~~~~~~
The Milky Way dominated the ballroom’s floor.
Appropriate, thought Nimrod. The constellations printed on the carpet divided the room into the twelve signs of the Zodiac.
Polaris was in the center, but the Black Dwarf just smiled.
“What’s a little precession to prophecy,” Nimrod said. He pointed at Polaris. “There will be the gateway.”
With a snap of his fingers, he cast a spell of silence so none would hear, and sealed the room. He set to work with his minions.
Speaking a spell in the first tongue, his staff came alive. Mumbling a spell, a faint blue light shone from the shaft’s filigree. He twirled his staff, and blue flame spat from the foot. He melted the locks on the doors, froze the hinges, and seared signs and markings into the walls.
Circling the Milky Way, the Black Dwarf melted a ring into the carpet. Around the Zodiac from Sagittarius to Aries, he drew a pentagram. He waved a hand and seven holes appeared. With a flash, he inscribed a series of runes and signs in the star and completed the pentagram.
Gesturing, he bid his servants to move the coffins. One to either side of the altar at the edge of the pentagram burned into the floor.
The Black Dwarf thrust the staff at the goat. “Put the altar next to Capricorn.”
Helter and Skelter carried two portable tables to the cusp of Capricorn and placed them end to end.
Opening cases and bags on pallets, they unloaded their master’s gear. Soon they had an altar.
They placed the coffins at the edge of the pentagram, on either side of the altar. Seven torches went into the seven holes around the Milky Way. These they filled with oil from the urns, and lit each torch.
The firelight reminded him of those long ago days when he sacrificed the children of his enemies to the god Ashur.
Twisting his staff, first one way and then another, he opened the coffins revealing his living hostages within.
Each of the caskets contained a new victim mesmerized by his spells. His victims laid frozen in the dreamless sleep of zombies. Glassy eyes focused on some distant goal neither could see. Caught in the trance of the Black Dwarf’s making, neither victim seemed aware of his precarious state.
Helter and Skelter laughed, and jabbed each other sharing a private joke.
“Rise zombies,” Nimrod cried.
Gradually, both of his mesmerized victims stood. The zombies climbed from the caskets. One was a man and the other was a dwarf maiden.
The Black Dwarf drove each of them with his staff. Enjoying his role, Nimrod delighted in malice.
Slowly, each took a place on either side of the altar. They laid upon the tables head to head.
The man wore the uniform of a Colonel in the Nodlon Defense Force. A badge identified him as an employee of the Ministry of Manna.
From his cloak, the Black Dwarf took a black chip, and laid it on the man’s forehead. Putting his fingers on the chip, he summoned the magic of manna. He released it and recharged the chip’s battery. He gloated at the ease with which he controlled the fool’s technology.
“Dogs and pigs you are, my pets.” He chuckled, and rubbed his belly. Then, setting his mind on the device, he instructed it to mark the man. It hummed once, and emitted a quick flash. Sinking into the man’s flesh, it embedded itself in his forehead. Sealing the wound, it was no more than a black spot.
The Black Dwarf turned his attention to the maiden. She still wore the simple uniform of a secretary in the Ministry of Manna. Mesmerized, she stared without blinking.
“Yes, my sweet, your soul will open the gate.” He looked at the Colonel and chuckled. “That man’s soul would probably be sucked through to join the others on Gehenna.”
Casting a new spell and renewing his incantations, he held his staff over the beauty and continued his ritual.
Her aura glowed, and a fire spread over her skin.
A gust blew her hair. She trembled on the wobbly table. She moaned, and her eyes fluttered. Drool ran from her mouth. Her back arched, and she stiffened. She gasped.
The light faded, the glow softened, and the maiden fell limp.
Snarling, the Black Dwarf flicked a finger and the chip on her forehead popped out. The chip launched itself into the air with a sucking sound. It dragged thin wires from her head dripping with blood. Freed from the girl, the wires popped as the ends separated from her forehead.
Blood flowed from her forehead. He levitated the blood and made a ball above her head. With a gesture, he separated the ball into dozens of drops. He flung the drops against the far wall. The blood splattered in the sign of the Capricorn.
He grinned. “Let the fools chew on that.”
Standing before the altar, the Black Dwarf faced the pentagram, and twirled his staff three times. He chanted an incantation of power. He held out his staff and stood before the altar on the cusp of Capricorn. Leaving the staff to channel the power, he spread his arms, and canted an obscure mantra.
The staff hummed and drew manna across the differential. Light radiated from the stone. Wherever his staff scribed runes and lines, the marks glowed. Fiery wisps swirled over the charred and melted surfaces. Growing stronger with each incantation, wisps coalesced into threads, and threads twisted into ribbons. And still he canted.
A breeze swirled around the pentagram. The breeze fed the fires and the torchlight burned hot.
The breeze strengthened, and became a whirlwind. The smoke from the fires swirled in the whirlwind. A fume of sulfur tinged the air.
The carpet thinned and stars appeared under the floor. Polaris disappeared and the floor parted. The pentagram opened and dilated. Fanning out, the portal swallowed the Milky Way.
The pentagram ripped a hole in the universe creating a gateway to the stars. Below the star gate, the red planet of Gehenna floated among bright stars. The portal to Nimrod’s prison hung motionless above the eye of the planet’s eternal storm.
He remembered, his master the Dragon Lord had told him the portal was in geosynchronous orbit over the eye. But he didn’t know what that meant. He was more interested in torture than astrophysics. Dawn broke over the storm’s angry eye. The golden light of Ashur played on scarlet clouds.
Turning back to the altar, he shoved the empty body of the female onto the floor, careful not to let her shell roll into the gate. He wanted her body to foment panic and incite fear and hatred.
Time to call a friend home. Someone special who will be my ally in victory.
Nimrod strode to the lip of the gate. He took his staff and struck the star gate’s lip.
“Friends, come forth!” he shouted.
The staff’s blow shook the ballroom. The air trembled over the portal.
The coffins wobbled. They teetered briefly on the lip of the star gate, and then fell into empty space. The coffins tumbled towards the planet below.
Spirits rushed from the eye of the eternal storm. One of the ghosts approached the portal and hovered before him.
“Who calls?”
“Nimrod, your friend, I wear the shell of one of our lord’s subjects. Here, I am the Black Dwarf, and I command the forces, powers, and princes of this world.
“Come, who shall join me?”
Each vied to be chosen over the others. Cries of allegiance mingled with hard curses.
“Lord Nimrod,” each called, “take me as your servant.”
“Esar, join me now!”
The other spirits cursed as they extolled their talents. Calmly, he soothed them. “Patience, friends, I will return. Soon there will be bodies for all.”
Turning to the Colonel, he repeated his incantation. “Goodbye Colonel Khan, now you shall take the unfortunate girl’s place.”
Light poured out of the man as his aura departed. The warlock allowed the light to disappear into the smoke still swirling around the unholy portal.
“Enter Esar,” he ordered.
Esar’s spirit swirled into the
room. He appeared as the ghost of an ancient warrior with shield and sword. The spirit dove into the man’s forehead, and disappeared into the vessel.
The man jerked and twisted on the impromptu altar, kicking, and twitching. The human stiffened.
Mumbling incantations, the Black Dwarf laid his staff directly on the Colonel’s breast and infused his body with magical light.
The man’s skin went sallow and shrank before fading into a pale blue. The flesh glowed briefly, and the eyes flitted. The body shook again, and the arms jittered.
“Open your eyes, Esar, and live again my friend.”
Esar sat up under the command of the Black Dwarf.
“Careful Esar, the human is frail. The vessel can barely contain your strength. Too much power may rip the vessel.”
“Master, why such a shell? Why not a great warrior?”
“Patience Esar, the one you inhabit has power. He commands a host essential to the Dragon Lord’s plans for this world. We shall find you a more suitable vessel when your task has been accomplished.”
“As you command, my lord.”
Helter handed Esar a robe to cover the man’s uniform.
Surveying the altar, the warlock flicked his staff.
The whirlwind passed over them and smoke filled the star gate. The portal closed, and the gate hardened to glass. The glass cooled in rainbow colors as the fire of the other world faded, and the gate was shut. The carpet and the pentagram reappeared.
Nimrod lifted his hood. Taking his staff, he went to the service door. A tap of his staff sent the door flying, and he strutted out of the ballroom.
“Bring the body, and my tools.” Mumbling another incantation, he sealed the area, erasing any records of their visit.
Relaxing in his airship, he poured a repast.
“It’s been a long time since you enjoyed the fruit of the vine. Help yourself Esar.” Esar mumbled his gratitude.
His servants quickly loaded the airship and climbed into the forward cab. Helter sat in the driver’s seat. “We’ve finished, my lord,” he said.
“Very well, Helter, it’s about time. If you two get any slower I shall have to deal with your sloth.”
“Yes, my lord.” If he was worried, Helter failed to show any sign of concern.
With a final spell, Nimrod sealed the doors of the ballroom in their places. “To the Black Wharf.”
“Yes, my lord,” repeated Helter.
Quietly, the ship lifted off with the slightest shiver. Flying low, they left the alley and slipped into the night.
Babel Tower
Jack opened his eyes and stared at his living room ceiling. A gentle breeze off the patio fluttered his curtains. The first rays of dawn glistened on the southern peaks. He rubbed his temples. Will I ever get another good night’s sleep?
His back ached, and he felt a crick in his neck. Rolling his neck he tried unsuccessfully to the pop the vertebrae. He debated whether to continue suffering on the sofa chasing an elusive rest or getting up and drowning exhaustion in coffee. The sunlight reflecting off his track lights made the decision for him.
Throwing his feet off the sofa, he rolled into an upright position. Grasping his face in his hands, he massaged some feeling back into his cheeks. When the blood reached his brain, he took a deep breath, stood up, and tightened the sash of his bath robe.
Shotgun slept on the love seat, his feet dangling over the coffee table.
Need to buy a longer set next time, instead of a sofa too short for an elf and a love seat too short for a dwarf.
Staggering, he made it to his coffee pot which helpfully offered him a mug of steaming brew. Taking the hot caffeine solution to his porch, he relished the view of Nodlon in the morning. He never tired of it. Thanks to the accidents of war and misery, the city was the most exciting place to be in New Atlantis. Here the old ways mingle with the new. The city could be as great as any in the ancient world. And save for a few, who refused to let reality check their hold on power, Nodlon would be a great place to live too.
Rummaging sounds in the kitchen floated out to the porch. He heard the sound of a mug on the counter.
Below Babel Tower, the old road was already jammed with frightened goblins headed east to the mountain kingdoms. Those who could were leaving. Humans were retreating the other way to Iron Mountain. Gnomes were headed north to their mines. If they can, few still have a place to go. And the city’s faeries, nymphs, satyrs, would go northwest with the humans, elves, and dwarves.
Footfalls padded to the patio door, and Jasmine saddled up to him. “Morning honey bear, how did you sleep?”
“What sleep? The tender mercies of the Spanish Inquisition, and a rack would have been more comfortable.”
“You’re a good elf, Jack Clay,” said Jasmine, squeezing him.
“How about yourself? Did you and Faith make it through the night?”
“After I read her Snow White, we had a pillow fight. We left the lights on. She spun around all night. First, she was next to me, then her head was jammed in my belly, then her feet were on top of me, and so it went all night.”
“Did you get any sleep at all?”
“Never better, a good day’s work is the best cure for insomnia. Faith forced me to change sides, but it was a great night.”
“So it didn’t cure you of children, too bad, I’d hoped to have you all to myself for a while.”
“I want a dozen.”
“Donuts or children? You’re not a rabbit!”
“Six Jazz’s and six Jack’s,” she ribbed him with her elbow, “you can afford it, Jack.”
“Yeah, but when will I have the time to be a father?”
“You’ll make time, Jack Clay. That’s what men do. Anyway, I’ve got to get dressed, and get out of here. Have to be back to the hospital by seven.”
“No breakfast?”
“You’ll have to make do without me.” She kissed him on the cheek and darted off to the bedroom, leaving him alone with his coffee.
“That’s not what I meant.” A lady bug crawled up his rail, and climbed his sleeve. “Run along little bug, I’m spoken for.”
Hanging out on his porch, he heard the pitter patter of little feet and the small voice of a girl. Soon his condo buzzed with domestic sounds. Goldie and her daughters were fortunate, but their situation was not uncommon.
The people of Nodlon are good people. When the chips were down and given a chance, they’ll make the right decision.
A little girl ran up to him and pulled on his robe. “Time for breakfast.” Little older than a toddler, the dwarf baby was barely higher than his knees. The child ran off. In her pink nightie and bunny slippers, she was a pink ball bouncing on his fluffy carpet. Goldie lifted her up and sat her on his table in front of a plate of scrambled eggs and a blueberry muffin.
Goldie took his mug. “Just sit Mr. Clay, I’ll get it.”
Seating himself, joy and tragedy struggled within him. She brought him a mug of fresh coffee.
Shotgun’s children sat at his dining room table. The babies were remarkably well behaved, and he wished he had a baby. He wondered if he would feel as melancholy if they were naughty.
Returning with more plates, Goldie set out a breakfast fit for a king. “Bon appetite, I hope you like it.” A mountain of steaming eggs, smothered in mushrooms and cheese, a pile of bacon, and a bowl of blueberry muffins graced his table.
Clay stuffed a slice of bacon in his mouth. “Great, thanks Goldie.”
“Thank you, Mr. Clay, you bought it.” She brought out a pitcher of orange juice. “Shotgun and I cooked everything from scratch.”
“Not quite,” said Shotgun, pulling up a chair. “Those muffins came out of a mix.”
“The muffins are delicious,” said Jack. “I didn’t know you could get these out of a mix.”
“The secret is fresh blueberries,” said Shotgun. “The season is too early for local berries. These came from the Argentine. Add fre
sh berries, and a dash of fresh vanilla, and viola.”
Jack attacked the food.
“Thank you, Mr. Clay, for letting us stay.”
“You’re welcome Goldie,” said Jack.
“I’m going to go to work with Ms. Jasmine, today,” Goldie said and started picking up. “The day care is still open for the humans working at the Octagon.”
Jack set his coffee down. “We’d better get going, Shotgun. We can drop off Goldie at the hospital, leave the girls at daycare, and be ready for whatever Gumshoe has in store for us before eight. If Jazz and Goldie drop off the girls, Jazz will be late.”
“The girls and I can take the shuttle.”
“No, Goldie,” said Jack. “It’ll take hours. The shuttles are jammed.”
“Thank you, Mr. Clay,” Goldie excused herself; “I’d better get the girls ready.”
Shotgun whispered, “Thanks, boss.”
“Sure, Shotgun, no problem.
Working quickly, Jazz and Goldie took off in her roadster. The boys loaded Faith and Hope into Jack’s Andromeda. It was a tight squeeze, but the girls were small.
Jack steered the flyer over the crowded streets, and the little girls oohed, and ahhed at the sight. “Shotgun, I want to get Goldie out of her contract as soon as possible. You can’t be a dad when an agency owns your kids.”
“Boss, that’s not necessary. I told you I can’t pay you.”
“Don’t argue, Shotgun. What else is money for?”
In a few turns, they joined the rush hour traffic on Nodlon’s level-ways. Jack no longer had to commute, but even he noticed the traffic headed out of the city was heavy, and light going downtown.
Puttin’ on the Ritz
At the daycare, his logos drew many stares at the Andromeda. Jack and Shotgun each carried in a girl, and they were mobbed by children. Clay signed their drawings, and passed out cards. He laughed to himself, thinking of birthday clowns. They knew sleight of hand tricks, juggling, and fire eating, but his magic was real.
The manager accepted his offer of a magic show. He created icy polar bears and penguins, and illusions of ballerinas and clowns. He made toys fly, and he juggled all the balls in the room.
“Look ma, no hands.” Squeals of delight, and laughter encouraged him.
He made a fat, orange cat appear from a bookcase stacked with toys. The cat purred, and played with the children. The cat tickled and licked the children with the help of his telekinetics. A mouse scurried across the floor, and the cat scampered after it. After each of the cat’s hopeless attempts to catch the mouse, the toddlers giggled and laughed. For a minute, he forgot about the Zodiac and Mars.
Heavy metal riffs interrupted his show, and jarred him back to reality, “Clay here.”
The Inspector appeared on the caster’s tiny vid screen. “Are you busy, Jack?”
“Yes, I’m entertaining a room full of toddlers and kindergarteners.”
“Oh, sorry to interrupt,” Gumshoe winked, “are they paying customers?”
“No, Gumshoe, I’m doing a loss leader, nurturing future fans. They’re not a tough crowd though, and I’m getting a lot of laughs. What’s up?”
“A new development has cropped up, and I want you to see it.”
“Sure, where are we going?”
“Do you know where the Ritz is?”
“Yeah, we’re not far from there now.”
“Can you join me there in a half hour?”
“No problem, see you there.” He wrapped up his show, signed a few more drawings, and bid the children farewell.
They made it to the Ritz with time to spare.
The fancy hotel was a bustle of activity. Uniformed officers and crime scene technicians flowed in and out of the service entrance. Gumshoe’s cruiser was parked in the alley. Clay squeezed his flyer between the cruiser and a mobile unit.
They climbed out of the flyer, and Shotgun cinched his satchel strap. “Looks like the place.”
A police elf approached as they made their way to the loading dock.
“Gentlemen, I’m Macmillan,” said the elf, “Inspector Lestrayed sent me to look for you. Please follow me.” The elf led them to the loading dock, through the bay, and towards the service entrances.
“Gumshoe’s getting more efficient,” said Shotgun.
“He’s an overworked and underpaid flatfoot,” said Jack, “and he’s aging too.”
“The Inspector?” said the elf. “Oh, yeah, he’s a straight shooter. Never hear a bad word about him.”
“Agreed,” said Shotgun. “He’s a pretty decent guy for a human.”
The officer opened the ballroom door, “Welcome to the Galaxy ballroom, gentlemen.”
“Thanks,” said Shotgun going in, “but they’ve cancelled all the dances.”