nster Collector in:
Of Fai, Fire, and Fur
season one, episode six
RyFT
Copyright 2011
Cover Painting by
Lisa Marie Raezer
Illustrations by
T.A. Cuce’
This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to
persons living or dead are purely coincidental.
JAZZ, Monster Collector
Season One: Earth’s Lament
RyFT
Episode-5: Of Fai, Fire, and Fur
I knew I was dreaming because the sun was shining, and in my life all it ever did was rain.
I was called Jazz then, I was a deferred species bond collector, which was a polite way of saying monster hunter which was a polite was of saying monster exterminator. I never cared much about being polite, but Parry, my secretary/business manager seemed to feel differently.
I was sitting on a bleach-white sandy beach, under a shining sun, with the waves lapping at my feet and soaking the end of my long, pleated skirt. In the distant haze stood a tall, crumbled stone tower, the remnants of an ancient light-house that had been intentionally and brutally destroyed. I knew because I was the one who’d blown the accursed thing up, but that’s a story for another dream.
For most of my life dreams have meant a lot more than pointless firings of random brain synapses and bits of underdone potatoes. What they usually are is messages and warnings, and once there, inside the dream, I can choose how I move around in them—it’s something like lucid dreaming, but it’s clearer, more direct. I guess it’s more like watching a movie that you can interact with. It’s a gift, I suppose, not that it’s ever done me much good, I acquired from too much time spent traveling in the void, the empty gap between dimensions. It’s called, Deep Conscious Knowing, but whatever that particular message or warning might have been, I had no idea.
I heard a billowing of wind and the snap of sails. On the horizon a three-masted schooner was cutting north, rocking in a building sea. I heard the wave rolling over a moment too late. I looked up to see its rise, a crest of water six feet high, just as it broke upon me.
I opened my eyes and began to cough up the cold water I’d inhaled in surprise. One, super bright mallow powered light was shinning like a sun in my eyes. I saw a huge figure in silhouette toss a metal pail aside with a noisy clang. I was sitting in a big, echoy room, in a magically fabricated chair, with my hands tied behind me, soaking wet.
When I’d finished choking, I raised my aching head and tried to get my eyes to focus, but I was partially blinded by the intense light. Wherever felt big, like a factory or warehouse. Water dripped off the ends of my short hair and ran down my face. The back of my skull felt like it had been cracked and my brain burned with a searing ache.
“Good morning sleepy-head,” a gruff, thick voice spoke from the shadows. I narrowed my eyes, trying to pierce the dark. Smoke hung in the glow of the light and the stink of cigar made me wish I was still choking. I shivered, sniffling through my nose.
“Aww, she’s stuffy. Mickey, get her a tissue,” the disembodied voice said.
“OK,” a second, really deep voice said, and I heard huge, padded feet start to walk off.
“Don’t be stupid, stupid!” the gruff voice snapped and I heard the dull thump of a smack against thick fur.
“What, you don’t want I should get her a tissue?” The deep voiced one was obviously big, and tough, and really stupid, but I still couldn’t guess at its species.
“No I don’t want you should get her a tissue, you imbecile! Now go get me a chair!”
“Whatever,” the big one quipped and padded off.
“Hey,” I said and cleared my throat. “I really could use a tissue, and a hot cup of tea.”
“Could you now?” the other one asked and stepped in front of the light. “Would you like me to fetch your slippers too?” I still couldn’t see his features, but I was starting to get a suspicion. He was dressed in an expensive tailored suit and tie and held a thick cigar between two equally thick, gray fingers. His shadowed face was covered in curly, orange hair and he had two extremely long, and sharp, molars protruding from his lower jaw.
The creep was an augmented island troll. I knew this midget—midget by troll measure anyway.
“Nah, I don’t want my slippers soiled when I shove my foot up your ass, jerk,” I snapped back.
His eyes narrowed and he growled deep in his broad chest, setting a vibration in the floor.
The big one returned and set a chair down behind his boss, who sat. He took a long draw from the stogie then blew a big lungful of smoke in my face.
I started to choke again and his goon started to chortle like a school-girl.
The pigmy-sized troll leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs; his big, bare, articulate foot was tapping to the tempo of my coughing. He waited until I stopped.
“I think you know the routine so I’ll get right to it—what were you doing in Clowntown?”
“I stopped for milk and bread.”
He stared at me in deep consideration and took another draw from the cigar. “Mickey,” he said with a mouthful of smoke.
His associate stepped into the light at last. He was huge, seven foot at least. Unlike his hunched boss, he stood straight and tall, was covered in brown hair, and was naked except for a huge trench coat and a matching fedora. I had no idea what he was; he looked like a refugee from the planet of the apes. He opened a huge, hairy hand and smacked me across the face.
I was surprised my head didn’t fly off. “Ahhh,” I cried with the flash of a sharp sting. When the silver of pain had diminished to a dull chartreuse, I cracked my watering eyes open and shot the smug troll my best stink eye stare. Blood trickled from my nose and I felt the ends of my mouth start to curl up. I made a mental note of the current score.
The island troll, a wannabe crime lord named Boss Geeters, leaned forward, resting his free hand on a thigh, and took a long, hard look at my face. “What the hell do you have to smile about, sweetheart?”
“I’m just picturing the exact size and shape of the hole I’m going to put in you when I get out of here,” I said, letting the expression broaden until he saw the white of my teeth.
He leaned back in the chair, the cigar had a huge ash hanging to the end of it that seemed to defy gravity. “Funny girl. Don’t you think she’s funny, Mickey?”
The huge thing standing to the side of the light appeared to shrug. “No. Not really.”
Boss Geeter tapped the ash lose at last, letting it drop with a spark to the floor. “What makes you think you’re getting out of here, Monster Collector?”
My smile shifted into a sneer. “Because that’s what I do.”
“Ha,” he spat blowing retched breath in my face. “See Mickey, funny girl.”
“I don’t get it,” the big oaf grumbled.
“OK darling, once more, what business had you in clown territory?” the troll asked with a new level of seriousness in his eyes.
I looked over at the brute beside him. I’d never seen anything like it, really, and I’d seen a lot. But something about it was ever so faintly familiar, like maybe something I’d just heard about somewhere, or had seen on TV—wow, hadn’t thought about television in a long time. But Boss Geeter was right, I was tied up tight, was, pound for pound completely out-powered, my primary weapons were still hanging in my holsters inside my office, and I had no idea where I was. I was totally screwed.
Then I felt something warm and charged with static against my wrist
, something was pulling at the ropes, something small and I had a good idea what it was. But I wanted to make sure.
“I’ll tell you if you tell me something,” I said.
He nodded, his thick, troll lips pursed out, and he waved the stub of the smoking cigar in the air. “Sure, I’ll humor you, I got nothing but time.”
I shifted my gaze to Mickey. “How long have you two been dating?”
Mickey sprung forward and applied an un-requested smack to the side of my head. Despite being ready, and rolling my head with the blow, it still stung like hell. The pain in the back of my head flared as well—it felt like a firecracker had gone off inside my skull. “Ahh!” I kept my head turned as I waited for the pain to subside and the spots to clear from my eyes. Sure enough, Moxie, the little flower fairy bound to me, was hovering over my fettered wrists. She was glowing brightly, her little, pudgy Mae West face was scarlet red, her little fists were all balled up and she made little threatening swings in the air.
I gave her a curt head shake. The last thing I