chapter 7
previous chapter
In the Watchpost Infirmary, Seraph lay on a cold slab of stone, his entire chest covered in bloodied bandages. Tubes of gooey stuff had been plugged into his arm, and as he stared, little bubbles merrily danced around in the tubes. Overhead, an extremely bright (and, strangely enough, white coloured) lantern shone down, and the entire room felt cold and clean.
While certain layers of society spent large portions of their time on quiet hobbies such as collecting stamps, members of the Watch tended to amass a fascinating collection of grevious injuries, and over the years they became very good at it. A broken arm or leg was a common sight, right up there with multiple lacerations, slashed ligaments, crossbow-shot wounds, and a long list of other injuries classified under "Occupational Hazards". Occasionally there were special cases, such as the infamous case of Bobby the Watchman and his Amazing Rotatable Head.
It was no surprise then, that the Watch also ran a large network of Watchpost Infirmaries across the island. Here, specially trained members of the Watch operated on all manner of combat injuries. The Watch was currently the largest single consumer of bandages in the world, and single-handedly account for more than 83% of the total bandages imported into the city, and eventually the business became so lucrative that entire islands concentrated their economy solely on bandage production.
It wasn't easy to make the cut and qualify for membership into the elite Medical Watchmen (or, as they fondly refer to themselves, the Medics). Potential candidates underwent a compulsory, gruelling ten year training program under the watchful eye of veteran Medics. The training was a well-guarded secret, and by the end of it, the new recruits emerged with an extensive knowledge of a variety of sharp instruments, a total lack of fear for blood, the ability to remain totally calm in any situation, nerves of steel, and the amazing ability to reattach a severed arm to its original owner.
The Medics had one motto, proudly emblazoned on the wall of the Infirmary: "si vos non mortuus , nos can redintegro is". Seraph stared at it, wondering it meant. Something noble, no doubt. Whatever the hell their motto was, those nutcase Medics had done a good job on his chest, and it was feeling a lot better. Seraph flexed his arms experimentally. Yup, feeling good. A female Medic shuffled in,reassuringly wrote down something on a clipboard hanging from one end of the stone slab, and walked out again.
Seraph had an overwhelming urge to rip off the tubes and walk away, but in his current state that might not be very wise. Besides, he was in a Watchpost, and a couple of Watchmen were more than a match for a mere bounty hunter. Instead, he spent his time trying to fill in the blanks between being slapped in the chest by a walking tin can of muscle, and waking up here in the Infirmary. However, his memory was refusing to function, and he remained extremely perplexed.
* * * * *
Later that evening, Cantrip was allowed to leave. Tiffany the Watchwoman gave him some papers to sign, and then took down a wet, inky fingerprint for future reference. To Cantrip's relief, there appeared to be no sudden decapitation or asphyxiation in his immediate future, which meant the Watch had decided to drop all charges against him. Tiffy led him down several dimly lit corridors, until they came to the Infirmary.
More papers were signed, and then Seraph was unplugged and taken off the stone slab. Tiffany led them to the back door of the Watchpost, and then they were out and back on the streets of the City.
* * * * *
An hour later, they were sitting on the rooftops above the bustling commerce district. Cantrip had explained everything that happened to Seraph, who had lapsed into a moody silence.
"Cheer up.. it could have been worse," said Cantrip carefully, in what has to be the world's most overused phrase for 'stupid things to say when trying to cheering people up'.
"Worse? Worse than this?? My sword is broken clean in half, something broke every bone in my upper abdomen, and the girl I'm supposed to retrieve is, very likely, currently be buried under several tonnes of solid rock! How could it be any worse??" shouted Seraph.
Cantrip considered the options. "Well. If you had been killed, things would certainly be looking a lot less rosy," he replied reasonably.
Seraph stared grumpily into the distance. He was not accustomed to failure, and the girl was supposed to have been an easy mission. He had put the word out, and they had found her... all he had to do was retrieve her. The metal killing machine had come as a shock, and he had to grudgingly admit that he was lucky to have survived. Still... he did not have the girl. Delivery of the boy would have to wait; nobody crosses Loopelberry Cabbage III!
And while anger was busy burning a hole in his skull, Seraph had a plan.
* * * * *
Tiffany the Watchwoman observed them, safely shrouded in the shadow of a nearby chimney. Unlike the regular Watch, members of the Special Branch did not work in pairs: it was usually safer to move alone.
The collapse of the underground chamber had taken down several major streets, causing traffic pile ups all over the City. The Watch had drilled down into the ruins of the chamber, and Forensics found trace amounts of incredibly high level magic in the background radiation. Not many creatures were capable of producing that much magic, and most of those that could had been wiped out centuries ago. Tiffany noted Cantrip's description of the metallic monster as highly suspicious. Since she was pretty sure he was telling the truth, there would be the unpleasant task of identifying and containing such a powerful creature. In the wrong hands, it would be a serious threat to the City.
Special Branch was a boring job, however. It involved a lot of watching and waiting for things to happen, with a few exciting bits in between. But even as she waited, Watchmen were combing the City libraries for any mention of metal creatures that could move like the wind.
Down below, merchants were selling fine clothes freshly imported from foreign and exotic locations by airship. The sheer number of colours was mind numbing, and Tiffany felt a primitive, distinctly female urge to go shopping.
She concentrated harder on the two figures sitting on the roof. They appeared to have started moving.
* * * * *
Seraph led Cantrip down a narrow alleyway. The shops here had no signs: if you have to ask what they sell, then you most likely had wandered into the wrong shop, and you were equally likely to never walk out again. The goods were could all be classified under 'gray imports'. They came to a nondescript door. Seraph motioned for Cantrip to stay quiet, then knocked and entered.
It was a small, narrow shop, with glass cases lining both walls. The glass was grimy, and Cantrip could barely make out a wide variety of crossbows and sharp weapons. There was a wizened old man at the end of the shop, behind a counter. He didn't look quite as frightened as he should be: a frail old man standing alone in a shop full of deadly weapons. Or maybe Cantrip was missing something here.
Seraph had a quiet word with the old man, who nodded. A velvet cloth appeared on the table all by itself, and Seraph selected something from it. There was the sound of coins being exchanged and the bounty hunter pocketed something shiny. He then firmly dragged Cantrip out of the shop, and out of the alleyway.
Far above, Tiff watched curiously.
* * * * *
They stopped at one of the many roadside stalls for lunch.
"Now, time to ask ourselves a few questions," said Seraph jovially, munching happily on a chicken burger. His mood seemed to have taken a turn for the better now that he had a plan to follow. "What do you do if, say, a creature like our friend Mr Metal shows up again: faster than you, stronger than you and quite unlike you, is able to deflect steel?"
Cantrip's face twisted as he thought about this. "Er... run away very fast?"
"Ah..." Seraph leaned forward. "But then again, we already know it can move even faster." He took another munch. "No, kid, you can't run away. And when you can't flee, you have to FIGHT it."
"But.. isn't he faster, stronger and able to deflect steel?" asked Cantrip. "Fighting would be suicidal, wouldn't it?"
Seraph put his burger down. "Yes.. unless, of course, you know its weak point. I know for sure that everything has a chink in its armor, even insanely powerful freaks of nature like Mr Metal." And now it's just a question of HOW sure I am, thought Seraph to himself. On the bright side, if I'm wrong, I probably won't get a chance to find out, on account of being dead.
"So you have a plan?" asked Cantrip. Privately, he was worrying about the strange shadows. There was still no sign of Prawn, and Cantrip fervently hoped that he was just laying low someplace. And back in the chamber... the shadows had come alive... or was that something he imagined?
"Sort of. All we have to do now is find the creature and the girl," Seraph said, and resumed munching thoughtfully on the burger. Easier said than done, of course. From Cantrip's story, he guessed the runes were some kind of teleportation circle, which was very complex magic. A lot of things could go wrong with teleportation, and most of those involve very messy and complicated ways to die.
But there was a way. There was always a way.
next chapter
In the Watchpost Infirmary, Seraph lay on a cold slab of stone, his entire chest covered in bloodied bandages. Tubes of gooey stuff had been plugged into his arm, and as he stared, little bubbles merrily danced around in the tubes. Overhead, an extremely bright (and, strangely enough, white coloured) lantern shone down, and the entire room felt cold and clean.
While certain layers of society spent large portions of their time on quiet hobbies such as collecting stamps, members of the Watch tended to amass a fascinating collection of grevious injuries, and over the years they became very good at it. A broken arm or leg was a common sight, right up there with multiple lacerations, slashed ligaments, crossbow-shot wounds, and a long list of other injuries classified under "Occupational Hazards". Occasionally there were special cases, such as the infamous case of Bobby the Watchman and his Amazing Rotatable Head.
It was no surprise then, that the Watch also ran a large network of Watchpost Infirmaries across the island. Here, specially trained members of the Watch operated on all manner of combat injuries. The Watch was currently the largest single consumer of bandages in the world, and single-handedly account for more than 83% of the total bandages imported into the city, and eventually the business became so lucrative that entire islands concentrated their economy solely on bandage production.
It wasn't easy to make the cut and qualify for membership into the elite Medical Watchmen (or, as they fondly refer to themselves, the Medics). Potential candidates underwent a compulsory, gruelling ten year training program under the watchful eye of veteran Medics. The training was a well-guarded secret, and by the end of it, the new recruits emerged with an extensive knowledge of a variety of sharp instruments, a total lack of fear for blood, the ability to remain totally calm in any situation, nerves of steel, and the amazing ability to reattach a severed arm to its original owner.
The Medics had one motto, proudly emblazoned on the wall of the Infirmary: "si vos non mortuus , nos can redintegro is". Seraph stared at it, wondering it meant. Something noble, no doubt. Whatever the hell their motto was, those nutcase Medics had done a good job on his chest, and it was feeling a lot better. Seraph flexed his arms experimentally. Yup, feeling good. A female Medic shuffled in,reassuringly wrote down something on a clipboard hanging from one end of the stone slab, and walked out again.
Seraph had an overwhelming urge to rip off the tubes and walk away, but in his current state that might not be very wise. Besides, he was in a Watchpost, and a couple of Watchmen were more than a match for a mere bounty hunter. Instead, he spent his time trying to fill in the blanks between being slapped in the chest by a walking tin can of muscle, and waking up here in the Infirmary. However, his memory was refusing to function, and he remained extremely perplexed.
* * * * *
Later that evening, Cantrip was allowed to leave. Tiffany the Watchwoman gave him some papers to sign, and then took down a wet, inky fingerprint for future reference. To Cantrip's relief, there appeared to be no sudden decapitation or asphyxiation in his immediate future, which meant the Watch had decided to drop all charges against him. Tiffy led him down several dimly lit corridors, until they came to the Infirmary.
More papers were signed, and then Seraph was unplugged and taken off the stone slab. Tiffany led them to the back door of the Watchpost, and then they were out and back on the streets of the City.
* * * * *
An hour later, they were sitting on the rooftops above the bustling commerce district. Cantrip had explained everything that happened to Seraph, who had lapsed into a moody silence.
"Cheer up.. it could have been worse," said Cantrip carefully, in what has to be the world's most overused phrase for 'stupid things to say when trying to cheering people up'.
"Worse? Worse than this?? My sword is broken clean in half, something broke every bone in my upper abdomen, and the girl I'm supposed to retrieve is, very likely, currently be buried under several tonnes of solid rock! How could it be any worse??" shouted Seraph.
Cantrip considered the options. "Well. If you had been killed, things would certainly be looking a lot less rosy," he replied reasonably.
Seraph stared grumpily into the distance. He was not accustomed to failure, and the girl was supposed to have been an easy mission. He had put the word out, and they had found her... all he had to do was retrieve her. The metal killing machine had come as a shock, and he had to grudgingly admit that he was lucky to have survived. Still... he did not have the girl. Delivery of the boy would have to wait; nobody crosses Loopelberry Cabbage III!
And while anger was busy burning a hole in his skull, Seraph had a plan.
* * * * *
Tiffany the Watchwoman observed them, safely shrouded in the shadow of a nearby chimney. Unlike the regular Watch, members of the Special Branch did not work in pairs: it was usually safer to move alone.
The collapse of the underground chamber had taken down several major streets, causing traffic pile ups all over the City. The Watch had drilled down into the ruins of the chamber, and Forensics found trace amounts of incredibly high level magic in the background radiation. Not many creatures were capable of producing that much magic, and most of those that could had been wiped out centuries ago. Tiffany noted Cantrip's description of the metallic monster as highly suspicious. Since she was pretty sure he was telling the truth, there would be the unpleasant task of identifying and containing such a powerful creature. In the wrong hands, it would be a serious threat to the City.
Special Branch was a boring job, however. It involved a lot of watching and waiting for things to happen, with a few exciting bits in between. But even as she waited, Watchmen were combing the City libraries for any mention of metal creatures that could move like the wind.
Down below, merchants were selling fine clothes freshly imported from foreign and exotic locations by airship. The sheer number of colours was mind numbing, and Tiffany felt a primitive, distinctly female urge to go shopping.
She concentrated harder on the two figures sitting on the roof. They appeared to have started moving.
* * * * *
Seraph led Cantrip down a narrow alleyway. The shops here had no signs: if you have to ask what they sell, then you most likely had wandered into the wrong shop, and you were equally likely to never walk out again. The goods were could all be classified under 'gray imports'. They came to a nondescript door. Seraph motioned for Cantrip to stay quiet, then knocked and entered.
It was a small, narrow shop, with glass cases lining both walls. The glass was grimy, and Cantrip could barely make out a wide variety of crossbows and sharp weapons. There was a wizened old man at the end of the shop, behind a counter. He didn't look quite as frightened as he should be: a frail old man standing alone in a shop full of deadly weapons. Or maybe Cantrip was missing something here.
Seraph had a quiet word with the old man, who nodded. A velvet cloth appeared on the table all by itself, and Seraph selected something from it. There was the sound of coins being exchanged and the bounty hunter pocketed something shiny. He then firmly dragged Cantrip out of the shop, and out of the alleyway.
Far above, Tiff watched curiously.
* * * * *
They stopped at one of the many roadside stalls for lunch.
"Now, time to ask ourselves a few questions," said Seraph jovially, munching happily on a chicken burger. His mood seemed to have taken a turn for the better now that he had a plan to follow. "What do you do if, say, a creature like our friend Mr Metal shows up again: faster than you, stronger than you and quite unlike you, is able to deflect steel?"
Cantrip's face twisted as he thought about this. "Er... run away very fast?"
"Ah..." Seraph leaned forward. "But then again, we already know it can move even faster." He took another munch. "No, kid, you can't run away. And when you can't flee, you have to FIGHT it."
"But.. isn't he faster, stronger and able to deflect steel?" asked Cantrip. "Fighting would be suicidal, wouldn't it?"
Seraph put his burger down. "Yes.. unless, of course, you know its weak point. I know for sure that everything has a chink in its armor, even insanely powerful freaks of nature like Mr Metal." And now it's just a question of HOW sure I am, thought Seraph to himself. On the bright side, if I'm wrong, I probably won't get a chance to find out, on account of being dead.
"So you have a plan?" asked Cantrip. Privately, he was worrying about the strange shadows. There was still no sign of Prawn, and Cantrip fervently hoped that he was just laying low someplace. And back in the chamber... the shadows had come alive... or was that something he imagined?
"Sort of. All we have to do now is find the creature and the girl," Seraph said, and resumed munching thoughtfully on the burger. Easier said than done, of course. From Cantrip's story, he guessed the runes were some kind of teleportation circle, which was very complex magic. A lot of things could go wrong with teleportation, and most of those involve very messy and complicated ways to die.
But there was a way. There was always a way.
next chapter
posted by nerdook at 12:03 PM
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