathed his sword once more. He didn't take his seat, though. She turned to me. I couldn't see well in the dim candle light, it seemed to me that she couldn't be more than sixteen. Who was she, then? "I'll take you to the House." She said finally, after making a point of looking me up and down. She stood, pulling a light coat off the ground next to her feet. She was the sort of woman who carried a sword, I noted.

"Thanks." I agreed gratefully, ready and willing to be gone from this place. She brushed past me, heading to the doorway, and I followed her. Her path took us straight past the fellow with the sword, and I was very careful not to make eye contact with him. I got the distinct impression that he watched me all the way out.

Back on the streets, I followed the girl in silence. She didn't offer any conversation, and what would I have said to her? Hey, thanks for stopping my horrible death back there, Miss I've Got No Clue Why You're Important. And by the way, why don't you like the place I'm stayin' at? She led me through a maze of side streets that I wouldn't have even considered taking earlier. Some were barely wide enough to fit two children abreast. Plenty of room for a small girl like her, but an uncomfortably close fit for a man like me. Cutter, I thought for no particular reason, would have gotten stuck so bad a crowbar would be his only salvation.

I did wonder a bit about how she could possibly know the way through these odd little alleys when the only light we had was the reflection of the moon in the occasional puddle of water. But, I figured, it was harder to get any more lost than I currently was. At least she seemed to hold some sway with the locals.

"It's just beyond this street." She said finally, breaking our silence. Sure enough, I could make out the glittering tips of the Cathedral at the end of this rather long--and entirely too tiny--alley.

"Thank you, for every thing." I said. And boy did I mean it. In the light I couldn't be sure, but I thought she shrugged it off. I began walking down the alley, thinking of the bed that awaited me. We'd been shown to our rooms before dinner, and man were they nice. I was figuring that I'd ask Ken in the morning about this night's occurrences. He, I figured, could make some sense of it. Of course, that was assuming that I didn't puke on him and every other Rider unfortunate enough to see me before my disgust had worn off.

"Wait." She called suddenly, surprising me. I was just about at the half way point of the alley. I turned--as much as the narrow confines would allow--and looked back at her. "One question. Are you one of the three that came through the disturbance this afternoon?"

"Err, yeah," I replied, rather taken aback.

"I knew it!" She exclaimed, snapping her fingers. I could only make out the dim outline of her body, but I thought that she pulled something from her the back pocket of her pants. "Could you do me a favor?"

"Sure, I guess," I said hesitantly. But I did owe her one, right...?

"Carry this with you, and don't let the Ice and Fire Riders take it from you." She threw something in the air, and I instinctively reached to catch it. I was very happy that I managed to do so, with just a bit of fumbling. The prospect of hunting for it on the oddly squishy floor of the alley held no appeal to me. The thing was moderately large, maybe a bit longer than my hand, and heavy. I couldn't make out what it was, though. "Fortune be." She called, and I heard her walking back the way we had come.

"Mather-" Cutter began as I sank down onto his bed, casually beginning to take off my shoes.

"Vacation. Yeah." I smiled up at him sweetly. "Sure, Cutter. When can I go?" Apparently he wasn't expecting that, if the Kodak moment playing across his face was any indication. His jaw worked silently. My pleasant smile took a vacation to hideous snarl city. "You're full of it, Cutter. There's no way in hell that you can come up with another Beacon on this short of notice. So please, spare me the hollow threats." Boots now removed, I flopped back on his cozy pillow, put my feet up, and tossed him the knife before he could mention a court martial. "Tell me what you make of that." I ordered through a yawn, closing my eyes and making myself even more at home than I'd previously been. Dead silence greeted my little performance. I crossed my arms behind my head comfortably, keeping my eyes closed and my expression serene even as my nerve faltered. Good Weasel, any second now he was going to-

"It's a knife." He finally stated. Did I actually just win that wager...? "Six inches long. One and a half wide at the hilt and base of the blade, tapering down slowly to a nearly blunted tip." His voice was dull, mechanical almost. Like some computer rattling off output... My death was certain now, oh yes, there was no way to get Cutter that ticked off and survive to tell the tale... "Not useful for combat, that's for sure. The thing isn't even sharp. All black though, even the metal... It doesn't look like a paint job; the thing is actually all black. Definite marketing value here." He paused for a moment, and I fancied that I could actually feel his gaze drilling through my forehead. First it burned at my skin, the way that only ice can, then it splintered its way through my skull, picometer by picometer, till it reached my brain... and then the real fun began. "So what's this about, Tough Kid?" You've gotta be kidding me... He couldn't have gotten his revenge by demoting my name? I'd laugh if I wasn't about to pee my pants.

"Some girl gave it to me." I explained cheerfully, wishing vaguely that I'd had the foresight to use the bathroom before confronting the guy that could have me executed. The guy that told me specifically the first time we met that he'd never like me, just endure me; the guy that only began to trust me towards the very end of Kurk... Granted we were on somewhat better terms now, but I was just askin' for it here. "After she saved me from getting sliced and diced by a very unhappy bar patron."

"Tell me about it." Was what he said. Explain yourself before I throttle your scrawny neck, Tough Kid. Was what anyone with half a brain would have heard. Thankfully, I've always prided myself on having at least that going for me.

"Shall I start from the beginning, or just skip to the juicy parts?" I inquired pleasantly. To say I had the nerve to inquire pleasantly would have been a gross misinterpretation by an untalented observer. There was no nerve involved. My nerves had, in fact, short-circuited about the time I took off my boots and put them on his coat. Honestly, why did he have his coat on the floor anyway? Sloppy old man. No wonder he's a twenty-eight year old bachelor.

"I'm about five seconds away from killing you. So, Tough Kid, I highly suggest you cut the crap and explain your actions now." Was not what he said. But oh boy, anyone who says silence is a virtue has never been in a room with an angry Cutter.

Countdown 'til throttling: T minus five.

"Well, Cutter my boy, I was casually walking around this fine Eastern City of theirs, being my usually charming self-" Let him take that as he will...!

Countdown 'til throttling: T minus four.

"-when that little parade of theirs came moseying on past me. Did you see their parade, Cutter dearest?-" A disgruntled grunt was my reply. Translation from piggy to Cutterish: Up Yours. Translation from Cutterish to Percy Matherish: Yes, my dear lad, do continue regaling me with your tale.

Countdown 'til throttling: T minus 3.

"-Yeah. Well, after feasting my eyes upon those fine Christian faces-" Oooo, involving his religion! God of Two-Faced Weasels protect me! No, no, that's impossible now... I know better than to ask for the impossible... Weasel Dude, get the tap ready and clean out my mug! I'm coming to that big tavern in the sky!

Countdown 'til throttling: Imminent.

"-I decided to go for a fine evening stroll into the more elegant quarters of the city. After touring Park Place and Boardwalk, it came to my attention that Go was not quite where I'd remembered it. Being the upstanding citizen I am, I wandered my way into the local Men's Club to inquire as to how one goes about collecting his two hundred dollars in these parts." I didn't even like Monopoly. That game just takes forever... And in the end, it's always your snotty-nosed foster brother that wins. A kid who can't blow his nose without Mommy's help doesn't have a right to gloat, in my opinion. Especially if the one he's gloating over is some little girl that never heard of the game in her life. She laughed when I broke that punk's nose for her. Finest damn moment of my life. "Oddly enough, the strapping lads at the Men's Club didn't seem to hold Go in very high esteem. I can't begin to imagine why not. The thought occurs that perhaps they don't care for parades."

"Kid!" Cutter barked. When I say barked, I mean it.

"Cutter," I murmured pleasantly, "vacation..." Without waiting for the torrent of curses, I went on in my tale. "One gentleman in particular turned up his nose at the concept of Go. He had half a mind to turn up my nose, as well. He was a bit creative on that point; instead of instructing me in why Go so distressed him, he decided that slicing off my nose would work even better. I can't say I agreed with him, to be honest. Thankfully a little Lady was in the Men's Club at the time. Three words departed her lips; 'Lay off 'im.' Such sweet music, don't you agree? And elegantly stated, as well. Being as considerate as he was, the gentleman immediately bowed his will to that of the little Lady. Little Lady then escorted me to Go. Though instead of my two hundred dollars, she left me with that knife. Her instructions concerning it were simply to keep it out of the hands of the Riders." I opened my right eye, and slapped on my most cocky smile. The one I had on just before I broke the gloater's nose, if you must know. "The little Lady also asked me if I was one of the three to come out of the 'disturbance' this afternoon. I do believe it was the only reason she lent her fair hand to my aid. Suffice to say, she was pleased to be correct. Little Ladies always are, in my experience." Speech now finished, I let my eye slip shut again and awaited my demise with a serenely idiotic grin.

"Tough Kid had a tough night?" Cutter asked sarcastically. I didn't feel that I had to dignify that with an answer. "It doesn't give you an excuse to act like this, Kiddo. I don't care if you're a Beacon or my Aunt Sussie's garbage man. You pull this stunt again, you go back to Earth. And I make sure you get a nice cozy job as a General's bootlicker. You read me?" Also not worthy of an answer. "Good. Now, this 'Men's Club' of yours. I'm picturing some run-down bar with a whole lot of unhappy patrons. You walk in, ask for directions, and the place turns ugly. Then that 'little Lady' pipes in, and they quiet down. Am I missing anything here?"

"Not a beat, Cutter my boy."

"Don't make me gag you." Without pause or even changing tone, he went on. "Give me a description to work with here."

"Little twit. Pretty short, no more than sixteen. Skinny. That's about all I can say; the place wasn't exactly well lit. And the streets back weren't, either."

"Anything else to say about the knife?"

"Nope."

"Then get the hell out of my room." I sat up, allowing my leisurely façade to fall away. I was off that bed and through the doorway before a saner man could have blinked. "Kid." Cutter called. I stopped on the threshold, one leg raised like a dog on point. "That parade of theirs. Did you see the-?"

"The boy?" I winced as I said it. Probably a good thing, since I doubt a cockroach sitting on my shoulder could have heard that little hiss of mine.

"Yeah. Don't you dare bring that up again 'til we're back home. I won't tolerate any repeats of Kurk." That was what he said. I'm not Mellow, Tough Kid--you get into anything, you're getting out of it yourself. Was what he meant. I nodded dumbly.

"Can I have the knife back?" It was a sudden whim. A hunch, if you will. He didn't say anything, but he walked over and handed it off. Then, the door was promptly shut in my face.

Countdown 'til throttling: Aborted.

Postponed, more like it. Weasel, but I was walking a tight wire now.

An overlarge yawn escaped past my lips. My room was just to the right of Cutter's, but I wasn't exactly in a mood to head there. Instead, I waltzed to the room past mine, and entered just as politely as I'd entered Cutter's.

"Christ!" The kid shrieked, jumping away from the mirror mounted on the wall... The mirror he'd been striking shirtless poses in front of...? Man, note to self: knock in the future.

"Hey, kid." I pleasantly said, managing the complex task of keeping my face straight.

"Hey, Mather...." He responded uncertainly, glancing at me from the corner of his eyes as he located his shirt.

"I've got a little question for you, okay?" It wasn't a request, not the way I said it.

"What is it?" His voice was somewhat muffled by the shirt over his mouth. I grinned as pleasantly as a rabid wolf.

"What's your name?" He stared at me like I'd lost my mind. Maybe I had.

"What's your game?" Suspicious little body builder, ain't he? But you've gotta give him points for rhyming.

"I'm just curious." I leaned against his door frame, another yawn escaping me.

"Steve. Steve Watson." He volunteered, his face making it clear that he was waiting for my punch line. Watson, huh? I wouldn't have disappointed him, but his first name was enough to jar my thoughts away from all that. Steve. I'd been an active Circle Scout for five years now. Coincidence was just another word for omen in my eyes. Besides, I was too tired to be witty. Maybe in the morning...

"Good night, Watson." I pushed off from the door frame, quietly shutting the door behind me without waiting for his response. All right. Now I could go to my room. Before I collapsed, preferably. Maybe... I yawned again, stumbling my way through my own door. A candle had been lit for me by some kind soul. It sputtered on its minuscule base, half drowned in its own wax. I lay down on my bed, watching it 'til it burned itself out.

Sleep was, suffice to say, a long time in coming. But Weasel, was it ever sweet when it arrived. I dreamed of pretending to read, arrogantly perched on the arm of an overstuffed leather chair, when all I was really doing was watching a game of Monopoly. Her laugh was just as nice in dreams, I've got to say.

"You okay?" The kid asked through a mouthful of something that made a sickly squealing noise all the way to his belly. He froze in mid-swallow, listening to it go. With no lack of subtle tact, I stopped scooping the same stuff onto my plate. Compared to everything else, it had looked so harmless. Sort of like oatmeal. Not that I had or would ever be a member of the oatmeal fan club, but... It was either that, or stewed furbie.

Thankfully, the cooks chose that precise moment to bring out the stuff that looked like bread but did fork gymnastics like Jell-O. I loaded down my plate, using the maneuver to completely ignore the kid's question. "You just look a little pale, is all." The kid sullenly muttered, more for his own benefit than mine.

Cutter grunted meaningfully in an answer meant for my understanding alone, bravely ignoring the tortured squeals of his dying oatmeal. The kid's head titled to an odd angle, and for a brief moment he became the very incarnation of a kicked puppy dog. He really didn't like being in the dark, did he? Well too bad, Watson. It ain't elementary anymore. It ain't Harvard, either. Sorry to disappoint.

I briefly considered ramming my head into the table as Jen the rude Hen and her associated flamingo entered the mess hall. But my plate of Jell-O loaf might have crawled in my mouth and laid an egg in my gut, so maybe some other time.

"What-?" Jen paused with one foot in the door, her face utterly baffled by my mind's little reference as she mouthed the question on her lips. Obviously not an Aliens fan. Or a Space Balls fan, for that matter. That settled it. Just as soon as the Negotiators came, I was taking Jen back to Earth for a night of popcorn and old sci-fi. Toss in a few Star Treks for good measure, maybe some nice giant robot anime for flavor... And I had myself a plan that was doing absolutely nothing to help her confusion. Hey, mind reading wasn't so bad after all. Right, honey-bunches? Jen blinked twice as she approached our table, pointedly avoiding anything resembling eye contact with me. Love you too, murd-

Stop, idiot.

Her head tilted slightly to the side, but she still didn't look at me. I forced thoughts of ducklings in my head. Cute little yellow ducklings. Really unbelievably fuzzy ones. There are some times when a man just cannot sink lower. That was one of those times.

"Good light, Ambassadors." She smiled, either at her own thoughts or at my horrible self-loathing. What was her obsession with rummaging through my head, anyway? I bet the kid had plenty of interesting thoughts. Granted that half of them concerned shirtless poses and some girl back home that liked that kind of performance, but hey--that was still interesting, right? She was a woman, after all. "I hope you rested well?" What was with the courtesy? She wasn't this nice yesterday, not even after I arranged Canary Lady's run-in with the Frino. We both smiled in remembrance.

"Yes, thank you." Cutter replied in his best 'I'm a freaking hotshot Ambassador that was actually trained for this (hope you're taking notes, Tough Kid)' voice. I hated that voice. I hated it so much, I armed my fluffy yellow ducklings with grenade launchers and meaningfully smiled at him. Jen finally glanced down at me, grinning a toothy grin that meant no good was coming in my future. "I hope the same for you?"

"Quite." Too happy. And still looking at me. Fluffy ducklings could do nothing against that whimsical threat. "I was hoping I could borrow Ambassador Mather for the afternoon, if it is not too much trouble?" Aw, fudge muffins!

"No trouble at all." Cutter's smile was utterly polite, utterly diplomatic. Showoff.

^*^*^

"So where are you 'borrowing' me to, if I might ask?" I politely inquired, speaking to Jen but gazing up the snout of the Ice Dog. Its lips were curled back in a silent snarl that loudly proclaimed that, despite Jen's statement to the contrary, I was not going to be riding it.

"Farthen E. Point." Jen flashed a grin that I absently noticed out of the corner of my eye. "He'll let you ride, all right, even if I have to muzzle him. Isn't that right, Dean?"

"You're not muzzling my Dog." The fellow whose female friend I had become strangely acquainted with early yesterday said without trace of humor. "If he doesn't want the Ambassador to ride him, I'm not going to force him to carry him." He turned away from his elaborate grooming job to stare at Jen and me in turn. "Doesn't it strike you as just a little odd that the Dogs want to rip his throat out again?"

Again. Oh yeah. Because apparently, they forgave me thanks to Canary Lady's distress. But this morning, the first one to catch whiff of my scent made the lunge they'd only hinted at doing yesterday. Thankfully, the fellow had been in a stable. Not so with Dean's Doggy. Niiiice Doggie. Gooood Doggie. Don't want to rip Uncle Mather into Kibbles 'n' Bits, now do you?

"Well, it would strike me as odd, but I happen to have it on good source that Ambassador Mather is perfectly innocent." Yeah, by shamelessly digging through my brain, thank you very much ma'am. Don't make me sic my fuzzy ducklings on you, that's all I'm saying. "Almost simple-minded, really." She added as an afterthought. That's it. The ducklings are gonna grenade you. See? You've been grenaded. Happy now? You brought it on yourself, you know. "Percy, really. Can't we all just be mature adults?"

"So what's this Farthen E. Point thingie? Where is it?" I answered by way of tactfully dodging the question.

"Oh, you already know that." Blank stare. For a second, I turned away from Sir Sharp Teeth to grace her with the full effect of my shining lack of understanding. "It's just a bit away from where you meet Shari yesterday." She smiled sweetly, and added in a most conversational tone: "You do remember Shari, don't you?"

"Nope." I answered innocently enough. I'm not stupid; I'm an alien. You can't expect me to come over to your wonderful Circle knowing every nook and cranny by name. I don't even know every nook and cranny of my hometown by name, for the love of the Two-Faced Weasel-

Umm. Scratch that last. Insider joke, you know. Ha ha.

"Why is it so easy to read your mind, Percy?" I don't know--you're the mind reader. "I can follow you word for word, Percy--that's really not normal. And it's definitely not normal for your people. I can't pick up a thing from Ambassador Cutter or Ambassador Watson." That's because Ambassador Cutter is an insensitive, thoughtless moron. And anyone who does shirtless poses in front of the mirror his first day on a Circle world hasn't got much going for him upstairs, if you know what I'm saying. "You're as open as any animal..." She commented thoughtfully, patting her Bird on its long neck as it thumped its beak into her head in a cry for attention.

"Why do you want to read my mind, anyway?" I demanded. I received a growl from Sir Sharp Teeth for my effort.

"Because you sparkle, Percy." She laughed after that, as if it were the most absurd thing in the world. My brain swam in an erratic loop inside of my skull as I processed this fact. I sparkle, huh? Great. Just great.

Jen the rude Hen was a Beacon.

"What's a-" Jen began, her head titled quizzically to one side as she tried to process my interesting little reaction to her supposedly innocent statement. I got myself a nice deep breath, and smiled up at her. Sir Sharp Teeth didn't like that, but hey--nuts to him.

"Later, Jen. I'll explain it later. So what's so great about this Farthen place?"

"But I want to know-"

"Patience, darling." I cooed. Well, this certainly explained a lot... Christ Almighty, this explained a lot. Scratch that. No Christ. Weasel above, this explained a lot. "I'm just a little Ambassador. It's the Negotiators you're gonna want to talk to." Weasel, weasel, weasel! No way I was going to explain this. Let Crew handle it. Let Dip handle it. Let any other freakin' Beacon (Christ, I rhymed...) handle it. Not me, no sir. Jen frowned, using that sad little puppy dog look natural to all woman that want something from a guy. "So... what's so great about this Farthen place?" I repeated, allowing my thoughts to slip off into that mindless void of 'stop reading us.' It was almost a relief, I suppose. Jen knew I 'sparkled', and she didn't seem to care beyond thinking it was nifty. No point trying to hide my little sparkle-fest from any other Beacons around here, then. Good timing, my dear Two-Faced Weasel. I don't like keeping my 'sparkle' down to a bare minimum; it's like running a fifty meter race while holding your breath. Not fun.

Sparkle. Ha! Could she have picked a dumber word if she had tried? Dip was never, ever going to respect Jen after I told her about how I sparkled. Ha! Haha!

"Stop that!" Jen snapped. I obligingly sombered my thoughts. "You're going to Farthen E. Point because last night the Flame Birds noticed you at the parade. You called us savages!" You know what, Cutter? I'm sorry. But hey, sometimes Tough Kid has gotta do what Tough Kid has gotta do.

"You had them in cages."

"Would you prefer we had made them walk?"

"Their injuries-"

"They would not allow us to heal them with Ice and Fire. And we do not typically carry bandages into battle."

"That kid-"

"Killed two good Riders and an Ice Dog. That I saw, at least. I can only imagine how many civilians his hands are stained with." Her voice was a glacier mountain side waiting for the final shift that would trigger the avalanche. "Anything further, Ambassador Mather?" My jaw worked silently for a moment in time. Nope, that pretty much defeated all of my arguments. "Good. You are coming with us to Farthen E. Point to see what little Steve and his friends did." She stared my gaze down, adding as an afterthought; "We are not savages."

My first trip off Earth wasn't anything special, as missions go. Crew, my commander, wanted me broken in easy; he thought I'd crack if I had to go to an untamed Circle right off the bat. And so it was I ended up on the Circle of Large Rodents. Fun name, huh? Officially it was Chinch, but to the best of my knowledge no one at headquarters bothers their overworked, underpaid brains to remember that politically correct crap. Scouts just name 'em as they see 'em, and that place was definitely the Circle of Large Rodents. In more ways than one.

Anyway, it was about a year after the place had gotten administration's seal of approval as a certified tame Circle. I got my arse shipped there along with a few other newbies of questionable mental stability to help with reconstruction. Taming a Circle isn't pretty, you see. More often than not, a civilization has got to be sunk to its knees before it will give in. So nice of us to lend a hand in rebuilding, don't you think?

That place wasn't a kind sight for the eyes. The first thing that hit us, coming through the circle, was the smell. Old death, and misery in varying degrees of freshness. The place looked and felt like a hurricane had come through. I was still having nightmares about sifting through the rubble.

Back to current times: I was pretty sure that place had just gotten ousted from its spot in Mather's Fine Nightmare Gallery.

Old death is a dank smell in the back of granny's closet; fresh death is a punch in the nose that worms its way down into your gut. And pain. Most people don't know this, but pain has a smell all its own. It's a sharp smell, cutting through everything else. You'll get it at hospitals sometimes, underneath all that cleaning crap they use. You'll get it a lot in prisons around the guys still waiting for their fates. That's what I've always pegged it to: prisons. Farthen E. Point smelled like a prison for murderers. The ones that were dumb enough to do it in public places with a whole ton of witnesses jabbing in with their eyes.

My eyes were locked on the scene, drinking it in with the same sick fascination that lets people gather 'round a burning house without trying to drag the screaming kid out of it. If a hurricane had gone through the Circle of Large Rodents, a volcano had erupted here. The place had been a small village, from what I could make out. Probably less than five hundred people total. I had no desire to tally that number against the broken bundles slowly gaining ground at the fringe of the place, past where the last building was sagging its way closer to the ground. What really struck me was the organization. Some neat freak was behind this, I had no doubt. Normal people didn't arrange their dead in order of size, smallest to largest from left to right.

"So the survivors can check through them quicker. See who didn't make it for themselves." Jen informed me, her pretty face tracking with solemn interest the struggle to keep my breakfast in its appointed container. Beneath me, the Ice Dog was quivering with the power of his deep throated growls. I didn't think they were for me, this time.

"Oh." Christ, why had she let me eat before coming here? Now that I had cause to think back, I noted that Jen hadn't sent a bite to her belly. What a sadistic wench. And the very fact she didn't respond to that confirms it beyond any shadowy doubt.

"Get off the Dog, Percy." She ordered me. "This is not a place one rides through." No disagreement there.

"Yesterday... I thought everyone got out?" I couldn't remember who had said it, but I distinctly remembered that. Everyone had gotten out. 'Everyone' was not what came to mind as I slid off the Dog's back to show proper respect to the sleepers by walking on my own two feet.

"Everyone in our squadron, yes." Jen suddenly wasn't the carefree if somewhat cynical woman I'd pegged her as. All I could do was nod dumbly.

Dean led our little procession in, followed by his Dog. Jen stayed a respectful distance away from their heels. Her Bird was walking, too, if awkwardly. Anywhere else, and those shuffling hops would have made me laugh. I felt strange, walking by myself. Everyone in sight was sharing the company of someone else; even the sleeping ones had each other. There wasn't enough space in those tidy rows to walk by Jen and the Bird's side, not with it constantly shoving out its wings for balance like that. And so I trailed along like some stray mutt waiting to be kicked. Past the neat rows into the chaos that used to be a village. Nice, if somewhat poor, houses of brick and wood looked like God had slammed down his shoe and ground in the heel for good measure. Probably the work of that worm--Rocky, had they called it?--and his partying friends. Those body segments of his had certainly looked like a flop onto a house wouldn't do much more than tickle.

"Mistress Jen." An older woman nodded pleasantly enough as we entered into what had used to be a street. She was smiling under the dried blood that had caked itself to the left side of her face.

"Christina. Your scalp's cut." Jen admonished. The woman shrugged it off. Not important. Relatively speaking, I had to agree with her.

"Here for the reports?" She asked, self-consciously touching the cut at her hairline despite her shrug. Jen nodded, and the woman's eyes rolled upwards in the manner shared by all people trying to remember something. "My squad, we only lost Vey and Krick 'long with their mounts. Tam's people took a bad beatin'; it's just little Tommy that made it out, 'long with his Dog and Julia's Bird. Let's see now... Griffin's squad lost two; Kelly 'n' her Bird. Luke's people got completely wiped out, but they took down five of them Rockies 'n' who knows how many Rock Riders while they were at it. Saved all our hides, I'll have you remember. Tiff's got three girls in the infirmary, lost their mounts but they look to recover in a few months. ...I missin' anyone?" Jen shook her head. No, that about covered the carnage. "Well good, then. How's little Shari doing? If that stupid stunt of hers got her dead I'm going to yell her ears deaf." And I was sure her corpse would have appreciated the effort.

"She made it, all right." Jen smiled thinly. "A Rocky got at her leg, but we got to her before the chipping started." Chipping. Right. I had a sinking feeling that I was going to find out what that was whether I wanted to or not.

"Now who's this one?" The woman turned on me, her gaze not entirely friendly. "Here to help clean up your mess, are you?"

"He's not a Rock Rider, Christina." Jen put in on my behalf. Not before a threatening grip had been settled upon my earlobe. If she was a mother, I feared for her children.

"Oh. Right then. Sorry, sir. You just have that scruffy look about you."

"That's all right." Thanks. Did the way she was absentmindedly wiping her hand on her pants mean I was dirty, too? I idly wondered if it was possible to get a bruised ear. I hadn't thought so... but the facts would soon speak for themselves.

"The Rockies will be here in about a half an hour, I understand." What a conversational tone Jen said it in. Granted I was suddenly feeling a bit less remorse on the subject of the caged people, but anyone with injuries like theirs simply should not be subjected to manual labor. Or Mrs Christina and her ear-pulling habits. She reminded me of my foster mother, the scrawny squeaky one who'd died of a heart attack. Self-inflicted, no doubt. I had been out of her house for a solid year before that incident.

"I am here to help, though." My mouth volunteered without prior authorization from my brain. Jen lifted an eyebrow questioningly. Dean snorted in amusement. Perhaps my perpetually underfed look had given him the wrong idea about my strength. He certainly looked beefed up enough. Bet he'd last a whole of thirty seconds if he took to fists with me. That's one benefit of having a traumatizing childhood behind you--you tended to be a lot stronger than you looked. What with all the urges to pound the crap out of everything in sight and all. I really wasn't a pleasant child to be around, come to think about it.

"Well all right then. Every hand's a welcome hand." She nodded amiably enough. "We'll set you up sorting through the crashed houses. Unless you had something else in mind?" I shook my head. No, rubble shifting was all well and good. It wasn't like I hadn't had experience with it. At least she didn't want to 'set me up' organizing the sleeping folk. I might have had a few choice words concerning that task.

^*^*^

Jen was wrong. It was well over an hour before the prisoners started getting carted over.

"Would it kill you to lend a hand?" I wasn't big on slave labor, but this guy was just sitting around. And from what I could tell, he had only gotten a knock on the head. In response to my amiable complaint, he scratched his arm. "Right. Of course." And so it was that little ol' me was left to drag the slab of bricks all on me's little ol' lonesome.

The first hour of this hadn't been so bad. I'd had the nice townspeople working with me then. We'd dragged two breathers from the building next to this one. A few sleepers, too, but they weren't what mattered. Unfortunately, the nice townspeople had been working since sunup and had been more than happy to relinquish their positions to the prisoners. Equally unfortunate was the conversation that had ended with 'No, I'll be fine.' and started with 'Are you going to need help keepin' them in line, Ambassador?' Darn my undying faith that humans want to do what's right instead of sitting around looking extremely bored. Trying to move what used to be a building really isn't a one-man job. This I was discovering slowly, painfully, and with a bare minimum of vulgarities.

"Hey," I managed to gasp out after collapsing on the ground. "Don't make me get one of the Riders over here."

"Many when the moon disappears." The man with the bump on his head commented, earning himself a chorus of chuckles from his two partners in sadistic non-violent immobile crime.

"Well I don't know, guys, maybe we should help him." An older fellow with a broken arm spoke up. Honestly, what was the point in sending a man with a broken arm to lift things? "I heard there's going to be an eclipse tonight." For some reason I can only write off as local humor, that struck them as funny, too.

"May the good Weasel put you to work washing mugs." It was a pathetic comeback, I know, but I was in the mood to give them something they'd have trouble understanding. That phrase certainly hit the spot.

"Shouldn't you be working?" Bumped head inquired pleasantly, batting his eyes like some deranged schoolgirl.

"I could say the same for you." My wit was tired. My fluffy ducklings had run out of ammo. That's the best I could do. So sue me.

"It's about time you Northerners learned to clean up your own messes, don't you think?" Broken arm scolded gently. Apparently taking my tired and uncomprehending look to be resentful, he added quite cheerfully; "Oh, so you're a Southerner then? No wonder you don't have an Icen. Those little Firos wenches got you whipped, huh?"

"Yup yup, I'm a whipped man." I wasn't in the mood for trying to understand. Too much work left. Might as well just agree.

"Bet his woman makes him wear stripes." The guy with a nasty cut on his face and a pained manner of drawing breath commented lightly. There's nothing quite like having a bunch of prisoners laughing at you, I'll tell you that. I was really quite tempted to go off and find a nice Rider to yell at them for me. But something about going any closer to an Ice Dog than was strictly necessary made me nervous. And I hadn't a clue where I could find one of the Fire Riders; I'd only seen Jen and the ear-puller here, and who knows where they'd gone off to. Plus there was the question of what the Riders would do with three prisoners that refused to work.

"Oh yeah, that's me, the whipped man in stripes." I agreed pleasantly. If you can't beat 'em, parrot 'em. I searched in vain for a chunk of building that I could move on my own while still being productive. Not finding one, I settled instead on attempting to drag a relatively small piece backwards with sheer will power and a lubrication of profanities. That stuck the prisoners as funny, too. Everything seemed to strike them as funny. I couldn't say I blamed them, but I could sure as hell hold it against them. Quite to my surprise, I actually managed to inch the chunk along.

"Wait for it..." Broken arm cautioned his buddies.

"It's coming..." Slashed face agreed eagerly. Frankly, I was afraid to ask.

"In five... four..." Bumped head began the countdown. "three... two..."

My foot settled on something soft.

"Ruioaahiiie!" The something cried unhappily, squirming away with enough force to knock me off my feet. I tipped over backwards, my spine acquainting itself with the uneven ground in a most unpleasant manner. I groaned as the sounds of backslapping laughter commenced.

"Good girl! Good girl!" Broken arm cooed. With a feeling of absolute dread and utter certainty, I turned my head towards them. Worst case scenario was in effect. A little blue Frino was happily enjoying the prisoners' attentions.

"Christ! You really have it in for me, don't you?" Even if the odds were against it, I was utterly certain I recognized that blue menace.

"Ruio?" She questioned, turning those big innocent eyes on me as her chin lifted to allow the man's scratching fingers full access to her neck. "Riii... Ruiii..." She purred happily, fully recovered from my foot. I could have sworn by the Weasel and all the expensive spirits that she hadn't been lounging on the ground when I started dragging that slab. She really, really just had it in for me.

"Where did you come from, anyway?" I asked her in the most unpleasant manner I could muster while laying on the ground with a severely unhappy spine.

"Riirouuu..." She relinquished the pleasures inherent in getting petted to come over and lick my face. Dear Weasel, it was just so cute I wanted to puke.

"I'm not forgiving you this time, you little wench."

"...Is he talking to the Frino?"

"Yup."

"Right. Of course."

"Look who's talking. 'Good girl, gooood girl.'"

"Shove off, Jav."

^*^*^

"Lazy little Southerner."

"I'm just resting my eyes." I managed to mutter. I even made it sound indignant. Pretty good for a guy who'd just woken up, huh?

"You were asleep." Slashed face scolded. "Who's going to do the manual labor if you nod off like that?" He sounded like my foster mother. The one that had always been eating twinkies and feeling her rear grow while I kept the house from falling apart. I attempted a threatening comeback involving Ice Dogs and various forms of pain, but it got lost in my yawn. I sat up, feeling the tell-tale signs that the muscles in my back had unionized and were threatening a strike.

The sun hung low in the horizon, casting the world in shades of orange. The broken buildings looked somehow angry, dressed all in the contrasts of dying light on shadow. In the distance I could see the sparkle of the Eastern Cathedral. Apparently that Binding Shield of theirs only reached so high. What a good thing. The Air Force would be able to bomb it, then. I felt immensely sorry for whoever got the job of opening a circle big enough to let through a squad of jet planes. Duggit would probably get stuck doing it; abnormally large circles were practically that kid's specialty.

"Ria." The Frino squeaked through its yawn. Apparently during my nap it had set up camp on my lap. Really, this thing just wouldn't take a hint.

"It's not a good idea to fall asleep with your enemies right next to you, you know." Slashed face calmly instructed me, waving a finger in the same tisk-tisk I'd used on them earlier in the day. I had to hand it to these guys; they'd learned to mock my mannerisms quite efficiently given how little time they'd had to learn. "If I'd been so inclined, I could have crushed in your skull with a rock." Now that was a pleasant visual if I'd ever received one. "Or stripped you down and tried to masquerade my way out of this place in your clothes." And it just keeps getting better. "Or-"

"Jav." Broken arm warned, waking up from his own nap in a most disgruntled mood. "Shut. Up."

"Meh." Slashed face muttered sullenly. Either that, or his breathing had gotten even worse while I'd been sleeping. Probably a broken rib or two, I guessed. Hopefully none of them were acquainting themselves with his lungs. That really wasn't a pretty way to die.

"Rii." The Frino yawned again, vacating my lap with dainty little steps.

"I'm watching you." I warned her as she began nosing at my coat. I'd shed it on the ground sometime that morning. I wouldn't put it past the little menace to see Litter Box written all over that fabric. She nuzzled her head under, apparently just aiming to make herself a tent.

"Jii..." Apparently finding my coat an unsatisfactory place to either sleep or crap, she shook her head back out. I'd almost dismissed her actions as innocent before I noticed she'd taken the liberty of becoming a thief. Between her perfect rows of white teeth was clasped the black knife, pilfered from the inner pocket. Without further ado she dashed her way over to the prisoners, apparently sensing my incoming wrath. The lunge I made for her fell short, and she reached her destination safely despite me. Jav of the slashed face and pained breathing raised an eyebrow as she squirmed her way behind his back. Correction. As she squirmed her way behind and up his back, finally settling with her head peering out from next to his much pained face. Apparently he'd just been introduced to the little blue menace's Twenty-Four Points of Pain treatment. Combined with his ribs, I couldn't imagine that Mister Jav was a happy customer right about now.

"Aw, crap! Lean forward; I'll pry her off." I sympathetically offered, remembering my own encounter. Too bad Canary Lady wasn't here right now. I wouldn't mind giving the Ice Dogs a reason to stop trying to maul me.

"Hey hey! Careful! Those tearing sounds are flesh, you know!" Jees. What a whiner. I had to do this to myself, and you didn't hear me complaining.

"Got cha!"

"Reeiiiah!" My triumph was sort lived as she set to work skinning my arms alive for the second time in so many days. Only this time, I hadn't pinned her front paws. Four legs were ever so much more fun than two. I nonchalantly gave her a toss. Unsurprisingly, she landed on her feet. Back arched and tail bushed out, I had no more doubts that what I was dealing with was a feline. And that, friends, is why I hate cats. "Shrriiii..." She hissed, eyes flashing at me.

"Scat." I shook a fist at her. Apparently my threat of violence was taken as an apology, because she sat down and began to lick her claws clean of the flesh they'd gathered during recent events. Seriously, that thing needed a rabies shot. "You're welcome." I informed my sullenly glaring companion. The other prisoners were laughing, but I'm not sure which of us it was for. Maybe both.

"Did you have to rip her off?"

"Did you want me to take my sweet time?" Yeah, that's what I thought. That shut him up.

"...Where did you get this?" Or maybe his short attention span could only cope with one thing at a time. And the shiny knife in his lap was more than enough to distract his infantile mind.

"Give it over." I instructed in place of answer. Mister Thankless could deal with the next back-scratching Frino on his own, thank you very much.

"Was it a little boy you got this from?" He was turning the knife over in his hands appraisingly, one eyebrow cocked in my direction.

"Naw, it was some girl." I stretched out my palm to him, fingers waving in the universal signal for 'hand it over now.'

"What did she look like?" He ignored my hand signals in favor of staring at my face. It abruptly occurred to me that his friends had replaced their merry laughter with dead silence. For the first time that day, the thought came that, perhaps, one man being alone with three prisoners who thought he was an enemy wasn't the best idea.

"Don't know. It was pretty dark in the streets." On the bright side, their only weapon was a blunt knife. On the down side, Mister Jav had already informed me that he'd contemplated bashing my skull in with a rock. Maybe now would be a good time to call out for help...? But I was at the far end of town, away from where the Riders were working with the sleepers. The same reason these guys hadn't been busted for slacking. By the utter lack of sound, the work crews around here had started clearing out for the day. It was getting awfully late... Just why hadn't Jen come back for me yet? She said she would...

"Really." Even with the serenade of his pained breathing, Jav could manage a menacing look just fine. Wait a minute... I'd gotten the knife off of some girl who I couldn't describe because we'd been in a dark street...?

"Hey, it wasn't like that!" I protested, my indignation more than enough to override my underdeveloped sense of caution. "She was showing me the way back to the Ice and Fire House, and she gave that to me!"

"Really." His words were laced through with icy disbelief. "Prove it."

"How do you expect me to-?" Sharp pain blossomed in my hand. Sharp, excruciating pain. I wanted to gawk in utter disbelief at the knife thrust through my hand. I would have quite happily told myself that the thing was blunt-edged; there was no way he could have just done that. I tried to jerk my hand away, but Broken Arm lunged for me with an iron grip that made me wonder if I shouldn't be thinking of him as Just Horribly Bruised Arm instead. Bumped Head was at me just as quick, muffling my scream with his hand. I sank to my knees of my own accord, squeezing my eyes shut. There was no way in hell I was going to cry. There was no way in hell I was going to cry. There was-

"Still alive." Jav muttered. "Right, then." The pain receded. Not gone, but dimmed. I idly wondered if he'd twisted the knife, severing a few nerve connections that I was just as happy without. Or maybe I'd just passed out. I seemed to be quite coherent for an unconscious guy, but you never know.

"That's it. Just keep breathing, lad. You're okay." Bumped head spoke soothingly, relinquishing his grip on my mouth to pat my back. Questionably Broken Arm switched his grip up to my shoulder, steadying me out as my body did its very best to slam into the ground. That was right up there in Mather's List of Painful Experiences. It was far from the worst, but I'd say it was the closest runner for second I ever wanted to feel.

I was crying. God damn it.

"You're okay." Bumped head repeated. "You're okay." His tone held just a hint of disbelief, and I wasn't so sure he was trying to comfort me anymore. Why he wanted to do so in the first place was beyond me, really.

"Congratulations. You've just proved yourself." Jav's voice was either sarcastic, shocked, or genuinely congratulatory. I really wasn't in a position to decide.

"Thanks." I muttered on reflex. Proving once more that the core of a Percy is pure sarcasm. With a name like that, you can't blame us.

"Sorry about that." It was cute how apologetic Jav sounded. "But we had to know. You understand." I'd have strangled him if I had been inclined to open my eyes long enough to get him in my sights. Or if I had two working hands. Whatever was left of my right was vaguely itchy now. I had a bad feeling that a hand that's just been stabbed clean through with a knife is supposed to have a bit more feeling than all that. I really wasn't inclined to open my eyes. Or move my fingers. Or move, period. Christ. The least they could do was finish a guy off quick. It's just common decency.

"Go to hell." I wanted to add a few more choice words, but my breaths were coming short. That was all I could squeeze in. Common decency was often lacking among Circle savages, I'd noticed before. They seemed to specialize in extended pain.

"Easy, lad." Bumped head cooed. "Easy, now. We're none of us enemies here." Funny, but he sounded like one of my old friends. I hadn't really noticed that before. Sounded like Rim. Hadn't seen Rim in years; not since I got shipped off to the Academy. Rim was a good kid; always there when we needed 'im. Every tavern, every brawl, every back-alley scrape... "Hey, now, don't you go doing that."

"He dyin' after all?"

"Fainting, more like. What was Ritsa thinking, handing the Knife off to a weakling like-? Hey, now!" The slap caught me full across the face.

"...Christ, you guys are jackasses..."

"What'd he say?"

"Didn't catch it."

"Com'on, kid, stay awake now. You hear me, Dre'core'ren?"

"You don't know he's a ren. Could be Ritsa just had to hand it off to some chum, and he was convenient. You know how her mind works. Codar Riders comin' in soon; she's probably gonna try something stupid at the Cathedral."

"I'd place money on that."

"Come on, kiddo. Open your eyes. You ain't dead yet." That was reassuring on some level I'd rather not delve into.

"What a wimp. Ritsa sure outdid herself this time. ...Hey, stop being an idiot and wake up." A strong hand closed itself around my wrist. The vague itch in my hand dispersed before that bone-crushing grip. I rested my most sullen gaze on Jav. "See, weakling? Your bloody hand is fine." He pushed my arm towards me, nearly punching me in the nose with my own hand. My own intact hand. My own perfectly A-okay hand. What the hell was going on here? Not that I was complaining, but...

"What...?" I experimentally wiggled my fingers. Nothing. No pain. No gaping hole in the palm. Jav snickered at my reaction, releasing my wrist after a playful squeeze.

"You idiot. Don't you know-" His broken ribs apparently catching up with his malicious little snickers, Jav of the tortured breathing began to cough in a most horribly painful manner. I'd have felt sorry for him if he hadn't just... whatever the hell he'd done. It hadn't been good for my already questionable mental stability, that was all I was sure of.

"Breathe, Jav." Questionably Bruised Arm advised in a questionably helpful manner.

"Shut up." Jav rasped back. And me? I was sitting very, very still. Besides the fact Bumped Head was staring at me like something he'd like to dissect, I wasn't feeling so good. And by not feeling so good, I mean the world was slowly losing all color as I blinked my eyes. Umm. Yeah. Good night, sweet consciousness. See ya in the morning...

"Man, what a sissy...!"