Ambergris: A Challenge at a Farmhouse

The Anderson farmhouse was imposing, consisting of three floors of living space, a basement, and an attic. The entire adult population of the town had attended their burial and had managed to squeeze themselves into the first-floor rooms. Amber grabbed a plate from the kitchen buffet table and filled it to overflowing before taking a seat at the dining room table next to Grey. She sat quietly stuffing forkfuls of food into her mouth while he talked to one of the local deputies about the fire at the motel. "Who called about the fire?"

"The night manager, Fred. He smelled smoke coming from the room and grabbed a nearby fire extinguisher. When he opened the door, he was hit by a lot of smoke and steam. Just as he pulled the pin on the canister, according to Fred, the fire just quit. Poof! Gone. It was out when we got there. He opened the room for us. Sheriff went in first. Smell was something awful."

"Photos?" Amber mumbled with a mouth full of food.

"Is it possible for me to see photographs of the room?" Grey asked.

"Sure. You want digital? I can email them to you," the deputy said as he pulled out his phone. "Just let me make a note."

"Do you have copies of them on your phone?" Grey pulled out his phone. "We can transfer them directly. Save you some data charges."

The deputy located the file on his phone. "That's the folder you want."

Amber turned her attention back to the ten-year-old boy. He had barely touched the plate of food in front of him and seemed on the verge of tears. He had been twirling the tines of his fork on the paper plate, basically rearranging the food on it. Suddenly, he dropped the fork and bolted from the table running up the stairs. His aunt started up the stairs after him, but the minister's wife stopped her. Amber wafted up the stairs while the two women argued over the right thing to do for the boy.

Amber paused briefly in his second-floor bedroom and glanced at the fantasy posters on his wall and the science-fiction books in his room. She could hear his footsteps echo as he ran up the second flight of stairs. A quick pass through the wall into his parent's bedroom gave her a sense of their level of devotion to their only child. There were photo albums by the mother's side of the matrimonial bed and several framed photographs of his from birth to the present day hanging on the walls

AS Amber passed to the third floor, she found abandoned bedrooms where the family had lived before the death of Mr. Anderson's parents. They had inherited the house and moved down to the lower floor several years ago. The remnants of the boy's nursery remained with a slight coating of dust. By the time she had finished examining the floor, the boy had found his way up into the attic.

Michael Anderson was huddled against an old steamer trunk that had been shoved beneath an eave. The only light streamed in through a porthole window located just below the peak of the roof. The attic was dimly lit and dusty. Spiders had covered a corner with cobwebs. Amber could feel a cold draft swirling about the room. Tears rolled down his cheeks dampening the knees of his jeans. Amber walked slowly toward the sobbing child.  "I won't hurt you." Amber tried to reach out to him, but something slapped her hand aside.  "I'm here to protect you from whatever killed your parents." She tried to move closer, but something stood in her way. She kept talking. "It wasn't you. I know you think it had to be, that you saw them die. But you didn't kill them."

"Kill them," a ghostly whisper echoed Amber's last words. A sudden gust of cold air tossed Amber to the other end of the attic where an old dressing mirror stood. Glass shards exploded outward from the frame while Amber fell forward. She picked herself up from the floor and shook loose the glass fragments.

After rising from the pile of broken glass, Amber chose her next words carefully, "I'm here to help Michael."

"Help Michael," the whisper echoed. "Keep him safe."

"Yes, we must keep him safe," she replied to the wraith. "You know what I am."

"Trouble," the wraith whispered. "Your kind are always trouble."

"I am Ambergris," she whispered in reply. "I cause no harm to the innocent."

"Your name means nothing," the wraith replied. "I am his grandmother, Isabel. I protect him."

"Yet you hide up here," Amber moved closer to Isabel. "Because the real danger is down below?"

"Too many shadows," Isabel explained, "I cannot see."

Amber smiled. "Please tell me that you are tied to the boy and not the house." Isabel nodded. "He will be safe with his aunt and uncle, but you must tell him what he is. My friend, Grey, and I will deal with the one who made him an orphan. Your grand-daughter and her husband are in danger."

Amber accompanied Isabel over to her great-grandson and properly introduced the young clairvoyant to his ghostly guardian. While the two of them became better acquainted, Amber made her way downstairs in time to rescue her unfinished plate of food. When she returned the two women were still arguing. Michael's aunt stood her ground, raising her voice to match the volume of the minister's wife. The argument ceased when Michael made his way back down the stairs, choosing to cling to his aunt and keeping distant from the other woman.

Ambergris: A Storm at a Funeral

The cemetery rested on the top of a hill overlooking the town below. The morning mist gave way to dark clouds accompanied by a light rain. By midmorning, the rain had become a steady downpour under a black sky. Grey Walker parked his SUV behind the couple's sedan. He watched them head to the gravesite before stepping out of the vehicle and following. He knew that Amber was already there keeping an eye on the mourners and looking out for trouble.

A large tent had been raised over the gravesite. Lanterns had been hung beneath the canopy to provide a reasonable amount of light. The minister of the church stood clutching his Bible while awaiting the arrival of the attendees. The couple from the diner took a seat near the recently orphaned boy. He was about ten years old. Amber stood across from him shifting her weight uneasily. She detested funerals. Humans were so overly sentimental toward the deceased, so unwilling to speak ill of the dead.

There were no holes dug. There were no caskets to bury. The headstone had already been set, ready to receive the ashes of each of the deceased. Grey found the arrangements disconcerting. Normally ashes would be placed in urns to be buried and not placed inside the gravestone. Equally disturbing was the distance being kept by the locals. Only the minister's wife and his aunt and uncle sat with the boy. No one stood behind him. The townsfolk in attendance stood in a semi-circle outside the tent forming a cluster of black umbrellas. Occasionally, a hand would reach out to pull Amber back into the safety of the gathered onlookers, but she wasn't afraid and wrestled free.

Amber took a seat across from the boy and stared into the black pools of his eyes. Something had taken hold of him. Grey soon joined her, propping his umbrella against the empty chair to his left. "There's no one else coming," she whispered toward the minister. "Start the burial." The minister started by reading Psalm Twenty-three from his leatherbound Bible. He spoke about how devoted the couple were to each other and how they were loving parents to their son. Amber kept her eyes on the boy throughout the entire ceremony.

After the all the ashes were poured into the holes in the headstone and the last rose laid on the top of the gravestone, people started to offer their condolences on their way out of the cemetery. Amber and Grey stood and waited until the last of the townsfolk had left. Grey approached the couple. "Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence, I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," Mr. Lawrence replied with a firm grip on Grey's hand. "I get the feeling that I've seen you somewhere before."

"Last night, at the diner," Grey answered. "My name is Grey Walker, I'm a private investigator. I was there with my associate, Amber Gray. She was worried about you. Woman's intuition. Sometimes her inklings turn out to be real." Grey paused before asking, "I'm curious, why cremation? In cases of sudden death, there is usually an autopsy to determine the cause."

Mr. Lawrence turned to the minister hoping for an answer. "Well, there wasn't much choice really. The Andersons had died in a fire. Their bodies were badly charred. Cremation seemed only natural."

Amber smiled. She stepped forward and hugged the boy tightly. Inside his head, he was fighting off demons. "If he only knew," Amber thought. Amber struggled to make sense of it all, but nothing seemed to be happening in any particular order. There had been a fire. His parents had died. He had been spending the night at a friend's house while his parents were out of town. On their way back home, they had stopped at the diner for some dessert, then settled in for the night at the motel. Somehow, he had witnessed all this. At the moment, it was his waking nightmare, along with facing an uncertain future.

Amber had already searched Room 101. Her curiosity had been piqued by Grey speculating that the room belonged to the night manager. The smell of smoke still lingered in the air. There were no signs of accelerant nor fire suppressant in the room. No signs of water or powder. The fire snuffed itself out as mysteriously as it ignited. Amber needed to get her hands on the ashes. The answers were there as to whether the boy or something else was responsible for the fire.

"We should go," Amber suggested. "The guests are waiting at the house. They have set up a meal for the family."

"Yes, we really should be going," Mr. Lawrence agreed. The minister's wife quietly herded the boy along to their car. Amber and Grey followed the Lawrences back to their car. As soon as Grey had cleared the gate, Amber returned to the grave and stuck her hand into the ashes. Although the day's rain had lessened, a deluge of hail and lighting struck the ground around the small tent. The anger was unmistakable, but the source still remained a mystery. Still, she had managed to glean some answers before deciding to make herself scarce.

Ambergris: A Night at a Motel

The Wayside Inn was a small motel just down the road from the diner. It had ten rooms, three of which had been rented out for the night. Grey parked the SUV beneath the carport in front of the rental office and went inside. The night manager had just handed him the room key when Amber entered. "I thought I told you to wait in the car," he said without turning to face her.

"I'm bored," she said while looking over some brochures advertising local attractions. "And I'm hungry."

"You just ate," Grey stated. "Now get back in the car. I have our room key. You can watch television." Turning to the night manager, he intoned, "Please tell me there's a TV in the room. It's one of the few distractions that keep her out of trouble." The night manager nodded and Grey smiled, "Thank you."

Grey sighed with relief when he settled into the driver's seat. "You should not have gone in there. There's something about the night manager. I can't quite put my finger on it."

Grey backed the SUV into the space in from of room 106 and shut off the engine. He opened the hatch and grabbed the bags while Amber opened the door from inside the room. While he placed the luggage on the racks provided, she plopped down on the bed closest to the door. By the time he was done using the bathroom, she was sound asleep. He pulled the quilt off his bed and covered her with it before going outside for a walk.

Rooms 108 and 109 had been rented out to the hunters. Both men were busy preparing their guns for the early morning hunt while a porn movie played in the background. The men had decidedly different tastes when it came to sexual fantasies. Grey smiled. He wondered if Room 108 knew that Room 109 was into gay porn. Not that it mattered. After confirming that Room 110 was vacant, he started to walk back toward the rental office. Along the way, he checked in on his sleeping partner.

Grey stopped at Room 103. He was tempted to knock, but couldn't think of a good reason for doing so. He pressed his ear against the window to the room and listened. What he heard convinced him that they were busy making their own porn and he moved on. He stood for several minutes outside Room 101. The front windows had been painted black. He walked around to the back of the building. The bathroom window had also been painted black. A square of plywood had been jammed against the window where a corner of the glass had been broken. Grey walked down the length of the building, quickly examining each bathroom window as he walked past. Satisfied that the motel was relatively secure, he went back to his room.

In the early morning hours, Grey startled awake from a noise outside. He rose from the chair where he had slept and ran outside. "If I were you, I'd put her down - gently - and apologize."

"I caught this creature leaving the room. Who knows what mischief she was up to." The night manager slowly lowered Amber to the ground and loosened his grip around her neck.

Amber smiled. "Apology not necessary. I was just making sure that nothing had snuck into the adjoining rooms. The couple are all nicely tucked in. No sign of trouble, just the seem sense of foreboding. I don't think their trouble is here, despite Freddy being a bloodsucker."

"Freddy?" Grey turned to the night manager.

"Freidrich Miller," the night manager replied.

"I take it you live, so to speak, in Room 101 during the day?"

"I also don't prey on my guests," he replied.

Amber stared at the mist rolling out of the forest. "I may have spoken too soon." Her amber eyes focused on a large shadow hidden in the mist. "What is that?"

The night manager laughed. "That is an old friend, a shadow-walker."

"I feel like I've fallen into a children's game." Amber sang, "One of these things is not like the others..." 

"...One of these things just doesn't belong." Grey found himself finishing the lyrics. "That would be you."

A large black bear emerged from the mist. The sound of a pump-action shotgun being cocked drew everyone's attention. Before the owner could fire, Amber was standing in front of him, speaking in a strange tone. "This is a dream. There is no bear. You will go back to your room and put away your gun. Then you will settle into your bed. You will not remember the dream when you wake up. Now go." As the hunter turned and left, the black bear slowly melted into a raven-haired woman. 

"Justine Blackbear owns the motel. I work for her," Freddy explained to Grey. Turning to face Justine, "how was the party?"

"No one died," she sighed before continuing, "I should have left last night. I hate sleeping on a couch." Nodding toward Grey, "who's the day-walker?"

"My name is Grey Walker. And, yes, my last name is actually Walker. I'm a private investigator on my way home, or I was until I got side-tracked. Amber, my companion, sensed that a young couple was in danger."

"Ah, the imp." Justine smiled. "She's one of the good ones?"

Ambergris: A Stop at a Diner

Grey Walker had been driving since sunset with his partner asleep in the back seat. It had been a long day for both of them, but he wasn't worn out. Still, he thought he could use a cup of coffee. He pulled off the highway at the first sign of a place to eat. As he slowed, he could hear Amber stirring in the back seat. "Where are we?" she asked as she sat up and rubbed her eyes.

"At Chet's Diner," Grey replied as he drove the SUV into the parking lot. "I need a cup of coffee and you could do with some grub."

"Grub?" Amber replied. "Oh, you mean food." Amber sighed. "Fine," she said while pulling on her white leather walking shoes.

Grey backed the SUV into a space near the door and shut off the engine. A quick glance at the rear view mirror let him know that Amber had already left. "Just once," he muttered to himself, "I'd like her to use a door like a normal human being." But she wasn't one, not anymore than he was. But at least he made the effort to act human, to pass the sniff test so to speak.

Amber was busy playing with the locks on the door when he arrived at the top of the three steps at the diner entrance. "Stop that," he chided. "Let's go inside, and leave the locks how you found them."

"Unlocked, it is," she replied as she pulled open the door. "I hope they have hot apple pie." After following Grey inside, she added, "and raspberry ice cream."

"Behave yourself. No ordering anything that isn't on the menu. And no leering, lusting, or whatever." Grey felt uncomfortable the moment he crossed the threshold. He smiled at the waitress before choosing a booth with a good view of the place. The diner was larger than it looked from the outside. Maybe it was a matter of perspective, but Grey wasn't taking any chances. "Amber, I want you to take a good hard look around us and tell me what you see."

Amber smiled, recognizing his code for using her special sight. She turned her attention toward the other customers. "The two men in the dining room are hunters. They didn't get anything today and are discussing their plans for tomorrow. Their truck is parked to the side of the building. There are several shotguns and rifles locked inside. The couple in the other booth are on their way to a funeral. She's pregnant, as of last night, but doesn't know it yet. They've been trying for years, but couldn't afford the treatments. They are discussing taking in their orphaned relative, wondering how hard it will be for them to get custody of the boy."

"What about the people who work here?" 

"They are good souls, but they are worried about us for some reason. We are the odd couple. They know you have a gun on you and are wondering if you are here to rob the place. There's a gun near the register and the cook has a shotgun in the kitchen. I think we should order food when the waitress finally shows up."

Grey never ceased to be amazed by Amber's ability to see things in their entirety, to grasp the whole of a situation. He set down his menu and turned over the coffee cup that had been sitting on the place mat, signaling that he was ready to order. Amber had done the same, adding two packets worth of sugar before the coffee was poured.

Grey settled for the burger platter, which included a side of fries and a pickle. Amber ordered breakfast, scrapple and eggs with a side of pancakes. After coating everything in maple syrup, she quickly devoured the meal. Still hungry, she ordered some apple pie a la mode, settling for vanilla ice cream and raspberry sauce. She took her time with dessert, savoring every bite. She would have licked the plate when she finished, but a look from Grey was enough to stop her.

Amber followed Grey as he walked to the register to pay for the meal. She stopped at the booth where the couple had been. Their dishes had not been cleared away. When her fingertips touched the tabletop, a sense of foreboding hit her. Dark shadows stalked the couple at the motel where they were staying. She met Grey at the door on the way out. Once outside, she slipped into the front passenger seat. "We need to check into that motel just down the road. People there need our help."

"I see that you are feeling better," Grey remarked as he started the engine. Amber smiled as they pulled out of the restaurant lot and headed down the road to the Wayside Inn.

Candy Corn

 Strings of candy corn laced the bare branches of the tree in the front yard of the old two-story frame house. Ghostly sheets fluttered in the breeze while a cold northeasterly wind tortured the flames of the candles inside the carved pumpkins decorating the front porch. Autumn leaves littered the weed-strewn lawn. The rusted front gate creaked and scraped the walkway when the old man opened it.

 The old man carefully stepped over the patches of moss that coated the walkway. The grey porch steps groaned from his weight while the railing shed splinters wherever he grabbed hold. There was an area on the porch deck where nervous pacing had worn away the grey paint. He lifted the long tail of the bronze squirrel and allowed the knocker to fall. The sound of the squirrel's bottom hitting the metal plate echoed through the house.

 The faint sound of footsteps approached the door. A small pale face peeped through the window beside it. The old man smiled and offered a friendly wave. He listened patiently while the locks on the other side were slowly undone. He heard the creaking of a slide, the turn of a key scraping against the inside of a deadbolt, and the rustling of a small chain. The last lock was just out of reach of the small child inside. It was unclear whether the high lock was meant to keep strangers out or the child inside. Through the door, he could hear the child struggling to reach the lock. Eventually, the child grabbed hold of the ancient padlock. Placing its feet against the door and slowly walking up it, the child was able to pull the lock firmly away from the door. The nails holding the latch to the door frame gave way, leaving the waif dangling for a few seconds before dropping to the floor. Slowly, the crystal doorknob began to turn. 

 The hinges groaned as the child pulled open the door. She was wearing a pink frock decorated with red roses on the collar. Her pink socks complemented her red patent leather Maryjanes. Her raven hair, tied back with a narrow red ribbon, stood out in sharp contrast to her pale complexion. She barely stood an inch above the doorknob. Her dark brown eyes went well with her sallow cheeks. The old man smiled again at the frail sight in front of him. "Hello, dear child, are your parents at home?" The little girl nodded. "May I come in?" the old man inquired. Again, the child nodded before stepping aside. After the old man entered, he turned to watch the child while she closed the door. He noticed the dangling lock as it slammed against the door frame, shedding a nail in the collision. The dislodged nail slowly fell to the floor then bounced and rolled to the side of the hallway. 

 The old man watched as the little girl skipped down the long dark hallway. The dimly lit interior of the house was from sunlight filtering through brown stained curtains. Cobwebs occupied the corners of the ceilings. He took a few steps down the hall, stopping to check the two front rooms. Both sitting rooms were empty. Peering through the doorways on the right, he could see into the dining room where several rays of sunlight had punched their way through the yellowed lace curtains. The table was bare except for a candelabra coated in cobwebs and dust. After his eyes adjusted, he saw that there was a solid coating of dust everywhere. 

 The old man continued down the hallway, stopping to investigate a door beneath the stairs. Inside were shelves full of bags. He reached inside and pulled one out. It was a bag of candy corn. After examining a few more bags, he realized that all the shelves were full of bags of candy corn. There was candy corn of all colors. Some of the bags were decades old. He closed the closet door and moved on down the hallway to the kitchen where he found the girl busy stringing candy corn and pumpkins at the kitchen table. Candy corn was everywhere. The pots on the stove were full of candy corn. All the containers on the counters were full of candy corn. Even the sink overflowed with candy corn. But her parents remained unseen. 

 The old man made his way back to the bottom of the stairs. Looking up the stairs, he saw nothing but cobwebs and dust. There was no sign that the child had ever left the first floor. Still, he had to know if she were truly alone in the house. He climbed the stairs slowly, pausing to break through dust-ridden cobwebs along the way. At the top of the stairs, he opened the first door. It was an old-fashioned bathroom with a pedestal sink and a clawfoot tub. He turned to the right and opened the next door. Inside the bedroom, he noticed the dust-coated furnishings of a child's room and a slight musty odor. Down the hall, at the front of the house, was an equally dust-covered child's playroom. Headless dolls sat on a bookshelf. An overturned hobby horse lay in the center of the room. Across from the playroom was the guest bedroom. The quilt on the bed had faded from the sunlight pouring in through the open curtains. And down the hall, toward the back of the house, he entered the parent's bedroom. The large bedroom reeked of mold and decay. Dead flies lay gathered in piles around the room covered by layers of dust and cobwebs. Flecks of white, yellow, and orange stood out in contrast to the black bodies of dead flies scattered over the yellowed quilt. Beneath the quilt and yellowed sheets, two skeletons lay in repose. Satisfied that the child was alone, the old man grinned.

 The old man walked downstairs and relocked the front door. After picking up the loose nail, he used his thumb to drive it and its companions back into the door jamb. When he arrived in the kitchen doorway, the child was busy carving a pumpkin and humming to herself. He stood for a moment in the doorway and watched her carve the round eyes, a teardrop nose, and grinning mouth. Her skill with a knife was impressive for a child of her tender age. By the time he crept up beside her, she was busy digging out the seeds and pulp with a large wooden spoon. "Sweetie," he implored, "didn't your parents teach you not to invite strangers into your house when you are all alone?" She smiled at the old man before replying in a wispy voice. "Didn't your parents teach you not to go through people's closets?"

 The following morning, the old house had a new decoration on the front porch. The old man's clothes, stuffed with bags of candy corn, sat in an old rocking chair. On top was the grinning face of a freshly carved jack-o-lantern. And a small child was climbing back inside the house through an open window.

 

The Dragon Swordmaster - 10

The Plot Foiled

The creature that had posed as Nerina laughed. "You can't stop me or my minions," it boasted. Cynara lifted her sword touching the tip of it under the beast's chin.

"I can stop you," Cynara replied. "Your minions are already facing an army of dragons and a forest of angry trees. We have foreseen your intentions. If you do not leave this realm, you shall most assuredly die here."

"Then you would condemn the Elven princess to die?" the creature sneered. A spark slowly inched its way up the shaft of Cynara's sword, snapping loudly when it contacted the creature's chin.

"You underestimate the power in this room. While I hold you here, Nerina will be free from your prison. And when she returns, you will die along with any of your breed that are foolish enough to challenge us." Another spark struck the beast's chin, cracking louder than the first. All eyes were on the two at the center of the table. No one noticed that two of the players had left the room. "Do you have a name? Or shall I choose one for you?" Cynara grinned as broadly as a dragon could. Cynara stabbed her sword into the cooked boar's head at her feet and raised it to her maw. After swallowing the whole head, she turned the tip of her sword back to Arnold. A small spark travelled down the edge of the sword, but before it could strike him, Arnold leapt backward away from the table.

The guests left the table and took cover behind the dragon as she sneered at the monster across from her. Cynara left over the table scattering plates and silverware to the floor. Tapping the beast on its shoulder, she announced, "I dub thee Arnold, Lord of the Boars. And I intend to claim your head." The creature started to snicker, then broke into loud laughter. He pressed his hands together to form a small fireball, but before he could throw it, the tip of Cynara's sword emitted a bolt of lightning causing the fireball to fizzle out.

Arnold clapped his hands together and drew forth a larger fireball. Cynara raised her sword and willed it to glow. A bolt of lightning flew out the tip of the sword cutting through the fireball. The fireball crackled and sparked while the bolt poured energy into it. Arnold struggled to maintain control over the growing object in his hands. He focused his thoughts on pushing the fireball away. Off to the side of the room, a young elf ran into the arms of her father. The creature fell for the distraction; his concentration broke. Cynara gave one last push against his fireball, cutting through the other side and reducing the creature to ashes.

The Dragon Swordmaster - 9

The Damning Revelation

Betrys Gwillam, having heard more than enough of the adults' sniping, suddenly announced, "If Sir Linden wishes, he could marry me." It had the desired effect of bringing the table conversation to a halt.

"Betrys," Annwyn chided, "you are much too young to be married. And look what you have done."

Sir Linden had developed a noticeably green tint to his cheeks from the sudden attention. He was however perplexed that the Mage knew the details of his idle chatter with his horse. "Well," he thought, "not exactly my horse, but the one I rode in on." And then it dawned on him. He let out a hearty laugh. Turning to Lord Black, he winked. "I trust your lordship did not find the conversation along the way to be a burden."

"If anything, my good Sir, it spurred me onward." Lord Black offered his empty goblet to a passing servant carrying a pitcher of ale. He leaned in toward the knight. "Please forgive me for my earlier comment. I'm well aware that trees rarely marry outside their species."

Cynara watched Nerina slip some powder into Cedric's goblet. She placed her hand beneath the table and gripped the hilt of her sword.

"I wouldn't drink that, brother," Gilian warned. "The elf may have poisoned it." Cedric lifted the goblet to his lips and pretended to sip. Smiling, he winked at his younger brother before pouring the contents down the front of Nerina's dress.

Nerina and Greydawn rose out of their chairs. Greydawn snarled, "I have never in my life been so abused. May I remind you that we are your guests?"

"Guests do not plot against their hosts. Guests do not send assassins after other guests." Cynara glared at Greydawn.

"Calm, my child," Lord Black advised. "This is not a battlefield. Besides, it is my understanding that the elves do not want to offend the Dark. Is this not so, Master Greydawn?"

"Of course not, Lord Black. We would not be so foolish," Greydawn sputtered.

"Too bad the same cannot be said for the Eastern Empire. I was set upon by elves on my way here this morning. It left me in such a blind rage that I ended up challenged by the palace guard when I arrived." Cynara rose to her feet. "One of you is not who you pretend to be." Drawing her sword, Cynara assumed her dragon form. She pointed her sword across the table resting the tip against Nerina's throat.

"Have you gone mad?" Greydawn stammered, visibly shaking while Cynara lowered her sword slowly toward Nerina's heart. With a swift flick of her wrist, Cynara severed the necklace around the young elf's neck. Greydawn knocked over his chair as he withdrew from the stranger beside him.

The Dragon Swordmaster - 8

The Marriage Conversation

While the servants brought the feast to the table, King Edgar introduced the guests, starting with the most recent arrivals. "Our friends from Alfgard, Lord Greydawn and Lady Nerina,” he raised his goblet, “to their health."

"To their health," a chorus replied.

Lord Greydawn stood. "We are truly blessed by this day. I have come not merely for the naming feast, but to offer the hand of my daughter to Cedric that they may bear a blood treaty between us." At the same time, a servant leaned over Cynara's shoulder to place a silver platter on the table. She smiled as she slowly rotated the head of the roasted boar to face Lady Nerina. Surrounding the head were cooked quail chicks still in their shell. Cynara grabbed two of them, though all of them were likely meant for her consumption.

Cedric turned to Nerina and smiled, "Perhaps we can discuss this further after dinner." Nerina smiled back and nodded.

"Our friend from Arboria within the Great Forest, Sir Linden Arbor, to his health." Another chorus followed, while the serving staff placed bowls of ripe red pears on the table.

Sir Linden stood. "The Kingdom of Arboria pledges its continued support for the House of Gwillam. We will stand for its defense should such a need arise."

"From the Dark Kingdom of the Mages, Lord Onyx Black, to his health." Again, the chorus of voices replied. The servants placed platters of boar meat on the table.

Lord Black remained seated. "There are dark portents ahead, but the Dark Kingdom will continue to strengthen its alliances." He stuck his fork into a thick slab of roast boar and hoisted it onto his plate.

"And last, though not least," the younger son rose smiling at his companion, "we are honored by the presence of a swordmaster from the Eastern Empire, the Lady Cynara."

The revelation so startled Lady Nerina that she poured ale down the front of her frock. Lord Black laughed and winked at Cynara. Cynara rose and lifted her chalice. "Milord, the Eastern Empire pledges fealty to the House of Gwillam and the Principality of Weston for as long as both shall stand."

"Is it true," Sir Linden inquired, "that a swordmaster is never without their sword? If so, I would imagine you to be quite uncomfortable without it."

"We are versed in many forms of combat. Though our swords are never far away should we have need of them." Cynara cracked open an egg and began to peel away the shell.

"It must be hard for you," Lady Nerina spoke as she continued to wring the ale from her frock, "living among those vile creatures. Aren't you afraid of being eaten?"

"I can assure you; I am in no danger among my own kind," Cynara popped the entire chick into her mouth and swallowed. "Does your father have your approval to offer you in marriage? Among the drakon, it would be an offense."

"Although Nerina has a mind of her own, she is most obedient. She would make a good wife. I have raised her well in these matters," Lord Greydawn replied.

Annwyl Gwillam turned to Greydawn, "You speak in contradictions Lord Greydawn. No woman is obedient who has a mind of her own. My beloved Edgar can attest to that."

“As can I,” Gilian whispered to Cynara.

"Tell me, what do the elves hope to gain from such a union?" King Edgar asked. "I have no need of a grandchild as yet. When the time comes, we will invite the eligible females to court. My wife was a stable maid, but she charmed me nonetheless."

 "As I stated earlier, to stiffen the bond between our two kingdoms," Greydawn replied. "A noble cause, is it not?"

"To marry into the lineage, then?" Gilian responded. "I can assure you that it will not gain you the kingdom. It is only with the approval of our people and myself that my father named my brother as successor. Cedric has prepared for this and I will defend his right to rule as I defend our father's. As far as marriage alliances go, we accept them only if the other kingdom involved will honor them."

"My son speaks the truth of the law," Annwyl smiled, "but he leaves out his own betrothal."

"Mother, this is not the time..."

"Nonsense, Gilian! It is exactly the time. When your bride arrived early this morning, you did not recognize her beneath her cloak. Yet you knew her immediately when she fell before you. Both of you are obviously hiding something. If not your betrothal, what then?"

Cynara looked at Gilian. "We should tell them." Gilian shook his head. "They have to be told sooner or later." Again, Gilian shook his head. "We're married," she announced.

"This should have been done in private," Gilian admonished, "not in front of strangers over dinner. I apologize, Father, Mother, for this breach of protocol."

"And yet, you chose to marry in secret," Edgar replied. "I'm disappointed that you thought we would not approve."

"To be honest, we were more worried about her father's approval. He insisted we marry immediately in his presence. I could not refuse such an honor."

"True, it would have been an offense to have refused," Lord Black replied. "But I'm afraid that Greydawn may well have offended Arboria. After all, he travelled here to meet his betrothed, not to hear her pledged to another. Is that not so, Sir Linden?"

The Dragon Swordmaster - 7

The Small Scroll

Gilian escorted Cynara to a private parlor not far from the banquet hall. The preparations for the evening feast - the clinking of glassware, the clatter of plates hitting the table, and the mumblings of the servants – echoed through the main hall. Inside the parlor, the conversation was of a more serious nature. 

"I heard you say something about a message. Was it for my father or his kingdom?"

Cynara pulled a small scroll from a pocket hidden inside her frock and handed it to Gilian. "Can you read the script of elves?" she asked while still holding on to one end of the scroll. "If not, I can translate it for you."

"I'm well versed in the scripts of many races," he stated, "even the runes of dragons."

Gilian unrolled the scroll. After a brief perusal, he asked, "Where did you get this?"

"Off some elves who sought to prevent my arrival. I fought them to their end on the way here."

"That explains your exhaustion," he tucked the scroll into his vest. "We had been experiencing problems for months now, but we did not know the source."

"The elves are not expecting us to come to your defense. We have been watching them as they made their preparations. If you have no need of our troops, they will be withdrawn."

Inside the banquet hall, King Edgar was busy greeting the late arrivals. At the table, his sons sat by his side while his wife, Queen Annwyl, sat at the opposite end. Cynara sat between Gilian and Lord Black. Nerina sat between Cedric and Sir Linden Arbor.

King Edgar rose. "We are gathered here for a solemn moment. As the law dictates, and before our esteemed representatives, I..."

"I'm afraid we are short of the necessary quorum of kingdoms," Greydawn interrupted. "The Eastern Empire is not to be seen."

"I'm afraid you are mistaken. The Dark Kingdom has sent Lord Black to fulfill the quorum," King Edgar corrected. "Now, as I was saying, I hereby name my elder son, Cedric Gwillam, as my heir and successor. Should we both face an untimely demise, I entrust Gilian to fulfill those duties and obligations." King Edgar raised his goblet of dark ale. After his guests had raised theirs, he toasted, "to the future!"

“To the future,” his guests chorused in reply.

The Dragon Swordmaster - 6

The Eastern Scourge

Iron helmets glistening in the early morning sun, a thousand troops marched westward from the Eastern Empire. They held their weapons high above their heads as they crossed the River Tarragon. Fish struggled against the strong current in an effort to escape the crossing horde. Ahead of them lay the hills of Weston. It would be near nightfall when they would breach the woods that bordered the castle lands.

The chainmail over their leather tunics clinked as the swordmasters marched up the slope. Their buckled broadswords, whose scabbards bore the Imperial crest, slapped their sides with a steady beat. Behind the swordmasters, several rows of archers carried full quivers of one hundred arrows each. They would remain ready within the woods until called for.

An envoy travelled ahead with a missive from the Lord of Weston Manor. As she entered the wood, she was set upon by assassins. The first drew a knife attempting to stab her, but she quickly disarmed him. A second sought to slay her with a crossbow. She swatted the missile out of the air with her sword, only to be set upon again by the knife-wielder. She met his second run with the edge of her sword. Taking his blade, she took careful aim at the sniper in the trees. After dodging a second bolt, she launched the knife, felling him.

Attempting to move forward, she faced two swordsmen. She skillfully dodged each thrust and met each parry in a match that lasted for the better part of an hour. The first opponent went down after a skillful slice to his throat. The second opponent, she ran her sword through his heart. She arrived at the castle at the midday hour.

The Dragon Swordmaster - 5

The Late Arrival

While final preparations for the banquet were underway, a carriage arrived at the castle entrance. Two guards dismounted from the back of the carriage, each opening the carriage door to allow the passengers to egress. An elderly gentlemen dressed in finery stepped out, assisted by the guard. Both men circled the back of the carriage until they were at the base of the steps to await the remaining passenger. A raven-haired female stepped out. She smiled at the guards and took the old man's arm while they walked up the seven steps.

Cedric, having glanced out a window, recognized the banner of the southern kingdom of Alfgard. With great haste, he made his way to the front hall and was there to greet the Lord and Lady when they entered. "Welcome to Weston. I was worried that you did not receive my father's invitation. We did not receive a messenger," Cedric tried not to stare into the Lady's bright green eyes while he spoke to the pair.

"We did not send a messenger. Your invitation did not reach us until this morning when a hunting party discovered it on a corpse along the riverbank. It is not our custom to refuse an invitation where food is involved," the young woman replied.

"Hush, Nerina," the old man protested. "I'll not have our hosts think so little of us by implying we are only interested in their food."

"Of course, Greydawn. How unmannerly of me."

The old man turned to Cedric. "Do you know who we are?"

"I'm afraid not. My father did not make me privy to the list of invitees."

"Then allow me. I am Greydawn, a member of the Alfgard High Council. My companion is Nerina, my eldest daughter." Greydawn patted at his coat for several minutes before retrieving a blood-stained parchment. "My apologies for its condition." Cedric unscrolled the missive addressed to Councilor Greydawn to confirm their story. Cedric made a mental note to bring this tale to the attention of Gilian at the first opportunity.

The Dragon Swordmaster - 4

The Westonian Princes

The Lord of Weston had sent out invitations to the surrounding territories to come to a banquet to be held in honor of his eldest son. Having proven himself to be a fair and just person, King Edgar felt that it was time to name him heir to the throne of Weston, a feat that must be witnessed by representatives of the bordering kingdoms. Cedric Gwillam had held court many times in his father's absence dispensing fair justice. His younger brother, Gilian, was more interested in serving in the palace guard than dealing with the complexities of law and the Manor.

Despite knowing that his father would name him heir, much to his brother's delight, Cedric still felt ill at ease about the evening's planned festivities. Gilian had crossed swords with a dragon that now slept somewhere in the castle. The Mage had locked himself away inside his tower room after having wandered the halls muttering odd enchantments throughout. The kingdom of Arbor had sent a single knight. The law was clear on how many witnesses they required for his father's proclamation to be binding. And they were one kingdom short.

Gilian had followed the Green Knight to the castle from The Unicorn's Arse. He wanted to make certain the knight's arrival for the banquet. He also had a few questions for the swordmaster. He knew from her reputation that he and his men had exhausted her too quickly. She should have easily disarmed them. He watched the Arboreal knight slip into her quarters and followed, keeping close to the drapes while watching. The knight's visit was brief.

After the knight left, Gilian approached the bed. As soon as he parted the curtains, a leaf floated free landing on the floor. Cynara opened her eyes and smiled at him. She slowly resumed human form and reached out to Gilian. He took her hand and helped her out of bed. "I take it you are well rested."

"I am," she replied. As she stepped forward, her bare foot felt a cool object. She stepped back and bent down, picking up the leaf. "One of yours?" she teased.

The Dragon Swordmaster - 3

The Dark Mage

To the north of the Kingdom of Arboria in the heart of the Great Forest lay the Dark Kingdom ruled by a powerful mage. Onyx Black, it was rumored, had won the heart of a dragon and fathered a child with her. But only Onyx could testify to the veracity of the claim and he had nothing to say on the matter. He took great pains to travel to Weston without anyone being wise to his arrival. For that reason alone, he did not engage his travel companion in conversation. Along the way, he learned a great deal about the Great Forest and the House of Arbor from the young knight. In spite of his lack of exchange, the lad was quite chatty about matters of import to no one.

Onyx left the Green Knight behind at a local inn and continued on to the castle. He had a matter to attend to there. He arrived at the castle while the Westonian Guard were engaged in combat with a female swordmaster. He quickly passed through the halls and found his way to the back keep where the castle mage held quarters. The young mage greeted him warmly. "Lord Black, thank you for coming. I was afraid that you would not respond."

"What frightened you into calling for my help? You were the brightest and most powerful of my acolytes. This is why you were posted here."

"I have seen portents, Milord, of wickedness sweeping through the halls of this edifice. The Lord of the Manor has called for warriors, but he has refused to state why. Only a few have responded. I fear the other kingdoms may have fallen to the evil stench that wafts on the winds of time."

"We shall find out at the evening meal. Until then, I need to wash off the dust of the road and rest from my long journey."

"Of course, Milord. I shall tend to those needs at once."

The Dragon Swordmaster - 2

The Green Knight

In the early morning, Linden Arbor had arrived in Weston on a black steed wearing black armor and bearing the green and gold banner of the House of Arbor. He had settled in at the local alehouse for a short rest before advancing to the castle. Rumors of the arrival of the dragon swordmaster had travelled quickly throughout the small principality of Weston. Members of the Guard would soon confirm the rumors as they quaffed pints of ale at The Unicorn's Arse.

The Green Knight sat rapt at the end of a long table. The story being told by the men of the Westonian guard intrigued him. The Captain of the Guard spoke of Lady Cynara's prowess wielding her dragon blade. "She battled the ten of us, turn by turn, until she fell exhausted from defending the constant parries and thrusts. She sleeps in the palace now, resting up for the evening feast." 

Linden Arbor had never seen a dragon in its natural form. His curiosity drew him to the palace earlier than he had planned. Finding her quarters, he crept silently into her bedchamber and peeled away the curtains. There, lying peacefully on the down-filled mattress, he found a remarkably pleasing creature. She was warm to the touch and, despite her appearance, totally lacking in scales. As he gently stroked her short snout, she let out a low moan and rolled over, turning her face away from him. He smiled and slowly backed away. As the bedcurtains closed, they snagged a small leaf from the Green Knight's waistcoat.

The Dragon Swordmaster - 1

The Lady Drakon

Cynara dropped to the floor from exhaustion. She couldn't hold the human form any longer. Her unusual raiment would stay with her as she slowly stretched and returned to her natural form. The pale human female sighed with relief. Slowly her outstretched arms scaled over. Her hair became a frill at the back of her head. Her face deformed into a short snout. Her legs became more muscular as they also scaled over.

The small dragon sighed again before closing her eyes, expecting to be killed by the castle guard who had challenged her. Instead, she felt the arms of men lifting her up. The Captain of the Guard offered her the sword she had dropped. She grasped it and slid it back into its sheath.

"I should have known," the young captain bowed. "I am Captain Gilian Gwillam of the Westonian Guard. And you are Lady Cynara Drakon. Had I paid any attention to the hilt of your sword, I would have conceded defeat."

Having lost the ability to speak in her dragon form, Cynara managed a bow and what passed for a smile. She stood but a few inches over the guardsmen who helped her to quarters in the castle where she might rest. "You can rest here. And when you have recovered the ability to transform yourself, we shall dine this evening. I must go now to inform the Lord of the Manor that you have arrived with a message. I assume that is why you are here." She nodded before falling onto the bed and closing her eyes again.

A Brief Escape

Vaal chased Aarai down the long corridor in the sub-basement level. She could bring him down with one good jolt, but it was necessary to let him make his escape. Aarai had not been very talkative and spent more time pondering his escape than learning the alien language. He had been uncooperative when it came to answering questions about his ship. His captors decided to let him lead them to it. NASA wanted the technology, the military wanted the weaponry, and Vaal wanted to destroy it. Vaal had kept that last part to herself.

The reptilian was agile as he evaded attempts by security to intercept him. He blew past the elevators, opting instead to use the ventilation system. He proved to be an excellent climber as he shimmied up the airshaft toward the surface. Vaal opted to take the stairs, bounding up them several steps at a time. A squad of Marines had been alerted to the escape and Vaal's subsequent pursuit. The Marines were in position to intercept when Aarai reached the top of the airshaft, but Vaal instructed them to stay out of sight and allow the escape. A surveillance drone hovered overhead and followed him through the woods toward the water. Several minutes later, Vaal emerged from the fire exit and continued her chase.

Aarai emerged from the woods several seconds ahead of Vaal. He ran down the wooden dock and dove into the lake water. Vaal followed, catching him on the way down toward the murky bottom. He struggled to free himself from her grasp. His panic enhanced his desire to reach the safety of his ship. In those vital few minutes, Vaal gleaned where his ship sat and she released her grip on him. After a few minutes of confusion, Aarai followed Vaal back to the surface. "Vaal," he hissed when his head popped above the water. She continued to walk toward the shore. When he reached the shallow water, he called to her again. She continued to ignore his hissing.

Aarai bent down and grabbed a pebble from the lake bottom. Taking careful aim, he threw it at her striking her back with it. Vaal turned to face him, waiting while he ran toward her. Her muscles tensed, ready to fight him off. It wouldn't take much to kill him and she had already rehearsed an apology should she find it necessary. "Take me back," he hissed calmly. "I won't resist, Interrogator. I have no desire to die."

"You can't go home. I can't go home. And I have no intention of turning your ship over to these creatures. It's safe for now. But I may have to destroy it to keep it out of their hands."

"And I would have led you to it," he paused then corrected, "led them to it."

An Interrogation

Vaal had been here before. The room was small with a raised bed against the far wall. Between the interrogator and the subject there was a finely perforated sheet of anti-ballistic material. The subject was bipedal, which is uncommon for reptiles. It had spent the morning attempting to escape, but appeared resigned to its captivity. Vaal understood its frustration. She had once been in that cell. They came daily to ask her questions that she couldn’t answer. She nearly starved to death before it occurred to them that she didn’t speak their language. “Water” was the first word that she spoke.

Vaal wasn’t expecting to teach the reptilian any English. Even her grasp of it was tenuous. But she hoped to serve as an interpreter between the two species. It had taken years to build up mutual trust with the humans and a fragile one at best. The reptilian had been resting on the bed when she entered. Now it stood staring at her as she paced back and forth in front of the separator. She listened intently to its slow hiss as she strolled past. She stopped and stared back at it. “Don’t lie to me,” she hissed. In the high-pitched speech of her species, she introduced herself. It covered its auditory organs and shrunk away. She smiled, then hissed an apology and a second introduction.

“Vaal,” it managed to hiss out. “Aarai,” the reptile hissed while pointing to itself. It was going to be a long day. Vaal hated interrogations. She didn’t always. Back home, before falling into the void, she was very good at them. But there is a big difference between dealing with your own species and dealing with an alien race. Most of Aarai’s language was outside the normal human range. It would require a frequency modulation. Humans lacked the ability to modulate frequencies naturally. But the apes were nothing if not ingenious inventors. They were also deadly intolerant. She warned Aarai not to anger them, not to underestimate them, but she left out the worst part. Aarai was never going home.

The Hydrophile

Vaal stood before the lieutenant carrying a tray. She smiled at him. At least, he guessed it was a smile. She looked almost human, except for the grey skin and short hair that clung to her head like a silver helmet. He estimated that she was just over five feet tall standing in her bare feet. Her dossier stated that she refused to wear shoes. He guessed it had something to do with her long toes. Her dark blue eyes were set farther apart on her face leaving plenty of room for her flat, wide nose.

She stared back at the young officer offering a wan smile. "I made some coffee. I didn't know what to put in your cup, so I brought the carafe. There is also milk and sugar." "Black will be fine," he replied. He watched as she shuffled over to the small conversation pit. She took her cup from the tray and sat on the divan. "Please, take a seat," she gestured toward a chair by the coffee table. He sat down, stuffing the envelope he brought with him into the space between the cushion and the arm of the chair.

The Cistern (Work in Progress)

The chamber holding the cistern was cool, kept at a constant temperature by the surrounding stone walls. Natural light poured into the chamber through a trio of round glass windows set high into the eastern wall. The morning sun warmed the chamber while the western wall absorbed the heat and radiated it back out during the rest of the day. At the head of the shallow cistern, filtered water flowed in from an underground stream that also provided power as it flowed through a small water-powered generator located in another chamber.

Below the window at the foot of the cistern, a series of wooden pegs held a bathrobe and several towels. Vaal lay below the surface of the shallow pool sleeping soundly. She had missed the sunrise, which was not uncommon for her. The steady beat of the blade of an approaching helicopter echoed inside the chamber, disturbing the surface of the water and waking Vaal. It landed on a rocky ledge above the cavernous lodge. The pilot shut off the engine, disembarked, and secured the craft before Lt. Eldwin Parker climbed out. Making his way down the carved steps to the baffled entrance of the habitat, the lieutenant mentally reviewed his set of instructions.

Vaal didn’t look at all like the lieutenant had imagined, his expectations influenced by the depictions of mermaids in popular fiction. The blue terrycloth robe she was wearing covered most of her pale grey skin. Her dripping wet hair clung to her head like a silver helmet. Her feet were bare as usual. She stood holding a tray of freshly brewed coffee that she had brought from her galley. She placed the tray on a table and smiled at the lieutenant.

“Please, have a seat. I made some coffee.” She gestured to a nearby chair while taking a seat on a divan.

Her guest smiled awkwardly as he sat down. Uncertain how to broach the subject, he sat silently sipping his coffee. “Could you bring me that towel?” she gestured to a hand towel on the table next to his chair. She laughed as he juggled his coffee cup and saucer in his haste to bring her the towel. She took it from his outstretched arm and began to towel dry her hair. “Lieutenant Parker,” she asked, “do you have a first name? Or are you under orders to keep this call to duty strictly formal?”

“You know why I’m here?”

“I don’t know the details, but they wouldn’t have sent you if they didn’t need me to do them a solid. So, what’s the gig?” She opened the sealed envelope that the lieutenant handed to her and began reading the file. Sometime in the early morning hours, the DSRV Trilobite lost power and drifted off the continental shelf where it came to rest on the sea floor. The mission was simple. She needed to locate the submarine, assess the damage, and determine if the crew were still alive.

Blind Man Buff

Ralph Jones had been born blind. At least, that is what he told everyone who asked about his dark glasses and cane. He needed to hire a driver, and Amanda Faraday was more than happy to work for him. They first met in a dark alley.

Ralph Jones sat by the rear exit to the bus slowly tapping the floor with his cane. Dark sunglasses hid his eyes from those around him. He pulled the bell wire seconds after the bus turned the corner. It was bad enough that the bus was late, but now he had to get off early and walk the rest of the way. He tapped his way to the front of the bus to ask the driver why the bus made the turn. “It’s because of a detour. There’s a fire down the block. Police are diverting traffic.”

Ralph exited the bus and made his way to the nearest alley to make up for lost time. He didn’t notice that the streetlights in the alley were out. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. He could hear the scurrying of rats along the gutter, the occasional hiss of an alley cat, and the distinct crack of glass breaking above him, followed by the rant of an angry woman falling from the freshly broken window, amidst the tinkle of broken glass hitting the pavement. Ralph dropped his cane and positioned himself to catch the falling female. “It’s not every day that a naked lady falls into my arms,” he quipped.

The squirming woman pounded against his chest. “Let go of me,” she demanded.

After setting her safely on the ground, he gingerly felt around for his cane with his foot. “Are you all right, Miss?” he asked while bending down to retrieve it.

Amanda Faraday couldn’t see who had caught her after plunging into near total darkness, but she was ready to fend him off. She threw a punch in the direction of the male voice, but it failed to connect. However, the sound of his cane tapping about calmed her down. “You’re blind?” she asked before realizing how rude the question seemed. “I’m sorry,” she hastily muttered. When her eyes finally adjusted to the darkness of the alley, she added, “I guess you are.” Remembering his question, she took a good look at herself. She had a few minor cuts and bruises from her defenestration, but nothing appeared broken. “It’s a bit chilly out tonight and I seem to have left my clothes upstairs.”

“Perhaps we should go retrieve them?” Ralph offered. “I don’t have any to spare.”

Amanda frowned at the stranger. He wore jeans and a blue crewneck sweater, but nothing he could spare as far as she could see that would keep her warm where it mattered. Glancing up at the window, she replied, “perhaps we should wait awhile. At least until they are done destroying my apartment while looking for something that I don’t have.”

“Nonsense!” Ralph admonished. “You need your clothes, and your guests need a lesson in manners.” He placed his hand on the wall and started walking deeper into the alley. “There should be a door around here somewhere, unless you’d rather take the fire escape.” He pointed his cane toward a set of metal stairs near the front of the alley.

“The back door is locked. And I’d rather not be seen in my current condition.” Amanda walked deeper into the dark alley until she found herself lit by a dim red light. “I’ve found the back door, but it’s an emergency exit.”

Ralph tapped his way to where Mandy stood and felt for the door. Amanda danced backwards out of his way. His hand hit the plate covering the tamperproof latch. “My name’s Ralph, by the way,” he said as he slipped his fingernails behind the plate and gently pulled the door open. Just as magically, the fire alarm didn’t sound.

“How?” was all that Amanda managed to say as she watched Ralph step up into the dimly lit stairwell. She followed him as he made his way up the first flight. “Fourth floor,” she whispered. “My apartment is on the fourth floor.” A few steps later, she added, “Mandy. It’s short for Amanda, but hardly anyone calls me that.”

“How many?” Ralph asked.

“How many what?” Mandy queried.

“How many people are in your apartment?”

“Three, maybe four.”

“I can handle that.” Ralph opened the stairwell door and stuck his head through. No one shot at it. He took that as a good sign.

“Second door on the left, toward the front.” Mandy prompted in a loud whisper.

“I can hear them,” Ralph reached out his hand. “You stay here while I go clear the place out.”

Mandy nodded in agreement. “Fine,” she sighed. After the door closed behind him, she slowly counted to five before following him into the hallway. Mandy never was much good at following orders. And she was curious to see how a blind man expected to deal with the three thugs who had tossed her out her bedroom window.

Ralph stood outside the open door to Mandy’s apartment. A large muscular brute of a man was busy ripping apart Mandy’s couch. Ralph lifted his cane and knocked hard on the door. The brute barreled out into the hallway toward Ralph who had stepped back into the darkness of the far wall. Before the thug could react, Ralph whacked the side of the man’s head with the solid handle of his steel cane. The large man fell to the floor unconscious. Ralph stepped forward and entered Mandy’s apartment.

Inside Mandy’s apartment, Ralph came across the second trespasser in the kitchen. The man was thinner than the brute and considerably shorter. “Ahem,” Ralph grunted loudly while the man drew out another drawer and dumped the contents onto the floor. “Hey Shorty. You are going to clean up this mess when you’re done, right?” Shorty seemed more intent on making a mess than actually finding anything of value. “Who are you?” Shorty barked before grabbing a large kitchen knife and throwing it at Ralph, who dropped his cane to the floor.

“The stuff of nightmares,” Ralph replied while deftly catching the knife as it whizzed toward his head. “I should have warned you. I never lost a game of blind man buff.” Ralph smiled at Shorty who was fumbling to grasp a second knife from the block on the countertop. As Shorty drew his arm up to throw the second blade, the large kitchen knife struck the cupboard door behind him.

“You missed,” Shorty taunted before grinning and turning to remove the large knife from the cupboard door. It proved to be a mistake. Ralph leapt at Shorty, knocking him to the floor. Ralph rolled back to his feet and turned to face the man. Shorty rolled over and rose to face Ralph, shifting the kitchen knife from one hand to the other. Before he had the opportunity to lunge forward at Ralph, a large cast iron pan landed squarely against the side of his head.

“Two down, one to go”, Ralph deftly twirled the cast iron pan in his hand before setting it down on the counter. He retrieved his cane and made his way toward Mandy’s bedroom. As Ralph approached the bedroom door, he could hear the man inside the room breathing. The man stood with his back pressed up against the wall waiting for someone to open the door and step through. Ralph shrugged and stepped through the open door. He could feel the gun pressing against his back. “Your friends are going to wake up with terrible headaches.”

“That was a mistake. You should have killed them.” The man with the gun said while patting Ralph down. “Now, turn around, slowly.”

Ralph began a slow turn. “Nonsense. It may be a few days before they wake up. I hit them pretty hard.” He paused after making a clockwise quarter turn. “Is this far enough?

“Keep going, wise guy. I want to see your face.” The gunman waved the gun menacingly, a wasted gesture.

“I’d like to see my face,” replied Ralph. “I’ve been told that I have a handsome face, classic jawline, Roman nose, kissable lips even. Though that last one usually comes from women.”

“Shut up,” the gunman demanded, “and take those glasses off.” Ralph complied and tossed the glasses out into the living room revealing his grey eyes. “Cane too. I don’t want you getting any ideas.” Ralph tossed his cane out next to his glasses.

“As you can see,” Ralph stated, “I clearly can’t.”

“You’re blind?” The man lowered his gun long enough for Ralph’s fist to connect with his chin.

Ralph sighed as the man fell to the floor. “They never see it coming.” Ralph dragged the unconscious gunman out of Mandy’s bedroom. “You can get dressed now,” he told Mandy who was now inside her apartment.

Mandy had followed Ralph. She had rifled through the pockets of the thug out in the hall. She had slipped into the room after Ralph had taken out the second thug. She waited pressed against the wall while he faced off against the man in her bedroom. Mandy returned Ralph’ cane and dark glasses to him. “Thank you,” she murmured as she scooted into her room.

While Mandy was busy pawing through her closet, Ralph conducted a search of the gunman. Ralph wasn’t ready to share his little secret with Mandy. His grey eyes were now blue behind the dark lens. The partial transformation would allow him to see the contents of the man’s wallet. While Mandy was still busy dressing herself, Ralph made a phone call.

“Dana?”

“Yes, boss?”

“I need you to verify an identity for me. I’m sending the photo now.”

“Got it.” A few minutes of silence. “Holy shit, boss. This dude is connected.”

“To whom?”

“Bad guys.”

“If we clear out, can you get the cops or whoever here before he and his two companions wake up?”

“On it.” Ralph tucked his phone back into his pocket and turned around.

“Who was that?” Mandy asked.

“A friend. I suggest you pack a bag for a few days. We need to leave as soon as possible. The Feds are on their way. Meanwhile, tell me what these thugs were looking for.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then you’ll end up on the floor with these guys. It’s me or the Feds.”

Mandy frowned. “Fine. I’m already packed. I didn’t want to be here when they wake up. Besides, the walls are thin. Neighbors probably already called the cops.”

“And?” Ralph demanded.

Mandy sighed. “I don’t know what they were after. They wouldn’t tell me. They kept swinging me toward the window, saying ‘Where is it?’. But they never told me what ‘it’ was. And all I could say was, ‘I don’t have it.’ Then when they got tired of that, they threw me out the window. And the rest you know.”

Mandy followed Ralph down the hall and into the stairwell. Once on the first floor, Mandy started for the alley door, but Ralph stopped her. “We go down one more floor. The cops have the alley covered.”

“Your plan is to hide in the basement?” Mandy used her angry loud whisper to demand an answer. “You’re crazy.”

“There is a way out down below. The cops will search your apartment first. Let’s not waste time arguing.” Ralph turned to the basement stairs and practically ran down them. Mandy followed.

“You better be right,” Ralph growled into his hand after cupping his ear.

“It’s there, Boss,” Dana assured him.

Ralph and Mandy went to the near end of the hallway just outside the stairwell. The basement hallway lights were dim and flickering, on the verge of burning out. They went into the building utility room across from the stairwell. They passed by a massive bank of electricity meters before encountering a second door. Beyond that door was a dark corridor dimly lit with red lamps affixed about two meters apart. Ralph led Mandy down the hallway as quietly as possible by holding his hand against the wall.

At the end of the corridor was a door to another building utility room lined with another bank of electric meters. Another long hallway greeted them outside the other utility room. At the end of it was the front stairwell to a second apartment building facing the opposite end of the block. A few minutes later, a blind man emerged with a smiling young woman on his arm and entered an awaiting taxi.