~~~~~~
“It’s the Ninth Ring!”
The ship fell towards a blue lagoon. It toppled slowly end over end and splashed into the lagoon. It sank in the clear water. It hit the bottom and disappear in a cloud of white sand.
A vast dome soared over a lake. An artificial sky played a rerun of a summer day from long ago. The sun shared the dome with a distant thunderstorm. They marveled at the Caribbean paradise.
Stalactites ran along a grid of reinforced arches. The frozen stone interrupted the projection. A massive stalactite through a thundercloud broke the illusion.
“They’ve deferred the maintenance too long,” said Shotgun.
“Ha, yes! Still, it’s impressive. The sky looks real and the stalactites look like the rusty remains of the circus.”
“Now we know what that prospector was looking for,” said Jack.
“Did he find it?”
“Yes, I’m sure of it. He found a seismic anomaly. He drilled a well there. When he saw what he’d found, he bored it out to get in.”
“Why bore a hole big enough to swallow your ship and park over it?”
“He wasn’t parked there. He was drilling. The ship was there for years. See the stalactites. When he punched through the dome, the support rusted out. After that the well eroded. That ship needed just a tap to sink her.”
“Why was he in the driver’s seat? Was he trying to get in, or trying to escape?”
“Who knows?” Jack shook his head. “I’d hoped we’d figure that out when the coroner examined him. Now he’s entombed on the bottom of the lake. Our first guess is as good as any though. Maybe he had a heart attack, and that’s as far as he got.”
Jack steered the flyer lower. The lake teemed with life. The lagoons shimmered in the artificial sun. “It’s a shamrock shaped lake.”
“It’s Lake Bali,” said Shotgun. “Each lagoon is a different resort. Four lagoons, four resorts: Oceania, Bora Bora, Java, and the Black Wharf.”
“Awesome,” Jack circled the flyer to take in the view, “a Caribbean resort built in the heart of a mountain in Wyoming. What a feat!”
“Thornmocker built it to survive an interplanetary war.”
“No one’s seen the Ninth Ring since the Madrid quake! How do you know such trivia, Shotgun?”
“It’s online.”
“Dwarves,” Jack sighed. “Shotgun, I meant why. Why do you know this stuff?”
“Goldie loves old vids,” the dwarf shrugged. “So I became an old vid buff to woo her.”
“Aha, a motive!” said Jack. “I remember that. They shot vids here during the Regressive Wars. How many vids were shot here?”
“Dozens, maybe hundreds,” said Shotgun. “We’ll never know. Not many copies of the great vids survived the wars.”
“Remember our history rather than trivia. Read your Gibbon, Shotgun. A resort for the Captains and Kings to hide from the war they started. They refused to let a silly thing like an interplanetary war ruin their vacations. Ironically, it may have saved Nodlon. The children of the elite on both sides lived here. Those human shields protected Nodlon from the ultimate weapons. What with their children learning how to protest and feel superior down here, Nodlon was safe.”
“Always too busy to read my Gibbon, boss,” Shotgun chuckled. “I have to keep up my Biot Staffing lifestyle.”
“Touché, Shotgun,” Jack smiled, “but I hope it’s not too much trouble keeping me in raspberry tarts.”
“You’re hardly a slave driver. I know – What?”
Sunrays flared off the flyer’s hood, and he blinked. Dark storm clouds boiled out of the east. Lightning crawled across the dome. Low thunder rolled over the lake. Lightning flashed and outlined a tower. A gothic castle stood on a stony peninsula. A massive tower on the end of a peninsula faced the lake. Torches burned on the parapets, and lights burned in every window of the keep.
“Look, boss, it’s the Black Wharf!”
Lights sparkled in the tower, and glittered on the water.
“It really looks like Castle Frankenstein.”
“Hey, the lights are on!”
“Do you think they left the lights on?”
“For a hundred years?”
“Sure, they left in a hurry. And they knew how to build. The dome lights are on, right. Maybe they left the lights on.”
“I’d hate to see their electric bill. The manna to run this place has got to come from Rickover.”
“Then you think someone’s home?”
“That was my first thought, Shotgun.”
“Who, boss? A coven of witches who stew lost prospectors?”
“Hope not, I’m not in the mood to be boiled.”
“Maybe it’s a tribe of buxom Polynesian lasses descended from lost reality video stars.”
“You wish,” Jack mulled over the suggestion. “Maybe it’s the Black Dwarf’s lair.”
“I was afraid you’d say that.”
“How much do you know about the Black Wharf?”
“Not much. Galactic Studios used it in their epic, Henry Morgan. George Capra shot the classic Treasure Island here. The Black Wharf stood in for the Black Hill Cove. They say the replica of the Hispaniola is still docked there. It’s the tall ship Jim sailed to Treasure Island. Below the Black Wharf is a replica of Port Royal. Laurel Pal shot Space Frankenstein here. The Black Wharf was Castle Frankenstein. Out back, they shot Werewolves of Nodlon, Night of the Lycanthrope, and Moonlight Armada. Cool, hey?”
“Cool, I love vid trivia, Shotgun, but what we need now is a map. Think you can find our way around?”
“Don’t know. I’ve never been anywhere, much less here. I don’t even know if they built exact replicas for the Ninth Ring. I never thought I’d set my eyes on the real thing.”
“Finally, I’ve never heard that before!”
“What?”
“You don’t know. My encyclopedia’s run out.”
“So I know a lot.” The dwarf blushed. “You’re quite a know-it-all yourself.”
“Touché, Shotgun.”
“Can we go back now?”
“No, Shotgun,” Jack turned towards the resort. “The lights are still on in the Black Wharf; so that’s our destination.”
Bora Bora
Jack turned the flyer towards the Black Wharf, and pushed the joystick forward into a shallow dive. He cruised a few hundred feet over the lagoon.
“What are you doing, boss? They may be watching!”
“Too late now, if they’re watching, they’ve spotted us.”
“Do you think you can walk up to the door and knock?”
“Better to ask forgiveness than permission. I’ll land on top of that Keep. If they’re friendly, no problem. If they’re not, we’ll find out soon enough.”
“If they’re not friendly, what will we do for weapons?”
“I’m ready for them. We’ve got shields, and they don’t. And I can break things too.”
“Whoa,” Shotgun put his head out the window. “Hey, I can see sharks trolling the shoals.”
“Good to know, Shotgun, if we go for a swim.”
A flash crossed the hood. The Andromeda shuddered. The joystick shocked him, and he let go. His instrument console flickered and blacked out. Sparks exploded from his dashboard, and showered them.
“Jinkies!” Shotgun flinched, “Yow! What was that?!”
“Force shield!” Jack forced down panic. Pilot’s checklist! Do it now!
“They know we’re here now!”
“And they’re not friendly!”
Smoke erupted from every crack. Jack breathed plastic fumes. “The backup’s gone!”
Shotgun’s gut sank and his harness bit into his shoulders. “We’re falling!”
The flyer gasped and the generator screeched. The turbine let out the howl of a banshee.
He slapped the ignition but nothing happened. The Andromeda was dead.
“We’re going down!” He gr
ipped the joystick and punched the console searching for anything that worked.
“I know that!” Shotgun snapped.
Flames burst out of the engine compartment. Baby, don’t explode!
“Blow the chutes!”
“Yelling doesn’t help!” Every mirror filled with fire and smoke. Blinded by the acrid fumes, he searched for the panic button. He pulled off a cap marked in bright, friendly letters, ‘Emergency Use Only.’ The cap revealed a large red button.
He pressed the red button and fired the chute. Explosives detonated on the back end of the flyer. The blast jolted the machine.
In his mirrors, bits of sheet metal, plastic and fiberglass shot into the air.
The flyer jerked and he sighed in relief.
Strands of nylon and torn cloth peeled off the back. The cloth burst into flames. A rag curled away and left behind a ring of black smoke. It’s gone! The chute’s gone!
“We’ve got no chutes! And we’re on fire!”
“Not for long!” Shotgun grabbed the scream bars.
It’s up to you! They sailed in a gentle swan dive. Can you do it? Momentum threw them up, and then they dropped. Their harnesses tightened. No! I can’t! She’s too heavy!
He cast a parachute and unleashed all his magic. The flyer jerked. He broke into a sweat, and his heart raced. They slowed, but the flyer kept falling. We’re falling like a brick!
“Holy cow!”
“What Shotgun?!”
“Now I know how a cow feels when she’s been abducted!”
“There’s not a flying saucer in sight!” Jack waved at the Ninth Ring. “It only looks like the Bermuda Triangle!”
The Andromeda’s nose dipped.
“Where’s our chute?”
“No chute!” Jack pressed himself into his seat. “Hold on for the ride!”
Shields! He cast a shield. “Brace yourself!” He sucked in a deep breath.
The flyer’s nose split the water. The shock slammed them into their seats.
The bubbles parted. Magic! Renew the spells!
Dunes of white marched across the bottom. A manta ray darted away. A cloud of sand swirled in the manta’s wake. We’re going down! His blood ran cold as ice.
He shook Shotgun, and the dwarf nodded. He pointed up through the open hole in his moon roof, and the dwarf nodded again.
Jack unclasped his harness. He grasped the roll bar, and he pulled himself out of the driver’s seat. He struggled with his harness.
Water rushed past the sinking flyer. He went through the moon roof into the current. He clung to the roll bar and checked Shotgun.
Desperate, the dwarf struggled to get free. He was trapped at the lip of the moon roof. A harness strap wrapped around the dwarf’s ankle held him fast. The current was too strong for the dwarf to break free.
He clung to the roll bar, and hauled until he had line of sight through the moon roof. He cast a spell and slit the harness. Undone, the strap snapped.
Shotgun’s foot slipped out of moon roof. An elevator flap struck him. He flipped over and bounced off the smoldering engine compartment. The turbine glowed with an orange fire. He rolled over and his satchel dumped its contents.
Jack kicked the flyer and tried to get away. The rudder hit him in the back. His cloak caught on the rudder and spun him around. The cord flipped him upside down and strangled him. Struggling with the knot, the flyer dragged him into the deep. She’s a millstone round my neck! She’s dragging me down to Davey Jones’ locker! He cast a knife again and cut the cord.
Suddenly, he was floating. Disoriented, he searched for the surface. The blue surface of the lake shimmered in the sun. Below, the white sands marched away in all directions. Air! I’m out of air!
The flyer sailed to the bottom. His cloak fluttered from the rudder. The remains of the burnt parachute straggled behind.
Up! He swam for the surface and searched for the dwarf.
Spread-eagled, Shotgun floated in the water above him. The dwarf’s silhouette drifted aimlessly.
Fear for Shotgun’s life gripped him. Hang in there, buddy! A pang of regret swamped him. If he had not risked the dwarf’s life, he would be home prepping lunch. I’m sorry! Pain returned, and his lungs screamed. We’re going to live through this!
I can’t swim fast enough! He cast magic. Telekinetic force shoved him hard. He straightened his body, and let the magic propel him up to Shotgun.
He reached under the dwarf’s arms and wrapped his arms around the dwarf.
He looked up at the surface. He stopped. No reference gave him a sign of their depth. In his mind’s eye, a diver writhed in pain. We’re too deep. We might die of the bends. His chest burned in agony. They needed air. Shotgun’s drowning!
Drown here, or die of the bends. His lungs screamed.
Bring the air to us! He cast a snorkel to the surface. Immediately, the magic pumped air down to them. Clever beats brute force! Remember that, Jack!
Soon a bubble surrounded them, and he took a breath. He filled his lungs. His chest burned, but the air felt good. Catching a few deep breathes, he sucked in more air.
The ease of pumping air down surprised him. Idiot! Why didn’t you think of that before?
They floated at the bottom of his bubble of air. He expanded the bubble until it became a sizeable cave.
The dwarf was not breathing.
“Breathe Shotgun!”
He needs air!
We need a life raft. He froze the floor of his bubble cave. He thickened the bottom and created an icy raft. He levitated the dwarf and laid him on his raft.
Evacuate his lungs. He rolled Shotgun on his side.
He vacuumed water out of the dwarf’s lungs. Adapting his spell, he pumped the dwarf. A noxious orange fluid rose out of his throat and spilled on the ice.
“How could I get you into this mess? Hang in there, Shotgun. No dying on this job.”
Gently, he pumped the dwarf’s chest and breathed for him. He completed a cycle and felt for a pulse. Nothing happened.
“Wake up, Shotgun!” He completed another cycle without results. “Breath, Shotgun, I can’t do it for you!” Carefully, he repeated the operation. “No sleeping on the ice! You’ve got babies!” He completed another cycle. “It’ll be all right, Shotgun.”
Shotgun’s chest rose. He coughed and spluttered.
“Yes!” Jack let go and sat back on his heels. “Thank you! Dagnabbit! Thank you!”
Too hard, Shotgun coughed again, and his arm came up. He helped the dwarf roll over, and Shotgun upchucked.
“What is that smell?” Hacking and coughing, Shotgun struggled for a breath or two. “I’m gagging.”
“Whatever you last ate, plus some seawater.” Jack rubbed the dwarf’s back. “I’ll get rid of it.”
Casting magic, he froze the noxious liquid. He scoured it off the ice, and shoved it over the side. Cleaning improved the air, and the dwarf’s nausea receded.
“Feel better?”
“Yes.” Shotgun sat up and leaned on an elbow. “I’ll live.”
He gave the dwarf a moment to collect himself. “Nothing makes you appreciate air, except trying to go without it.”
The exhausted dwarf smiled, “Elementary, Sherlock.” The dwarf closed his eyes, and laid on the ice.
While the dwarf rested, he propelled their raft towards a reef. Which way now? Reefs are near the shore. Maybe we can find a landmark.
He risked an ascent, and he rose several feet. The magical drain was negligible. I can do this all night.
Shotgun sat up. He stretched. “Thanks for saving my life.”
“No problem, I had to. Guilt just isn’t me.”
“I believe you,” Shotgun smiled. “Remind me to renegotiate my contract when we get back. No more chasing criminal masterminds, magical or otherwise, without hazard pay.”
“Sure,” Jack nodded. “Forgot to mention part of your contract; no dying on the job.”
“Thanks for reminding me. If you’ll stop trying to get me killed, it would help my memory!” Shotgun relaxed as best he could on the frozen raft. “The Black Dwarf will be the death of us yet.” A school of tuna swam by. “Where are we?”
“Underwater.”
“And you complain about dwarves,” Shotgun watched a kaleidoscope of tropical fish. “I know we’re underwater.”
“Technically, I created an ice raft. It’s a submarine. I magically pumped air down to us. I wasn’t sure how deep we were. Remaining submerged spares us from the bends. Anyway, we won’t be seen in my submarine.”
“Good idea.”
“If they have a force shield up, they don’t want visitors.” He tacked to avoid a school of psychedelic fish.
“Yes, but who would guess they had a force shield.”
“I didn’t expect one.”
A lone shark hunted on the sandy floor.
“What’s our next move, boss?”
In the distance, the seafloor rose to meet a coral reef. Seaweed writhed in the current swirling over the reef. A school of rainbow fish swam by.
“Go over that reef, and see if we can reach the peninsula from there. I saw huts over there. We can circle around the lagoon and into the Black Wharf. We make our way up the peninsula, find a way into the castle, find the Black Dwarf, and clear our names.”
“Great plan unless he brought lightning cannons with back up capacitors.”
“Oh, ye of little faith Shotgun, when have I steered you wrong?”
Jellyfish floated nearby, and he steered away from their poisonous tentacles.
“Steering us into the Zodiac case?”
White sand lapped at the reef. Dunes marched down a gentle slope into deeper water. Starfish crawled hither and yon on their alien journeys.
“I only offered my expertise to our local flatfoot.”
Steering the raft over the reef, his impromptu submarine disturbed the seaweed. Anemones and urchins added more color to the kaleidoscope. A bed of stone crabs scurried away and annoyed a rockfish. Seaweed swayed in the current.
“Next time we get an opportunity to be heroes, I don’t want any hazard pay.” Shotgun shivered on the ice. “On second thought, remind me I’m a coward.”
Leaving the reef, they sailed past white shoals rising towards the beach. Tropical fish, eels, and crustaceans teamed over the reef. Golden fans of coral dotted an irregular ridge of russet coral.
“You’re not a coward, Shotgun.” Jack shook his head. “Don’t confuse fear with cowardice, or foolishness with bravery. We’re only doing what we can. We could, so we should.”
“Is that advice for me or for you?”
“More for myself I guess.” Jack shrugged, “But I was afraid, Shotgun.” He looked over his shoulder at the little man. “I was afraid I’d gone and killed you.”
“Well, you haven’t. Not yet anyway, so watch you’re driving.”
They hit the top of a sand bar, and set off an avalanche of sand. The raft jerked, and Jack tripped. He levitated to stabilize the raft. “Sorry, sailing too low! The raft draws more water than I thought.” The avalanche startled a small sand shark. The predator scurried elsewhere for an unwary meal.
He allowed his raft to ascend, and the bubble broke the waves.
“Can we reach the beach undetected? I’ve got to get off this raft. I don’t want to meet the owner of that shield just yet, but I’m freezing.”
“We’ll have to risk a peek to get our bearings.” Jack tacked back into the lagoon, and steered the raft to deeper water. He hovered with the waves lapping over the top of his bubble.
“What we need is a periscope.” Jack imagined the tool. “Two mirrors at a distance curved to magnify an image; that’s all there is to a periscope.” He cast the magic, and a periscope of polished ice appeared.
“Let’s see where we are. Up periscope,” he said, and sent the mirror up through the bubble. A quick glance at the lower mirror told him the idea had more merit in conception than execution. He saw a fuzzy image of the dunes above the beach. Waves obscured the view.
He turned all the way around. “I can see the beach. There are huts in the lagoon.”
“Thank goodness, we can rest until night falls.”
“Will they serve fugitives on the lam?”
He rotated slowly, and searched for any other signs. The Black Wharf glinted in the sun. “Castle Frankenstein looks dead. I don’t think they’re looking for us.”
“Maybe they think they got us.”
“Good, we may have the advantage of surprise.”
Turning the periscope, an archipelago dotted the horizon.
He let the mirrors melt, and the gap in their bubble closed. He submerged their raft. “I didn’t see anyone looking for us, but I don’t think I can with my mirror trick. If we can reach those huts without arousing any attention, we can recuperate for a bit and continue in the dark.”
“If they have thermal imaging, they’ll find us for sure. If they’ve got any artificial intelligence security, we’re done for.”
An image of the children of Beslan haunted him, but he pushed back the ghosts. “So I take it we’re throwing out the theory our Black Dwarf is a psychotic lone wolf murdering young dwarf girls to satisfy his inner sociopath?”
Shotgun stood up, patted his trousers, and rubbed his hands. “Head for the huts, I’ve got to get off your ice.”
“Don’t worry,” he smiled. “I didn’t save you from drowning to let you become a dwarf-sickle.” He guided the raft along the beach. For a half mile or so, he followed the trough between the last sand bar and the beach.
The barrier reef turned unnaturally, and ran towards the beach and embedded itself into the seabed. The white shoals rippled over the reef.
“See the piers?” Shotgun pointed.
Jack steered away from the reefs, and crossed a shallow. They curled around the beach head, and sailed over a sand bar. He followed the piers to the nearest hut.
They surfaced and surveyed the hut. A deck circled the hut. The bamboo rail was tinged green. Cross ties held the beams to the piers.
“We need a ghost hunter to contact the desk clerk,” said Shotgun.
“We don’t need reservations.”
“Checking in looks easy enough,” said Shotgun. “I wonder if anyone can check out.”
“Look at the bright side; we can take a shower without any visits from a psychotic concierge.”
“What if the place is haunted?”
“Complain to the management.”
“How do you get up there?” Shotgun kicked the water. No ladder or dock offered access to the hut.
Jack leaned over and the raft listed. “Look down.”
Shotgun looked between his knees. “Oh, I see the dock. At least the water’s clear.”
“We’ll try the next one.”
The next hut was the same. At the next hut a child’s row boat littered the bottom. The next was tangled in a fishing-net. They passed several more huts down the beach.
“Hey, that one’s got a dock,” Shotgun pointed. “Let’s go for it. I’m freezing on this ice cube.”
He sailed their make-shift raft up to the dock. It floated on plastic barrels. The deck was mounted on the barrels. The dock was lashed to the piers with yellow ropes. The ropes ran from rings on the deck to rings on the piers.
“Cretaceous Cruises invites passengers to disembark for a magical holiday full of fun, sun and malevolent madmen.” Shotgun put a foot on the dock and hesitated. “It looks rotten.”
“Those going ashore may disembark,” Jack said.
“Here I go,” Shotgun leapt off the ice raft. “Ah, warmth!”
The ice raft bobbed. “Shotgun!” The raft capsized. Jack slipped on the ice. He hit the water.
Water splashed on the dwarf. Shotgun jumped and the dock rocked. He danced on the bobbing dock and steadied the dock.
“An elf finds a new way to fly.??
?
Jack swam around the dock and faced the laughing dwarf. “What’s so funny?”
“You’ll never make it in Venice.”
“Thanks, I didn’t know I was auditioning to drive a gondola.”
“And no tip for taking a swim on the clock.”
“No bonus for dunking your boss.”
“No problem, boss,” Shotgun straightened his tuxedo. “I’m charging my dry-cleaning to household expenses.”
“I’m afraid you’re tux is ruined,” Jack smiled. “Just buy a new one when we’re back to normal.”
All that remained of the swimmer’s ladder was a single rusty rail. Jack tried climbing out of the water. Soaking wet, it was harder than he expected.
Shotgun reached out to help fish him from the water. The dock listed and threatened to toss the dwarf into the water.
“Whoa, boss.” The dwarf grabbed the deck and struggled to balance the dock.
“What? Don’t you want to go for a swim?”
“No, I’m not exactly dressed for treading water.”
“I’ll fly,” said Jack. He levitated out of the water and landed gently on the dock. He stretched out on the dock and gasped. “I was almost dry.”
“Dry off magically.”
“Summon up a warm breeze?” An idea struck him. “You gave me an idea.” He evaporated the water off his clothes. “Whew, that’s cold!” He hugged himself and shivered. “Physics!”
“What did you do, boss?”
“I evaporated the water, but now I’m freezing. I forgot. Water cools when it evaporates.”
“What if you steamed it off?”
“I’d boil myself like a crawfish.”
“Well, at least you’re dry. You’ll warm up soon enough in the sun.”
“Right you are, Shotgun,” he balanced on the swaying dock and looked over the hut. “What have we found?”
A deck ran around the hut several feet above the lagoon. Where a steep stair once led from the dock to the deck, only two rails hung over the dock. One rail dangled by a nail.
“No room service.”
“If we can find some fishing tackle, we can catch dinner.”
“If we do, it’ll be as rusty as the nails in the deck.” Jack poked at a nail sticking out of a pier. “I’ll see what I can find.”
He grabbed a rail, put a foot on a pier, and hauled. The rail snapped. His foot shot off the dock and he fell. The dock rocked upward and whacked him on the back.
“Ow!”
“Quit kicking yourself. You’d better just fly.”
He rubbed his neck. “Heckling will get you nowhere.”
Jack levitated up to the deck. The wood looked as rotten as drift wood. He set down on the deck keeping his weight over the joists. He tested the wood. The deck creaked but held his weight. He considered using magic on the deck, but thought better of it. If the deck can’t hold me, magic will shatter it. If I can’t hold the deck together, I’ll just have to walk over it.
He cast magic stones over the treacherous deck. He walked on his stones.
At the top of the missing stairs, he found a life saver and an oar leaned against the hut. He picked up the life saver and the oar and tossed them to Shotgun. “These may come in handy. You can sit on the life saver if I have to use my ice raft again.”
Shotgun put the life saver over his head, and leaned on the oar. “Anything but that raft, I think I’ve got frostbite.”
“Your delicate tush is in perfect shape,” he laughed. “I’m going in.” He ducked into the hut.
Spider webs crisscrossed the corners, and entombed a ceiling fan. Bamboo paneling peeled from the walls. Dust covered collapsed heaps of furniture. Mold clung to sagging wicker. The ceiling drooped. Glass littered the floor. A bird’s nest perched precariously on a window sill.
“We won’t be staying here tonight.”
A privacy wall shielded the bathroom from the front door. Behind the wall, Jack found a wicker chest of drawers. Bottles of perfume, tubes of ointments, and piles of hair clips, bands, and a brush sat on the top.
Curious, he opened the top drawer. The drawer stuck, and he jiggled the beauty supplies on the top. The drawer was empty save for a few scraps of paper and a card. The paper crumbled at his touch. He picked up the card. On the card, a girl danced under a palm tree. “Bora Bora,” he said. “Guess we’re too late for the show. The bar’s closed.”
Pocketing the card, he surveyed the hut again from the back door. Amidst the clutter, rotting wicker, and decaying bamboo, he whiffed a sour smell. He sighed. He followed his magical stepping stones out the back door, around the hut, and back to the dock.
Shotgun cooled his heels in the warm water.
Taking Shotgun’s lead, he sat on the dock. He removed his boots and dropped his feet into the lagoon. The warm saltwater soothed his toes. “Ah, that’s good.”
“Find anything?”
“No one home but ghosts.” He drew the card from his pocket, “But I found a souvenir.”
“The last guest left his key.”
“They left more than that. It looks like a family stayed here. Children’s clothes are in the closet, and cosmetics are in the bedroom. They left behind just about everything one takes on a vacation.”
He took in the view. The artificial sunset bathed the beach in golden hues. Seaweed and driftwood littered the white sand. A boardwalk wound through the sand. It appeared now and then from the dunes.
Concession stands nestled under the shelter of palm trees. “Closed for business,” said Jack. Most leaned impossibly far, held up by some unseen resistance. One slumped on the beach, its trusses spread over the sand and its posts scattered in all directions.
“Captains and kings you said,” Shotgun frowned. “An incredible number of biots must have run this place.”
“Thousands of biots, biots served for every need.”
“Then why am I sad? Why do I hope that family escaped this place after the quake and survived the war?”
“Because it’s right to do so, Shotgun, and you know it. The Ninth Ring is beautiful. It’s a fantastic expression of what man can do. That family came here to enjoy it, and there’s nothing wrong in that. Injustice justified this place. Injustice riddled its construction. The injustice done to the biots that worked here may never be repaid, but none of that justifies wishing our ghosts any harm. They came here with their kids to get away, and somehow that’s all right.”
“The incurable neurotic surfaces again.”
“Sorry, Shotgun, I just think I understand them since I’ve moved from a biot’s dorm to Babel Tower.” Jack stared at the beach.
“Are you through preaching?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Jack kicked the water and sprayed them both.
“Can we stay here?”
“No, we can’t check in here. Everything’s rotten,” said Jack. “The hut’s a mess. The floor’s rotten. If we stay on the dock, we’ll be discovered. We need to go for it.”
“Afraid you’d say that. What will we do? Walk?” Shotgun nodded at the beach. “Dunes cover the roads.”
“It’s miles around the lagoon,” he shook his head. “And the access roads are likely to be watched.”
He pondered their dilemma. The Black Dwarf had surprised him with a lightning cannon, booby trapped a supertanker, and captured the mind of the Proconsul of Moab. He would not underestimate him again.
“We’ve been attacked, accused, outlawed, and brought down with a force shield. What next?”
Clouds danced in painted colors on the sky dome. Gentle waves washed on the shore, and produced a soothing noise. Waves rocked the dock, and lapped at the barrels holding up the deck with little splashes.
Curious, Jack looked over the side of the dock and saw a barnacle chasing a fleck. The dock rocked, and a wave slapped the barrels with a little splash.
“We can sail, Shotgun. The dock floats. I can propel it for miles without tiring.”
&nbs
p; “Great idea,” said Shotgun. “And we won’t be freezing.” The dwarf gestured towards the Black Wharf. “How will we avoid detection?”
“Travel at night and hope they’re not looking for us.”
“If they were looking for us, they’d be here by now.”
“Think about it, while I cut us loose.” He tested the knots. The plastic ropes had crystallized. The shell dissolved in his hands, but the remaining material was frozen in place. The ropes held the dock fast to the rings on the deck. He cast a knife, and sliced the ropes.
The dock drifted away from the hut.
Jack sat. He took the oar, and he threaded it through one of the rings to act as a rudder. He tied a noose around the handle to keep it from slipping into the water. “Ready when you are.”
Shotgun straightened the life saver and gripped the deck. “Ready.”
He cast an aqua-jet, and the magic propelled their new raft into the surf.
“We’ll follow the beach. I don’t want to get lost in the dark.”
Intruder Alert
The Black Dwarf watched the sun set from his lair. Gothic fortifications, marble gargoyles, and animatronic monsters adorned his penthouse. Complete with all the conveniences of modern living, the lair suited his taste. Devil’s Tower they called it. How appropriate! The sunset left the underworld in twilight.
Lake Bali shimmered at the foot of his tower. Port Royal sprawled to the south. The replica of the pirate capital amused him. The moon rose above the Black Wharf. The wharf began on a spit of beach, ran out to deep water, and turned to enclose a marina. A few yachts were still moored. Most had long since sunk, and a small forest of masts broke the water here and there.
A pack of wolves chased a rabbit across a playground at the foot of the castle. When the sun sets today, werewolves come out to play. By day, the werewolves were harmless puppies whose only interests were trespassers, rabbits and squirrels. By night, they changed into vicious hunters for the sport of the ancient game hunters.
The werewolves were a nice touch. True, their lycanthropy lacks all of the elements of traditional werewolves. Werewolves should spread their contagion by moonlight and change into guilt wracked men by day. He sighed. Why is there no respect for the old ways?
Close enough, I suppose, though I long for greater authenticity. When I have time, we should develop a lycanthrope virus for the biots. We can use it on these stupid dwarves. Then they’d give us good sport!
Jingling bells warned him of an approaching wench. An Amazon cradled his caster on a purple pillow. A little ditty he enjoyed blared from the caster’s speakers.
“Vid on,” he said.
A black dwarf wearing a baseball cap appeared on the caster’s vid screen. Macaroni on his brim identified him as a captain.
“Report,” he barked.
“Master Nimrod, our sensors have detected intruders.”
Blast it, Sargon! Must I do everything for you? Just blow them to hell, and let the Dragon’s brothers play with them. I hate interruptions when I’m enjoying my reverie.
“Intruders entered the Ninth Ring in a personal flyer. Security raised our shields, and fried their manna generator before we made a visual identification. They fell into Lake Bali. Shall we verify, my lord?”
“Have you checked the cameras and the transponders?”
“Yes, it was an old, dirty grey flyer of the kind found on used flyer lots. We can’t see the driver on the cameras.”
“Why can’t you see the driver?”
“The camera angle, my lord. The flyer blocked our view.”
“It’s probably just a claim jumper,” mused Nimrod.
“If he was a poacher prospecting for gold, he got lucky.”
“If so, his luck has changed for the worst. What about the transponders?”
“We checked. The flyer was not sending a valid mark. His beacon was sending a standard default signal.”
“Hum, he’s smarter than the average golddigger.” Nimrod tapped his chin. “Why wasn’t he intercepted in the shaft? Don’t we have alarms up there?”
“Sir, he didn’t come through the shaft. We checked everything. He must have come through the dome. We think he was searching the dome’s maintenance tunnels. He may have found an access shaft, or he fell through a hole corroded through the dome. The dome is almost two centuries old, sir, and the Ninth Ring has been closed since the Madrid quake. No one’s done any maintenance in a century.”
“Don’t be insolent. I know how old the dome is Sargon. I’ll overlook it this time.”
Sargon blanched. “I meant no disrespect, my lord. I was only explaining he may not have known where he was.”
“Perhaps,” Nimrod pondered the matter, and then dismissed it with a wave, “and perhaps not.”
“Of course, my lord,” said Sargon.
“We have no time to waste on the rock hound,” said Nimrod. “He’s probably just an old sot anyway. If he turns up again, blow him to kingdom come. My motto is shoot first and don’t ask any questions.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“In the future, Sargon, you blast interlopers. Destroy them. Whatever you have to do, just do it! Don’t bother me with trivia, lest you stir my wrath. I’m busy planning the destruction of Nodlon and the conquest of Earth!”
Sargon sighed and bowed his head. “Ah, yes, my lord Nimrod.”
“What news from Moab? Has the Proconsul destroyed the mage?”
“She struggled to resist, but in the end she caved. She ordered the Surete to destroy Clay on sight, but the police smelled a rat. They allowed him to escape. Our spies revealed their duplicity, but we’re working out how to neutralize the opposition under the enemy’s protection.”
“Spare me the details. I shall make Moab pay for my crimes soon enough.” He smirked as he savored the delicious irony.
Drawing himself up, he tightened his bathrobe, and stared down his nose at his caster. “Have our spies find the mage’s companion. Clay can’t be far from his trusty sidekick. Have my airship ready at the usual hour. Tell Helter and Skelter to meet me.” He rolled his eyes. “I’ll destroy this son of Phaedra myself.”
“Yes my lord, as you command.” Sargon saluted smartly, and the caster darkened.
“Now, where was I?” Nimrod smiled. “Oh, yes, destroying my enemies.”
The Black Wharf
Applying power, Jack bowled into the oncoming waves. He propelled them away from shore and out of the surf. Beyond the first sand bar, the lake was not as choppy. Long waves slowly rocked their raft. He steered past the last hut. The beach gleamed in the sunset. Faraway, gulls called.
Powered by Jack’s magic, the raft made little noise. Waves splashed against the raft as it plowed ahead.
As the sunlight faded, a bevy of stars appeared on the dome. Unfamiliar southern stars blazed with all the glory of a tropical paradise.
“Look at the stars.” Shotgun enjoyed the sunset. “Can we sail by the starlight?”
“Not a problem, we have a full moon.”
Shotgun twisted, and looked to the eastern sky. “Isn’t it a new moon?”
“No, on the surface we just had a full moon.” Jack relaxed, “Not that it matters. Every night is probably a full moon here.”
“Bet it’s hard on the werewolves.”
“Happily,” said Jack. “I’m sure we won’t meet any werewolves.”
The moon framed the Black Wharf. “Spooky,” said Shotgun. “The Black Wharf really looks like Castle Frankenstein.”
“I’m sure it’s intentional. After all, it’s a resort.”
“Does this moon look larger than the real one?”
Jack studied the orb for a moment. “Yeah, it’s a nice touch. Makes sense, a perfect night makes a perfect vacation.”
Little streams interrupted the beach. A small dock or two and a few short fishing piers dotted the shore. The twilight faded, and the moon rose. Stars crawled across the dome.
They t
urned into a tiny cove. They passed buoys demarking a swimming beach. Beyond the beach was a wharf. A few docks clung to the wharf.
A life preserver atop a pier reflected the moonlight. Masts stood in the water next to the docks.
Jack sailed into deeper water to avoid the sunken wrecks. He steered by the gleam off the piers. A small hoist mounted on the wharf waited for a trawler that would never come.
A shop shaped like a Polynesian longhouse sat on the end of the wharf. On top of the shop was a giant octopus with a big grin. A row of surfboards leaned against one side of the hut. Large eaves cast deep shadows. A shadow within a shadow followed their approach.
As Jack rounded the last dock, he steered around the wharf. The shadow followed them. It hugged the darkness under the eave.
At the end of the wharf, they looked up at the grinning octopus.
“Need a souvenir, Shotgun?”
A four legged creature darted from the shadows. It bumped a surfboard and the boards toppled with a clatter. The creature ran to the edge of the wharf and barked.
“Whoa,” yelled Shotgun. He jumped and the raft rocked.
“Yo,” Jack spun their raft away from the beast. He tossed Shotgun about.
The beast barked all the more.
“What’s that?” Shotgun looked back.
“A wolf, or a big dog,” Jack pushed the raft as hard as he dared. Driving farther out into the lake, he put some distance between them and the wolf. The barking faded. Then, the beast howled.
A chill ran up Jack’s back.
“Man that’s cold,” said Shotgun. The dwarf shivered.
“Now we know what it is. Howling like that? It’s got to be a wolf.”
Jack tacked against the waves, and turned down the beach.
“Whew, are you all right?” Jack looked back at the wharf.
“It gave me quite a fright, but I’ll live.” Shotgun splashed some water on his face. “Why would anyone want a beast in paradise?”
“Wolves are just wild dogs. Man’s best friends. They left a few dogs behind and now they’re wild.”
“Yeah, dogs may be man’s best friend, but that was no house pet.” Shotgun wagged a finger.
“Maybe, the beast is a werewolf.”
“You’re kidding, boss.”
“No, I’m serious. They hunt synthetic prey on the Great Station of Ur. Synthetic prey designed for extreme hunting was one of the first applications of biot technology.”
“Yuck, that’s disgusting.”
“Why? Hunting is as old as barbecue.” Jack laughed, “I’d love some grilled chicken right now.”
“That thing was hunting us.”
“He’s just a big, wild dog defending his territory.”
“Yeah, and I’m all dwarf. Dwarves might be on their menu.” The shadow on the wharf howled again. “See, it’s been three hundred years since it’s had fresh meat. Now it wants a piece of us.”
“Don’t exaggerate, Shotgun. It can’t possibly be that long since its last meal.” He steered clear of the wharf, and propelled their raft along the beach.
The wolf bounded down the wharf. It jumped onto the beach. In the moonlight, they watched the figure. The beast paced them, and then howled again.
“It’s chasing us.”
“Glad we took to the water. I’d hate to meet that thing on the road in the dark.”
Taking his bearings, Jack took his eyes off the wolf.
Another wolf joined the first, and another, and then more.
“Look boss! Now he’s got company!”
He turned to see.
The pack bayed. The bone-chilling, haunting moan of the wolf pack filled the cove. Their howls echoed over the lagoon. Chilled to the bone, a visceral, ancient fear stilled his hand and focused his mind.
The pack howled in renewed vigor. The second bay was no better than the first. He stepped up his speed to get away from the terrible sound. A third time, the pack bayed. Then they broke formation and ran down the beach.
“Man’s best friend? If those things aren’t werewolves, I’m not a dwarf!”
“Wolves run in packs and bay sometimes when they’re wild,” Jack calmed the excited dwarf. “I’ve read it somewhere.”
“That’s reassuring,” Shotgun huffed. “Try it on late-night audio channels, boss. Just get us out of here.” He kept a lookout, “They’re still chasing us.”
The pack raced down the beach. Moving with remarkable speed, they caught up with the raft and jumped into the surf. Jack looked back. More wolves had joined the pack. They barked, growled, and howled.
He accelerated their raft, and steered towards deeper water.
“Can werewolves swim?” Shotgun asked.
“No, they can’t swim,” Jack said. I hope they can’t swim.
“What about dog paddling?” The dwarf’s voice quivered.
The pack splashed in the lagoon and bayed in frustration.
“If they can paddle, we can outrun them.”
“So much for the element of surprise, they’re bound to hear this at the Black Wharf.”
“Don’t worry, they can’t be heard all the way across the lagoon. Even if they can be heard, they’ll think we’re just a squirrel.”
Jack pushed them into the surf. A wave broke over the bow and soaked them. The raft twisted and rocked. He tried to levitate the raft, and steadied it in the surf.
Shotgun looked back at the pack. A figure on two legs marched across the beach towards the pack.
“Boss!”
“Get down, Shotgun!” They flattened themselves against the raft.
The creature gestured with incredibly long arms. It challenged the pack. The howling subsided, and the wolves ran towards the creature. It stood its ground, and the wolves surrounded him. It waded into the pack. It bobbed up and down, and the wolves milled around the creature.
“What’s that?”
“Shush,” snapped Jack, “unless you want to invite it to dinner.” He cast a shield of shadow over their raft and hunkered down.
The creature looked out at the lagoon. It stretched to its full height and glared in their direction. Red eyes searched the water. Satisfied with its assessment, it relaxed. It patted the nearest wolf, and spoke in a garbled speech.
The creature turned and strode into the jungle. It bobbed and waddled into the palm trees and disappeared. The pack followed on its heels. One straggler howled at them, and then ran off after its companions.
Jack propelled their raft as fast as he dared without fear of capsizing. He steered them out of the cove. With the cove well behind them, he slowed to conserve his strength. Silently they continued along the beach. The lake stretched away in the distance.