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smuttbunnie · 5 years

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A Tale From Long Ago

Member: V

Genre: Smut / Angst

Series: The Moon Child

Theme: Halloween

Part: 6 / {pt.1} {pt.2} {pt.3} {pt.4} {pt.5} {pt.7}

“I was young, still a fletchling doing odd jobs and servant work to get around. I don’t know how much you’ve seen of the underground cities, but not all of us were born into royalty and luxury like his Majesty,” Jin began his story.

He looked out of place sitting on the floor what with his strict, composed personality. There was something different about Jin... as if the air around him had shifted. The compliant, submissive demeanor of a servant he usually upheld was replaced with something somber, that made your stomach knot.

It seemed everyone in the castle had a mask to wear.

“Back then I didn’t have the status to pursue what I wanted to do. Some chefs from the royal palace needed an errand boy and I happened to get lucky... when I got the job, I really had no idea where it would end up taking me...”

“-and then pick up ten crates of blood for the party this evening,” the kitchen lady finished, shoving the pass into his small hands - the royal seal of the kingdom carved into the maple wood.

“What brand of blood am I-”

“Just fetch it from the supplier and show him your pass!” the woman cut him off. “Must you always ask so many questions child? Go on, get out of here!” she scolded him.

Jin bit his tongue and left the bustling kitchen to make his way to the high-end market place. If there was one thing he had plenty of, it was questions. Even when Jin tried to keep his mouth shut, he couldn’t stay quiet for long; He had to know all the information, the details, the fine print that no one ever bothered to read.

It was odd too. From what he heard the party was going to be rather extravagant, and for such events the blood was always ordered beforehand. So why get it last minute? And why wasn’t it just delivered straight to the kitchen like it usually was with such big events?

The kitchen ladies just hushed him and told him to stop trying to make sense of every little thing. Why didn’t it bother them? The way it bothered him when things didn’t make sense, when the facts didn’t line up.

Jin couldn’t understand it. Why go along with questionable things? A decision should be based on an understanding of the situation, knowledge of what you influence with your decision and what the outcome will be once you make it. Recklessness... naivety, uncertainty. If any of those things were present in your decision making, you were sure to make a faulty decision, he quietly thought to himself.

When he approached the building he was given the address of, he could already smell the dull scent of blood coming from inside. Upon entering, he spotted a man at a front desk - busy with what seemed like paperwork.

The man looked up, frowning when his eyes met Jin’s. It was a to be expected, seeing a kid in his shop. He was wearing rather expensive clothing, and had a scar on his neck that he had failed to cover up.

“Can I help you?” the man asked, wearily eyeing him.

“I’m here to pick up a supply of blood,” Jin said showing the shop keeper the identification pass from the castle. “Ten crates of blood, for the Prince’s birthday celebration?”

“Ah! So you’re from the royal kitchen huh? Wait here whilst I go get them.”

The man left through a door in the back, leaving Jin in the small office room. Something felt off. He couldn’t quite point out what, but there was definitely something wrong - the fact that this wasn’t the usual procedure for getting blood was already a red flag...

But the building. There was something in the air… Something Jin recognized but couldn’t place. Damn it, what was it? Before he could mull on it any further, the man returned with the crates, carrying them one by one from the storage room.

Jin groaned internally when he though about pulling the cart all the way back to the kitchen. He politely thanked the man and carried the crates outside, starting the painfully long journey back to the castle kitchen.

The situation was getting even stranger. The usual stamp on the crates wasn’t anywhere to be seen, so the blood definitely wasn’t from their usual supplier. Why would they change suppliers all of a sudden? Especially right before a big event like this.

It didn’t add up. And Jin hated when things didn’t add up.

***

The kitchen was a nightmare. The Head Chef barked orders to the staff and everything simmered, sizzled and spat in a cacophony of noise. From warm, thick, blood-soup appetizers to cold, gelatin deserts; every dish needed to be immaculate, with absolutely no room for error.

Everyone was on edge, especially since the time to drink the first blood of the night was drawing near.

It was customary for the King to drink the first glass of blood, but since the prince was the guest of honour, tradition called for him to take the first sip of the evening.

If the blood was not to the prince’s liking, or he found any fault with the blood whatsoever, the King would surely have their heads. Jin wasn’t allowed near the food, but he had the job of fetching ingredients and kitchenware, or sometimes washing the pots and pans.

“Boy, come here” one of the chefs called. He was second in command and made sure everyone did their job and that things progressed smoothly. It was also him who offered Jin the job - something Jin was very grateful for.

“It’s almost time for the first blood, quickly go fetch me one of the crates,” he instructed, a smile coloring the man’s rough features. “We’re short on waiters, so I’m giving you the chance to help out tonight.”

Jin’s eyes grew the size of saucers. Him? Help serve the blood? He was barely even allowed in the Royal kitchen as it was, but serving the same table the Royal family were seated at? There was no greater honour.

“C-chef I, how can I- this is such a- such a, thank-”

“No need to thank me,” he chuckled. “You’ve really earned your position these last few months. Just keep your head down and stay focused.”

Jin nodded furiously, and gushed;

“You won't regret this chef, thank you! Thank you so much! Thank you for this-this privilege!”

He quickly dashed off to get the crate of blood, beaming all the way. The royal family… He was finally going to see them. The people who had shaped the country, brought down nations and conquered all who opposed them.

There was definitely no one more meticulous than the King. He accepted nothing short of perfection and planned his every move down to the smallest detail. You couldn’t pay the man to do something spontaneous or out of character - not even the most lavish palace could convince Jin to give up an opportunity like this.

He suddenly wondered what the prince looked like.

Whispers were always exchanged about the young royal heir and where he stood in all the kingdom’s matters. Few have seen him, so rumors and speculation was really all they knew about the third prince, Kim Taehyung.

Jin grabbed the large crate, carefully lifting it up - again the familiar scent washed over him, nagging and pulling at his memories. But he had no time to indulge in nostalgia; the mysterious smell would have to wait.

The job he was given was more important than anything else, and he couldn’t afford to waste time on these \childish theories of his.

***

“Now ladies and gentlemen, if I may have your attention; the time has come for the first blood of the evening.”

Hearing their cue, the doors swung open and servants carrying trays with exquisite wine glasses entered in an orderly line. Jin tried to keep his gaze and focus ahead of him, but couldn’t help sneaking a glance towards the head of the table.

His eyes found themselves instantly drawn towards the King. Long, graceful, raven locks cascaded down his broad shoulders, his wine red cloak embroidered with gold. His eyes were narrow slits of ruby; weary, cold, calculated eyes that came with war - and carefully examined and judged the chefs as they walked past.

He was simply the spitting image of royalty.

It was only when Jin looked away from His Majesty that he noticed the small boy with carmine locks sitting next to the King. Jin was shocked at how small he was, how young he must be.

Before he had time to inspect the prince a bit longer, the last servant reached his position at the end of the table. They all looked to the head chef to give them their cue, before putting the glasses down in unison.

Jin let out a quiet breath of relief as the King nodded with approval. He felt like there was a noose around his neck and feared the moment he would falter and the rope would pull tight around his throat. The boy reminded himself to thank the chef for allowing him to be so close to the Royal family - practically in spitting distance from the monarch.

As the Head chef stepped forward to pour the prince’s drink, the familiar smell pryed at something inside of Jin. It had been present the whole time and the more he tried to ignore it, the more it squirmed and writhed in the pit of his belly to be heard.

What was it? What was this scent? It stirred something primal within him, something close to instinct. A sort of horrid nostalgia settled over him, and suddenly he was flooded with memories from the slums; dark times he had tried to suppress to a deep and forgotten part within himself.

Oh no. Oh god what have they done?

Jin tried to discreetly pull the Chef’s sleeve, pleading in a panicked whisper; “Chef, Chef there’s something terribly wrong.”

The man batted his hand away, giving him a stern glare that told him to shut his mouth. The King had started his opening speech, the young prince’s glass already poured. There wasn’t any time left.

“Chef please it’s the blood, you don’t understand!” he hissed, frantically trying to get the Chef’s attention. The man turned to him, muttering under his breath;

“Didn’t I tell you to stay silent and keep your head down?”

“Yes but it’s urgent, the blood-”

“Not another word!” he silenced Jin. “I’ll punish you later for disobeying my orders, just be quiet until the ceremony is over or the King will kill you right here in front of everyone.”

No. If his Royal Highness drinks from that chalice, none of them would be spared. He should’ve noticed it sooner, damn it he should have followed his gut! Something was clearly wrong, and yet he kept ignoring it, and now- and now-

“-and may good fortune befall you in your many years to come.”

Courteous applause brought Jin’s attention back to the table and to the horrid sight of prince Taehyung raising the chalice to his lips. No! He cannot let this happen!

Before Jin even processed the implications of what he was about to do, he was already leaping forward towards the prince.

“Don’t drink that!” he cried out, knocking the goblet from the prince’s hand. For a moment he was looking into the surprised, red eyes of a young vampire - the grotesque realization of what he had just done taking a second to settle in his stomach. And but only a moment later, Guards had his arms twisted behind him, and pushed him into the floor.

I’m going to die.

The thought rang clearly in his head, unrest rippling through the guests like a gust of wind. The King’s voice boomed over the quiet whispers of surprise and Jin felt his blood run cold.

“How dare you lay a finger on royalty! I think peasant scum like you would make a fine example, don’t you think?”

Jin looked up at the King, his whole body trembling. The terrifying stories of this man had not done him justice at all.

In his eyes he could see no mercy at all. Not even a fraction. The only thing those dark crimson eyes held was remorseless bloodlust. There was a feeling of no escape - of being prey trapped in the predator’s jaws that crawled into his skin. Jin noticed too late the scar splitting the King’s lip, the clench of his jaw, the heavy folds in his brow:

This was a man who was used to war. Who was used to killing.

Jin, a peasant with no bloodline to his name, who had interrupted a sacred tradition; his grave was already dug and now he would have to lie in it.

He squeezed his eyes shut, and prayed that his death would be swift - that was the only thing he could do in such a situation.

“Stop.”

The single word came unfeeling but brisk from the table and Jin felt his body crumble in relief - or maybe shock. He was certain it was the prince, but he dared not open his eyes to look.

“Father, I ask you not kill him yet,” Taehyung said standing up from his seat. The soft murmur of confusion and curiosity washed over the people sitting at the table, drops of hushed conversation falling on Jin's ears;

"-a peasant, if it were me I would just kill the boy."

"Did you see the way he knocked the glass like a barbarian out of-"

"-think the King should just leave him to burn alive in the surfaceworld."

Was this really where he would die? Jin's throat became unbearably dry and suddenly he just wished it would all be over soon. Maybe the prince wanted the honour of killing him himself, or maybe he wanted to torture him first for the crime he committed.

Jin was knowledgeable about the King, but prince Taehyung? He had no clue about his morals, his values, his ideals - with who his trust lied. There was no way for him to calculate his risks or chances of coming out of this mess alive.

Jin was completely in the dark, with no knowledge at his disposal. And this terrified him.

"That's a rather absurd request Taehyung. You do understand that right?" His Majesty's tone was not without warning - the implications of the Prince's actions did not need to be said out loud for them to be understood.

"Yes I understand Your Majesty. I humbly ask the chance to ask the peasant a few questions."

"Hmm..." The King considered it for a moment, before answering; "Very well then."

Jin could hear the Prince's footsteps end in front of him, and he couldn’t keep his body from trembling in fear any longer. He wasn't a religious person - the whole concept went against logic and reason. But in that moment he prayed to any god that would listen to spare his life.

"What's your name?"

It was strange being questioned a child. It was as if he was an ant the boy had momentarily found interest in. At any given time he could decide Jin was not entertaining enough anymore, and order to end his life without any significant impact being made on the world.

"Jin, Your Highness" he whispered in the steadiest voice he could manage.

"Lift your head, Jin" he instructed, and the boy could only do as he was told. He looked up into ruby eyes staring down at him, and could find neither comfort nor disgust in them. They were neutral. Jin could feel his heart start to calm down, and his lungs began to function properly again.

"Why did you knock the chalice out of my hand?"

“I-...I couldn’t let Your Highness drink that blood, I couldn’t allow it,” he stuttered, his eyes unable to leave the crimson of the prince’s. It was a hand reaching out to him - offering to save him from drowning.

Taehyung narrowed him eyes, speaking carefully and precise as if his words would break the eggshells Jin was treading on. “What was wrong with the blood?”

Jin glanced around the room, all eyes glued to him - eager for an answer. It made him nauseous and he swallowed his fears - finding stability in the prince’s calm eyes again.

“The blood... it wasn’t human.”

Murmurs broke out amongst the people, as if someone had dropped a beehive into the tens dining hall. The king’s face softened just enough for surprise to flit across his face, but the prince was yet again unreadable.

“What was it then?” he asked, everyone holding their breaths in anticipation.

Silence filled the empty spaces in the ceiling again, and Jin thought if he spoke too loudly the whole building might collapse on them. He couldn’t breathe for a few seconds and wondered if he might pass out.

“...It was pig’s blood.”

Like locusts the people droned and buzzed in a panic of shock and alarm. Jin could have sworn he saw a change the the young boy’s eyes, but it was hidden so quickly that he wasn’t sure if he hadn’t imagined it.

The prince silenced the people by raising his hand, skeptically looking Jin up and down. “And how do you know this?” he challenged. “Did you perhaps get paid to put pig’s blood in my cup? But then you couldn’t bare the guilt and decided to-”

“No! I could never!” Jin objected, desperation seeping into his voice. This time, he could see the bewilderment on the prince’s face. There was an intense conversation in their gaze for a few seconds, before Jin realized to his own horror what he had done.

He had interrupted the prince.

Pressing his head to the floor his heart threatened to leap from his chest. His voice was unsteady and scared as he begged; “I-I’m sorry your highness! Please forgive me for acting so shamefully... but, but I would never dare to harm anyone from the royal family! I-I’ve looked up to the Royal family since I-”

Jin squeezed his eyes shut, his vision spinning out of control. “Since the moment I decided to leave the slums...” he whispered.

Feeling the Prince kneel before him, he pressed his body even lower into the floor. “It’s alright, I forgive you. You may raise your head child,” he instructed. It was such a strange thing, being called “child” by someone so obviously younger than him. It made Jin feel small and weak. It was suffocating and humiliating.

Taehyung’s eyes were stern, but Jin could feel a similarity in them and it helped distract him from the chaos around them.

“Now,” the prince started, keeping his tone level. “How did you know there was pig’s blood in my glass?”

“I...I grew up in the slums Your Highness. It is a very poor district and there’s only a very limited supply of food there. Human blood is hard to come by and too expensive to survive off of,” Jin explained. He shuddered when he thought about the horrid taste again, images of the filthy streets flashing through his head.

“So we would drink pig’s blood instead. It was the cheapest on the market, but it was also the most foul tasting. When I went to pick up the crates of blood, I smelt something I couldn’t identify at fist.” Shamefully looking away, Jin finished; “And I finally recognized the smell when it was already too late...”

Quiet whispers were exchanged at the table once again, whether condemning or excusing him, he didn’t know. The prince carefully examined Jin, before standing up and straightening out his clothes.

“Father,” The prince spoke, his eyes not leaving the small peasant boy kneeling before him. “Do you remember when you asked me what I would like for my birthday?”

“Yes, what about it?” The King asked, frowning.

“I have decided,” the prince announced and Jin thought he imagined the faintest smirk pulling at the prince’s lips. “I want my gift to be this servant boy.”

The King’s face fell in astonishment and the low drum of gossip accompanied his bewildered words; “Surely there are better slaves to choose from than this one?”

A quiet scoff barely graced the prince’s lips, but he heard it. Jin heard it. “Not as a slave my King. As my advisor.”

At that moment a million things happened at once, but Jin was numb to it all. He didn’t hear the deafening noise of people objecting and gasping in shock, nor did he see the King’s expression - one of confusion and bafflement. Jin simply replayed the word over and over in his head until it sounded strange and unfamiliar;

“Advisor. Advisor. As my advisor”

The King humored the Prince, simply laughing and saying that is was his birthday after all. With a swift bow and a graceful apology the prince excused himself momentarily from the dinner whilst the King and his own advisors sorted out the mess of the blood.

In a daze Jin hastily followed the Prince until they were in a more secluded area of the castle. He barely had any time to register the ornate gold decorating the palace, or the intricate patterns painted on the walls, or the exquisitely carved stone pillars or the finely crafted mahogany doors.

The prince led Jin to a large room, opening two doors that led to a balcony - away from prying eyes or ears pressed against the walls. Jin expected some form of explanation, maybe even a scolding or rough warning about the sudden turn of events. Anything that could make sense of the absurd situation Jin was suddenly caught in.

“Pheeeeew!” the prince exhaled dramatically, sighing heavily; “I thought for sure you were a goner back there! I seriously thought I was going to have to see a severed head on my birthday, how gross would that have been?”

What?

Jin stared bewildered at the person in front of him, wondering who he was. It looked like an exact copy of the prince, but he was sure a completely different person was standing there on the balcony. As if someone else had slipped into the skin of the Prince Taehyung.

“Oh right! Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself” the boy grinned, promptly sticking out his hand. “I’m Prince Kim Taehyung.”

Jin stared at the hand before him, his head swimming with questions. “I’m not gonna bite or anything,” the boy said flashing a toothy grin.

“Oh! Uhm, I’m so sorry, please forgive me Your Highness.” Jin hastily shook the prince’s hand. “I’m Kim Seok-Jin.” What was happening?

“God it’s so suffocating to attend those banquets and keeping up appearances,” the prince complained. Never had Jin even considered himself on the same level as royalty. They had been like gods to him, a status and life he would never be able to reach. He was dirt compared to them.

But Prince Taehyung... he talked to him so... so normally. “I-I’m sorry I don’t understand,” Jin said. “You... I thought... I’m just a peasant Your Highness...”

The prince looked at him for a few seconds, his eyes serious like before. But there was a certain fire in them. A fire that Jin knew he couldn’t tear his eyes away from. “Exactly. You’re a mere peasant. You and I have never met, but you were willing to throw your life away in an instant to protect mine.”

Taehyung grinned, and Jin could feel something sweeping him up, making his body lighter. The wind that carried the prince was strong and wild, and he wondered what getting caught in that wind would feel like.

“There are many people in the palace from noble families who I have known for years, who would kill me at the first chance they were given if they gained something from it.”

The prince turned to face the city, placing his hand on the railing of the balcony. Jin thought to himself, that with his back turned like that, he looked somehow lonely. Like he had been watching over the city and its people like this, all alone his whole life.

“Jin, life in the palace is not as lavish as it may seem. You must constantly look over your shoulder, you can’t trust anyone. You must play the game carefully and cunningly...”

His words were dark and heavy, but he wanted to hear all of it. As if whenever the prince spoke Jin finally came alive. “It won’t be easy...” Taehyung warned.

“My prince,” Jin softly praised, dropping to his knee. “If you would allow it, please let me be the person you can trust. Let me be your eyes, your ears, your hands. I will serve you to the best of my abilities.”

The prince smiled, turning to face the boy. “Even if the city has turned against me, and you must follow me down to the pits of hell?”

Jin grinned, and Taehyung thought it was much better than the apologetic face he had worn thus far. “Even so, I will follow you, Your Highness.”

Taehyung laughed, happily and full like children should, extending his hand towards the boy. “Then get off the floor already, you look ridiculous!”

“And that was how I came to be the royal advisor...” Jin finished his story, disbelief still coloring your expression.

“Really? Is that story really true?” you excitedly asked, Jin’s words still turning in your head. Jin chuckled, and nodded. “I swear it. Sometimes I can’t quite believe it myself.”

“But what happened with the pig’s blood?” you asked, unable to contain your curiosity. To that Jin smiled, leaning in closer;

“Turns out that some of the nobles who worked with the finances decided to switch the usual supplier of blood for someone cheaper, and kept the money they saved for themselves.” You looked at Jin with wide eyes as he continued.

“They thought no one would notice the difference if the pig’s blood was used in the cooking instead of the human blood. But they forgot to include a crate of usual human blood for normal drinking.”

“So they got caught?”

Jin grinned. “And the Prince made sure that I personally got credit for exposing their operation.”

You glanced at Taehyung sleeping soundly in bed with awe and newfound respect. You had never imagined him to be someone like that, and you were starting to realize there was so much you didn’t know about him.

“Y/N...” Jin said, his eyes gentle and soft. “I know it seems like the King is harsh and cruel now... but he has had to endure a lot during the years I’ve known him. And that has been many, many years... But I told you this story for a reason.”

Taking your hand into his, he gave it a comforting squeeze and you could feel your heart swell for the advisor, who had shown you nothing but kindness from the start. “The King placed his faith and trust in me... even though I was a street urchin. There were dozens others, more noble and much more qualified than I was...”

He smiled, and you knew exactly why the King could put his trust in Jin, even when there was no one else by his side. “But he saw something in me. He didn’t care about my background, my bloodline or where I had come from. He judged my character, my abilities, my skills.” Jin looked at Taehyung or a few seconds, admiration and pride dancing across his face.

This man would give up the whole world for Taehyung if he had to.

“He will not judge you for your past Y/N.” You felt flushed and embarrassed, glancing away. But your past was so dreadul and shameful... how could he possibly not judge you for it?

‘He will look past that, to what matters in here,” Jin said pointing at your chest. “All you have to do is have patience, and put your faith in my Prince.“

With that Jin stood up, leaving you alone with your thoughts after making sure the King was alright. You thought about Jin’s story and all he had said to you. Sitting by the edge of the bed you looked at Taehyung’s face, peaceful and without worry.

He frowned so much....

“I wish I had known you when you were young” you whispered, resting your head in your hand. “It seems we were both better people back then...” you sighed, remembering fragments of the girl you had once been. But you knew neither you nor Taehyung could go back; those children from long ago were no longer here.

You could only move forward from here... and you hoped, in the smallest part of your chest, that you do so by his side. Taking his bandaged hand into yours, you placed your palm over the top of his hand and closed your eyes. Softly, you whispered a prayer he would never hear;

“Get well soon Prince Taehyung...”

~To be continued

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mindsnot · 7 years

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Broken Age Fanfic part 1 (subtitle: new beginnings)

Currently working on a Broken Age fanfic. It’s pretty long, so it’ll go beneath a readmore. I tried to keep it in the spirit of the game, with puzzles and humor, and what I hope is consistent canon. Not sure if they’re making a sequel ever, but until then, here’s my conclusion.

Shay stepped out of the conference room and sighed, his whole upper body sagging down, as if he was deflating. The hallway was empty. He only had as much time as he would have plausibly spent in the bathroom, so he pulled out his phone.

He flipped open the hexagonal clamshell and was greeted by a smiling face.

“What’s happening, Shay? Are you having a good day?”

“Put me through to Vella.”

“Aw,” the phone cried in a warbly voice. “You’re always calling Vella. You know who you haven’t called in a while? Curtis. You haven’t called Curtis in a while. I bet he misses you,” the phone sang.

Shay gave the phone a deadpan stare.

“I’ll call Vella,” the phone muttered.

Vella pulled out her clamshell phone she got from Shellmound. Its case was an actual clamshell, and it smelled faintly of fish. She wasn’t sure why she used it, but she never did get around to using a new one.

“Hello,” she said.

“Hey, it’s me.”

“Hi, Shay. How are delegations going?”

“They’re going.” Vella could tell from the way his voice trailed off that “going” might have been too generous a word.

“Well, you can’t expect the negotiations between the Lorunans and the other countries to go perfectly smooth at first,” said Vella.

“But it’s so boring,” Shay whined. “They’re just talking in circles. Neither side is willing to compromise.”

“You’re the one that signed up to be an ambassador,” said Vella, rolling her eyes.

“Anyway, what are you doing,” said Shay. “Baking a cake?”

Vella scoffed.

“I do a lot more than bake cakes, you know,” said Vella. She certainly wasn’t going to admit that she had just finished decorating a three-layer cake less than an hour ago.

“All right,” said Shay. “Well, what are you doing now?”

“I’m heading to a place,” said Vella. The forest at the end of the road was coming into view now. Plumes of chimney smoke rose from the middle. “Woodburr, have you heard of it?”

“I think so…isn’t Curtis from there? Why are you going to a middle-of-nowhere place like that?”

“Let’s just say,” said Vella in a playful voice, “I’m hunting for a wolf.”

“Wait, you mean Marek?” Shay cried, but Vella had already hung up.

Shay groaned and put his phone away.

It was quiet.

Shay turned around and saw the Thrush Master towering over him.

“Hello, child.”

Shay straightened himself up, standing as tall as he could.

“The meeting is still going on,” said Shay.

The Thrush Master laughed.

“Ah, yes. The unity of Loruna and the badlands. The undoing of everything we’ve worked for in the name of peace, in the name of progress and cooperation. But not everyone is so happy with this forced accord. With this unexpected…reversal.”

“Gee, I couldn’t tell.”

The Thrush Master raised an eyebrow.

“You misunderstand me. A bit of bad blood—in moderation,” he muttered, “can be a good thing. A necessary evil, if you will. Blood, genes, life must be able to adapt, or else it will cease to be. And that which fails is the farthest thing from perfect. Although, The First might prefer to wipe the slate clean, to start over. Most of us would not prefer that.”

The veins stood out on the Thrush Master’s head crest.

Shay narrowed his eyes and tried to look for any trace of a lie, but the Thrush Master’s expression was flat.

“And what? What’s the point of telling me?”

The Thrush Master held his arms behind his back and looked down at Shay, studying him.

“You have demonstrated a certain…judgment, the kind we have always been looking for. I do not think it would be unwise to trust you. Take this.”

The Thrush Master produced a package from the folds of his robes. It was book shaped.

“Uh…” said Shay.

“The other three volumes elude me, but I managed to obtain the second. I trust you will appreciate its worth and decipher its mysteries. Now, I must be going. And I believe you have a meeting to return to?”

Shay stifled his retort. He was pretty late coming back to his meeting.

He walked back down the hallway, but right outside the door, looked down at his parcel. He opened the bag it was in and removed the book.

Bunny Tutu and the Poison Mushrooms, it said on the cover.

“Let me know when you want another stack, sweetie,” said the mayor, pouring a flood of maple syrup onto Vella’s second stack of pancakes.

“Thanks,” said Vella. She watched the syrup ooze through the thick stack of pancakes. She was already full after the second pancake in the first stack. “So, anyway, about the wolf that moved into town—”

“Oh, yes, quite the talk,” said Mayor Margo. She was stout and burly, dressed in denim and plaid, and had round, rosy cheeks. “He went and hid in the Moss Shed.” She shrugged and made a noise. “No way to get in there. Who knows how he did.” Her cheery expression dimmed. “More importantly, you aren’t looking to cause any trouble, are you?”

“What do you mean?” Vella cut another bite out of her pancakes and ate it. It was really was quite good, especially the fresh maple syrup. She could always appreciate good sweets.

“Just the way you’re dressed, sweetie.”

Vella was wearing a red cape with a red hood. She was aware how that looked when someone was looking for a wolf. She shrugged herself.

“Don’t worry,” she said between chewing. “Can’t see why there’d be any problems.”

There was a problem.

The Moss Shed was a huge rock covered in moss, just as its name suggested. Only it wasn’t a rock. It was metal beneath the green growth, and there was a clear set of metal doors secured shut at the base. Only Vella could see the moss broken at the seams…as if it had been opened recently.

There were no handles, no keyholes, nothing.

“Another puzzle,” Vella grumbled.

Vella checked her pockets.

First, she pulled out her trusty knife. She tried jamming it in between the spot where the doors met, trying to wedge them open, or something.

“Hey, toots, do I look like a crowbar,” shouted the knife. The tiny little face on the hilt was frowning with its eyebrows furrowed.

“Sorry,” said Vella. She put him away and went back to thinking.

The only other things in her pockets were her cell phone, her pastry bag (just in case there was a cake that needed decorating), and an embroidered hand towel (always handy, something you should never leave home without).

Maybe she was looking at it wrong. If Marek got in there, then there had to be a way in. She seriously doubted he forced the doors open. So she tried prying her attention away from the doors and looking elsewhere along the Moss Shed. To the left there was nothing. She climbed to the top of it, and aside from a clear view of the rest of Woodburr and all its little log cabins, she didn’t see much. However, after climbing back down her foot slipped on a patch of moss, causing her to almost fall.

She dusted herself off and got her bearings back. A couple feet to the right of the doors was a patch of moss with her footprint still pressed into it. She touched the moss and noticed it was loose.

“All right, here’s your chance to shine,” she said to her knife.

“Let me at em’,” he growled. Vella sawed through the patch of moss and let it fall to the ground in one big clump. Behind the clump was a control panel of some sort, with blocky red buttons and black and yellow lines outlining it.

“So that’s how he did it.” She put her hands on her hips. “Now let’s see…” Vella tried pushing a few buttons at random, then stood back. A little light flared red and a horn blared repeatedly.

“Incorrect password,” intoned a robotic voice. “Two attempts remaining.”

Vella grumbled.

“I’m not going to figure out that password, and I’ll probably never make it in if I mess up again. So, I guess that leaves force again.”

Vella inspected the control panel again. There seemed to be screws at each of the corners. She took out her knife again.

“What are you trying to pull?”

“I don’t have a screwdriver, so work with me here.”

“I don’t like this,” he said. But he didn’t say any more while Vella fiddled with each screw and let them each drop to the ground.

Once the panel was detached, it only hung by a cord of wires, revealing a little bit inside the machinery of the Moss Shed.

“I probably won’t get through there unless I’m a mouse, but I bet if something were to wreak havoc in there it would open up.” She thought. “Or at least do something.”

Her cloak flapped as she turned around and headed back to town, still pondering.

“Howdy, what can I do you for?” The general store owner was a skinny lad with a bushy beard that almost hid his cheery grin. “The name’s Woodford.”

“What can you tell me about the Moss Shed?”

“Oh, it’s that metal shed covered with moss on the outskirts of town.” Woodford shrugged. “It’s a local sight.”

Perhaps another conversation track would work better.

“What kind of things do you sell here?”

Woodford’s face lit up.

“Why, we sell everything from Woodburr’s famous maple syrup, to lumber supplies, to any handy household goods.”

Vella cupped her chin in her hand.

“I don’t suppose you sell remote controlled bombs, do you?”

Woodford laughed.

“Why would we sell those? We just sell plastic explosives.”

“Oh,” said Vella. She looked down at her feet, then looked around the store at the supplies on the shelves. Looking sideways she asked, “Can you…sell me some?”

“Are you nuts,” shouted Woodford, banging his hands on the counter. “I can’t just sell any old girl plastic explosives…unless she had a way to carry it. Geeze, how would you even deliver it?”

“What would I carry it in,” Vella muttered to herself. How she would use it was another question she was even less prepared for.

She had an idea.

“Put some in here,” she said. She offered Woodford her pastry bag.

Back at the Moss Shed, she went back to the control panel, equipped with her pastry bag. The waxed cloth bag was bulging with plastic explosive. She inserted the metal nozzle of the pastry bag deep into the recesses of the space behind the control panel. She squeezed the bag, gently at first, then harder to force out more of the toothpasty explosive material.

When she was done, she stuffed the bag, nozzle and all, into the hole, poked the detonator in, and ran a good distance away.

The Moss Shed was a speck in the distance when she had gone far enough. She pushed the little button on her little remote.

There was a roaring explosion and a rush of wind followed by a shower of debris kicked up.

When she approached again there was a funny smell from the explosive—the control panel was a smoldering heap of wreckage—and a musty smell emanating from the open metal doors, and the dark corridor that led underground.

Vella pulled her cloak tight, raised her hood over her hair, and descended into the darkness.

Little Bunny Tutu had built the prettiest garden for himself, and had filled it with all the best of each kind of vegetable. But Bunny Tutu was worried about dirty varmints that might come to mess it all up. So the first thing Bunny Tutu did was build a big wall around his garden.

Shay was lying on his back on the couch, holding the book above him. He groaned and turned to the next page.

Bunny Tutu’s very special garden was safe behind the big wall he built. However, Bunny Tutu decided it wasn’t enough. Looking over the walls of his garden, Bunny Tutu kept an eye out for dirty varmints. Suddenly, Bunny Tutu had an idea.

Shay turned the page. The book was illustrated, with pictures that were clearly drawn for children, and possibly drawn by children.

Little Bunny Tutu was full of mischief. Leaving the safety of his garden, Bunny Tutu snuck out into the bad lands and into the gardens of the dirty varmints. It was night time when Bunny Tutu did his work. He dug little holes and put little pieces of poison mushrooms inside. 23 little holes, and 23 pieces of poison mushroom later, and he was done.

Chuckling to himself after a job well done, Bunny Tutu snuck away and returned to his garden to tend to it.

Little Bunny Tutu wasn’t worried anymore. If anything ever happened, and if the dirty varmints ever got past his walls, the poison mushrooms would sprout in the other gardens. Bunny Tutu went to sleep—another brilliant plan completed—tucked into bed, and looked forward to the next bright day.

Shay slapped the book shut. He turned the skinny book over and looked at the “2” printed on its narrow spine. He groaned again, louder this time. He had read the book five times already, and he still didn’t understand what the point was. The Thrushmaster didn’t seem the joking type. There had to be something in the book, something he didn’t get yet.

“What do you mean, you stupid book?” Shay stared at the cover of the book, at Bunny Tutu. He looked so…weird. He was hardly a bunny. He had big, floppy ears covered in pink fur, and a rabbit’s head, but wore a gray suit and had brown, flesh-colored hands. It gave the impression that it was just a person wearing a half-hearted rabbit costume.

Shay rolled over and sat up on the couch. He had spent hours rereading, researching, thinking, anything to try and figure out the book.

“I don’t even have time for this,” he muttered. Tomorrow, he would have to go back into work, and dozens of countries were still petitioning to speak with Loruna. He’d already been in at least twenty or thirty meetings so far and…

“Wait,” he breathed.

Snatching the book, he flipped to the pages where Bunny Tutu was planting the poison mushrooms in the varmints’ gardens.

23 little holes, and 23 pieces of poison mushroom later—

Shay’s eyes widened. The light book felt very heavy all of a sudden.

Work would have to wait.

Shay had finished his breakfast—eggs and bacon, no more cereal, he was fifteen-years-old, an adult!—and was in his room, packing his things, when his mom and dad decided to help.

“Where are you going,” his mother asked, her round hairdo bobbing side-to-side while she moved through his drawers, picking out clothes for him.

“I might head to Sugar Bunting first,” said Shay. He was deciding between which gadgets would most come in handy for whatever happened. “But I’ll probably head to other places, maybe Meriloft and Ice Vista after that.”

23 holes and 23 pieces of poison mushroom. The numbers had to mean something. The numbers stood out. There was a second reason the numbers meant something, but that was covered in a dark shroud in his mind, but the first reason had to be…the number of countries. 23, at least. If not the other three volumes of the book that the Thrushmaster alluded to, then maybe he’d find those poison mushrooms that were buried. It filled Shay with an energy as he packed his toothbrush and laptop into his backpack…but also with a heavy dread. Would he be ready when he found what he was looking for?

“An extra three scarves then,” his mother chirped. She was taking it rather well, Shay thought. There wasn’t a word of protest about him taking a vacation from his job and leaving on his trip.

Shay puffed himself up and smiled. That must have meant that they were finally trusting him, as an adult.

“I got enough meal bars to last you a week, son,” his dad called from the kitchen.

“Thanks dad.” He wasn’t exactly planning on roughing it in the woods, but it helped to be prepared.

His mother grunted as she stuffed the last of his clothes into his bulging backpack and zipped it shut.

“Here you go,” she said. “Now, I had this made for you, although I hope you won’t need it.” She pulled out a plastic band and secured it to his wrist. It was like a smart watch, except instead of a flat face it had a ping pong ball-sized glass ball attached to it.

“What is it,” asked Shay.

The Overmother’s radiant sun head popped up into the glass bulb, beaming up at him.

“It’s a communicator, sweetie,” the head in the glass ball said, at the same time as his mother speaking into a communicator on her wrist. “It also doubles as a computer terminal, allowing me to interact with various hardware, and control various systems. As long as they’re compatible.”

“Wow,” said Shay. “I didn’t think that far ahead.”

“You’re all set, sweetie.” His mom came over and gave him a tight hug. “Now, just let me and your father pack, and we’ll be ready to go.”

“Wait,” said Shay. “We?”

“We can’t let you go off by yourself,” his mother laughed. She glided out the door and to her room.

“No,” he wailed softly. “I was going to be an adult…”

His father crept into his room, looking back once over his shoulder.

“Here are the keys to the hovercycle. I’ll keep your mother distracted while you leave the house.”

“Dad…” Shay almost had tears in his eyes.

“Go out there, son. I have a feeling that whatever you’re going to do is a very important job. A job fit for an adult.”

“Dad.” Shay squeezed his father.

“Get going,” his father wheezed.

Shay let go, adjusted his backpack, and snuck off.

Vella climbed down the steps of the Moss Shed. She slid her hand along the smooth wall for guidance, her footsteps echoing in the darkness.

The bottom of the stairs had a path revealed by dim, red lights. She followed it, keeping an eye out for surprises.

She noticed traces of long, black hair on the ground.

“Marek,” she muttered.

Following the traces of hair, she headed down hallways lit by dim red lights, past locked doors and dusty, shut down computer panels. The traces of hair forked off in two different directions.

To the left was a hallway leading to a larger corridor, but in front of her was a bit of hair sitting in front of a door that wasn’t completely closed.

She decided to check on the door first, since it was closer.

She was glad the door didn’t make any noise as she slowly eased it open.

“Aha,” she shouted, as she flicked on the lights. But no one was there.

She explored the room a bit, although there wasn’t much to explore: a desk with a computer on it, some dusty, old file cabinets, bizarre warning signs on the walls. There was something next to the computer, though. It was a some sort of scanning machine and printer hooked up to the computer, with a thin book lying open on the scanner face.

Vella picked up the book and looked at the pages it was opened to. It had childish drawings of some sort of weird bunny man. He seemed to be working on some sort of paper Mache project. She clapped the book shut and read the title on the spine: Bunny Tutu and the Brilliant Monster Plan, along with a number: 3.

She stowed the book away and went back to explore the other path.

It led to a great, cavernous room, with some great shadow looming in the center.

“There has to be a light switch,” she muttered. After some searching along the wall, she found a big switch she cranked on.

“What…” Vella had so much she wanted to say that she was speechless.

In the center of the room was an enormous orb of metal plates strung up with wires. In a stencil font was a huge #12.

Vella felt herself shrink. She felt like she wanted to run away, but that no matter how far she ran it wouldn’t be far enough, so she just stood paralyzed with fear.

The giant metal sphere looked like a bomb.

***

“Welcome to Ice Vista, traveler!”

The man who greeted Shay as he got off his hoverbike was wearing a black and white parka. He looked like a penguin.

Shay wasn’t familiar with Ice Vista—they must have been latecomers to the delegations.

“So…you guys…” Shay looked around. Everyone was wearing some variation of the black and white parka, children waddling around playing, old people crouched around a fishing hole in the ice. The actual penguins waddling around just seemed liked miniature versions of the villagers. “Worship penguins,” Shay hazarded in a faltering voice.

“Ho ho ho,” laughed the man. “Don’t be silly. Everyone here in Ice Vista just likes penguins a lot. Care for some penguin jerky?”

“I thought you liked penguins,” said Shay. The man’s mittened hand was an inch away from his face, clutching a piece of withered meat.

“We also like eating them.”

“How are things going, sweetie?” Overmom’s sunny face appeared in the little orb on Shay’s wrist, smiling her sunniest smile.

“Well, I came here looking for old Loruna tech, and all I’ve found so far is,” Shay surveyed the igloos and bustling villagers of Ice Vista, “less high tech. If there’s anything that old, it’s probably buried under the ice, and I wouldn’t know where to start.”

Overmom hummed in thought.

“The villager fish under the ice, right? You should ask around. The people are more familiar with the area than you are, and I’m sure they’d be glad to help.”

“I’m not so sure,” said Shay, recalling how easily complete strangers tended to drop their problems and help him with his, which is to say, not.

“If things get really tough, I can be right over to help you in a jiffy—”

“Whoops, someone’s calling me! I have to go! I love you, bye!”

The Overmom’s response was clipped short as Shay clicked shut the transmission and her face vanished in the wrist bulb.

Shay walked back to the middle of the village to get his bearings.

In the center of the town was an igloo restaurant with a sign that read “Raul’s Bistro” and beneath it, “Coming Soon: Organic Vegan Cuisine.”

There were two people in Raul’s Bistro, each hunched over a steaming bowl scooping spoonfuls of pungent goop into their mouths.

“What can I get you,” said Raul. Although dressed for the cold, he had opted out of the penguin parka most of the other villagers wore for layers of stylish scarves and sweaters with a plaid apron on top.

“The usual,” Shay said. He always wanted to try that.

“You’ve never been here,” Raul countered.

“Okay, then. I’ll have...” there wasn’t much variety between either of the other patrons and their identical bowls of slop. “What she’s having?”

“Oh.” Raul turned around. With his back to Shay, he let out a loud and drawn out sigh. Raul turned around again. “One bowl of blubber and penguin stew?”

“Um…” Shay considered his options. “Can you tell me about your vegan cuisine?”

“Since you asked, we have a delicious red vinaigrette garden salad made with only the freshest, locally grown greens. Vegan, organic, GMO-free, and organic. Coming soon!”

“How soon,” asked Shay.

“As soon as I get some locally grown greens. Have you taken a look around? Not many plants grow on the tundra. Until they do, I’ll be melting blubber in that old stew cauldron until I wither and die.” Raul jerked a thumb toward the massive black iron cauldron hanging over the fire, it’s heavy lid rattling under the bubbling blubber broth.

“Well…good luck with that.”

Shay went back out into the town square. Raul’s food conundrum wasn’t going to help him discover Loruna ruins.

Signposts led to the fishing holes. His mom’s advice was to ask the fisher people who knew the place best.

Shay crunched his way through the snow to a signpost in the town square: “Penguin Fields” towards the left and “Fishing Holes” pointing toward the right.

The fishing holes were deserted this time of day, say for a pair of squat women in penguin parkas sitting next to each other, fishing the same hole. They seemed frozen in place, but their wrinkled faces were set into expressions somewhere past boredom into acceptance.

“Excuse me,” said Shay.

“Hm.” The fishwife didn’t move, but her grunt had a positive tone.

“I was wondering if you’ve seen any weird technology under the ice. Stuff that looks out of place…”

The other fishwife pointed a mitten behind her.

“Look in the old grotto, but don’t look too closely.”

“Thanks…” Shay wasn’t sure what that second part meant, but he was glad for some simple instructions for once.

A way away from the fishing holes was a deserted area and a sizeable opening in the ice. It was murky beneath the icy blue water, but it looked deep. It probably housed the grotto the old woman was talking about. Shay took off his back pack and browsed through the contents of his inventory.

His mom and dad might have expected him to be stranded on a deserted island instead of travelling from village to village. He had fruit and granola nutrition bars for emergency rations, the multitool his dad packed for him, more spare clothes and knitted scarves than he knew what to do with, polymer weave rope, and even a spacesuit, in case he was about to flung into space at a moment’s notice.

Fortunately, that last item was a nice save, since he needed a wetsuit if he was going to consider dipping into freezing water, and a space suit did the trick in a pinch.

The bulky spacesuit fit over his normal clothes, and the glass (it wasn’t glass, some sort of advanced plastic, but whatever) dome snapped on neatly.

He jumped into the pool with a splash and began awkwardly paddling down. A flashlight beam in the suit’s collar flicked on lighting his way. There was clearly something underground, a metal panel a dozen or so feet down, some blocky writing he couldn’t make out…

Something passed across his vision. His arms were pinned to his side. His legs were gripped and his arms yanked upward. He was spun around and saw a huge metal starfish grabbing him, each articulated limb grabbing one of his. A green eye glowed like an angry alarm, and the top arm of the starfish slammed down on his head.

The blow rang on his helmet with a dull thud. Then Shay found himself rushing upward, spun around again, then flying through the air and back onto the snow.

Shay groaned. He opened his eyes to the cloudless sky, and eventually got to his feet and changed out of his suit.

Shay tramped back to the fishwives.

“You guys forgot to mention a horrible robotic ocean guardian in the grotto.”

The fishwives both shrugged.

“Never told us you were going down there.”

“Not too smart, are you?”

Shay gritted his teeth. It was better not to get on people’s bad side, though, especially when he was still asking for help.

“I don’t suppose you two have any experience fighting monsters?”

“We just fish.”

“Of course, if you’re fishing for something big, you’re going to need a big lure.”

“Starfish aren’t fish. They’re echinoderms,” said one of the fishwives.

“It’s not a fish,” shouted Shay. “It’s a big, metal…”

The last item Shay had to work with was his hoverbike. Shay went and brought it back to the fishing holes.

“Fancy tech you got there, kid. Why are you taking it apart?”

“I am making,” said Shay, unwinding some wires, “an electromagnet!”

“Fancy, that” said one of the fishwives, apparently more interested in her line not getting any bites.

“I’m glad you asked,” said Shay, unclicking a big blocky component from inside his bike. “Using copper wire, stripped with my trusty multitool (“Don’t mention it,” chirped the various tiny voices of his multitool”), and this bike battery,” he said holding up the blocky component, “I can use the power of science to defeat a robot. Pretty fancy, I know, but I am an official Junior Science Master Graduate of Child-Friendly Good Boy Science Experiments.”

“Where’s your core?”

“Huh?” That didn’t sound like a compliment to Shay.

“A strong current, from your battery, copper wire, but where’s your iron core.”

“You’ll especially need a big core if you’re planning to reel in that beast.”

“But where am I going to find—” Shay had another idea.

Shay didn’t bother going straight to Raul’s restaurant. Raul had a solid iron cauldron, but he doubted he’d give it up without anything in exchange.

He decided to head to Penguin Fields to see if any locals knew anything about where to find some greens.

Penguin fields were densely populated…with penguins. Two foot birds squawking up a cacophony and waddling around. There was a tall penguin in the crowd, or at least person wearing a penguin suit.

“Hey there,” said Shay, trying to avoid stepping on any penguins. “There wouldn’t happen to be kale or any leafy greens growing around here, would there?”

The penguin person sighed. “You’ve been talking to Raul? He’s delusional if he thinks he thinks his salad business is going to take off. No one wants that stuff either. Doesn’t fill you up.”

“Right…but say someone wanted to find some local greens anyway?”

The penguin person scratched their chin.

“Look around, do you see anything growing up here? On the other hand, if you were a penguin, you’d be able to swim underneath the ice floes and snack on some iceberg lettuce.

Shay crouched down on the ice and brushed away the snowfall. The ice was mostly opaque, but there were hints of green orbs underneath the ice sheet.

“Easy, just pull out my multitool, “Shay plunged his saw knife into the ice and began sawing. He sawed a large hole into the ice floe, planning on lifting it out and plucking the lettuce heads. He sawed a big hole, a few yards long, iceberg lettuce barely visible underneath. “Now to lift the ice floe.”

Shay squatted and dug his fingers into the crack. He heaved, straining his burning muscles, as the ice floe barely budged.

“Okay, that didn’t work. And these penguins aren’t helping!” The ice was heavy enough, and the penguins walking on the end he was trying to lift didn’t help.

“Maybe Raul will loan me his pot on partial credit?”

“How’s it going,” asked Raul.

“I found a bunch of iceberg lettuce.”

“Iceberg lettuce,” Raul shrieked in delight, tossing aside his stew bowl.

“It’s under the ice.”

“Oh…” Raul’s smile sank into a heavy frown. “Well, thanks for letting me know,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“I’ll get that lettuce,” said Shay waving his hands. “It’s just hard on an empty stomach, you know?”

Raul ladled a big bowl of steaming stew into a bowl.

“Eat your fill.” He handed the bowl to Shay. He leaned in for an urgent whisper. “The future of organic vegan cuisine is depending on you.”

Shay made his way back to Penguin fields with his bowl of stew in his hands. The penguins were squawking and crowding around him, but he was tall enough not to let them reach it.

“Let’s give this a shot.” Shay poured the fish stew on the opposite end of the ice he cut out from the lettuce. As the thick stew splashed onto the ice, the penguins mobbed onto the spot, bending down to lap up the stew. The flow sank deep, but the penguins didn’t seem to notice.

Wasting no time, Shay went over to the other end and got his grip again. Bracing his muscles (which weren’t that small, right?), Shay lifted, and found the ice floe actually being lifted. The floe was lifted up at an extreme angle, and Shay, in a moment of panic, ran with it and guided the floe higher and higher until it was standing upright 90 degrees, then then flipped it on its back. The ice fell with a huge splash, and the feeding penguins were nowhere to be seen.

“They’re probably fine,” said Shay. He rubbed his arm. “I mean, they’re penguins, right?”

What was more appealing at the moment were the exposed iceberg lettuce heads, roots buried in the underside, now the overside of the ice. Shay gather two big armfuls of the vegetables and walked back to Raul’s.

“All natural cuisine has a future!” Raul fell to his knees in tears. “I have greens, dressing, and a topping.” His eyes shot open. “A topping?” His voice rose in terror. “How could I not have any toppings?” He grapped shay by the lapels of his coat. “Please, my savior, you have to have a topping of some kind on you? Dried fruit, croutons or grains?”

“I have…” Shay turned around and scrounged through his backpack. “Say?” Shay pulled out his nutrition bars and unwrapped them in the empty stew bowl. He crunched them up by hand and turned around to present it to Raul. “Ta da! Crumbled granola and dried fruit, all natural and organic and, um, food.”

“Genius,” roared Raul. Raul turned around. “Out, all of you! There’s the door! Drop that disgusting slop and come back when we’re a real bistro.”

“Say,” said Shay. I don’t suppose you need that cauldron anymore?”

“Take it! You don’t cook salad in a cauldron. We’re living in the future!”

Shay was back at the Fishing Holes assembling his electromagnet.

“Got a core, did you,” said one of the fishwives.

“Yep,” said Shay. He was wrapping the copper wire around the cleaned-out cauldron, connecting it to the battery he placed inside the cauldron.

“How are you going to seal the cauldron from water,” asked a fishwife.

“My dad’s patented hull sealant,” Shay announced, applying the last of the glue before pressing the lid down firmly.

“Now how are you going to turn it on,” asked the other fishwife.

“The remote starter for my hoverbike,” Shay answered.

“Mighty reckless of you to take apart your fancy bike for this fishing trip.”

“A lot’s at stake,” said Shay, setting his mouth firm. “I need to find out what’s down there.” Last of all, Shay tied the rope to the lid of the cauldron and lugged the whole thing over to the grotto.

Shay stared down into the pool. He couldn’t see the starfish, but he knew it was down there.

He pushed the electromagnet into the water and watched it sink fast, dragging the rope with it until Shay grabbed it.

Shay waited. It was hard to tell if it was getting close, but now was as good a time as any. He clicked the remote of his bike and he heard the buzz of the electromagnet turn on, followed by the loud clank of the robot slam into the magnet.

Shay grinned.

“Now to reel it in.” The cauldron was heavy, but the robot wasn’t as heavy as he expected.

The green eye blazed with rage, but the starfish was helpless stuck to the magnet, and now dragged onto the ice.

“Time to take a nap, buddy.” Shay pulled out his multitool and unscrewed a panel on the robot. It was certainly Loruna technology, even if it was bizarrely outdated. Shay flipped a switch and the green eye faded. “All right, now it’s time to go see what’s down there.”

Bunny Tutu’s garden needed dirt. His garden had the nicest seeds, the freshest water, and Bunny Tutu built a neat hedge and had a dozen and a half of the shiniest tools to start gardening, but he needed rich dirt to plant his seeds in. Uh oh!

The bad lands full of bad people had plenty of good dirt (all they really had was dirt), but how would he sneak over and carry a barrow back to his garden?

If he asked or offered to trade, the mean varmints would know about his garden (his garden was a secret.

If he tried to fight them (they were mean, but all a bunch of wimps), they would hide their dirt, or throw it away to spite him.

Bunny Tutu was clever, so instead, he came up with a clever idea. Bunny Tutu sent his helpers out with wheelbarrows, but disguised them as scary monsters. He told his friends to use their meanest voices and tell the varmints to hand them some dirt, if they know what’s good for them.

Bunny Tutu’s plan worked so well, even he was surprised. The varmints started competing to give him their favorite dirt.

Vella slammed the thin book shut (it didn’t make an impressive noise, since the hardcovers were thinner than the sparse, illustrated pages). Vella slid Bunny Tutu and the Brilliant Monster Plan back into her satchel. The glowing number on the ceiling console told her the shuttle pod would be arriving at its destination in less than seven minutes. After Vella saw the…bomb, she could have gone back and warned the others, but another stray tuft of fur led to a small station with a miniature train car. It was far sleeker and nicer looking than any train car she had ever seen, and it was clear that it only went back and forth to one destination. The only question was where, but Vella was about to find out.

A pleasant, robotic voice informed Vella that she had arrived at Terminal 4, as the train glided to a silent stop.

Vella got off and explored the station. There wasn’t much there, but a door leading out. The door led to another series of hallways—she found another vast chamber with a huge, spherical bomb, this one labelled “4”—and a few other rooms, mirroring the facility she was just in.

“So this is number four and I was just at twelve?” Vella kept her voice down, although there was no one around to hear here, the dim emergency lights felt like they were hiding something. “There must be at least twelve of these places, but why didn’t I go to number 13 or 11?” The only other room worth noticing was a room with a door labeled “Data Management.” There was a computer console with a dead screen and a dusty chair sprawled on the ground like a mummified corpse. The computer console beneath the screen projector had a neat hole where a large piece was clearly removed. The side of a console had a nasty hole in the side where it looked like someone took a hammer and smashed it in a few times, and then a few more for good measure.

Vella’s mouth made a hard line. She didn’t need to look for any traces of wolf hair to guess who made this fresh wreck and made off with what was probably a memory block.

Vella pulled her hood up tight.

“He’s got to be out there.” The facility exit/entrance was the same too, leading Vella out into the bright of day, although it wasn’t the brightness she was expecting.

The golden glint made Vella squint. The exit was on a high ridge overlooking a golden and bejeweled city, and the sky wasn’t the sky, but the roof of a huge cavern, lit by a blinding fake sun that seemed to be crawling along a big railing track. Climbing further down the ridge she was able to align the angle a big sign near the edge of town: “Welcome to Baublegilt.”

Vella almost tripped from starring at all the gold-plated buildings in town. It looked like a normal mining town with shops and workers traveling around, but even the sweatiest miners hefted solid gold picks over their shoulders and had cloth of silver and gold clothing. The baker’s storefront sign was circled with rubies and sapphires, and the goldsmith’s storefront was…well, covered in gold and jewels, but the other stuff was pretty unusual.

“If anyone will know this place, it’ll be a goldsmith.”

The inside of the shop displayed racks of diamond-studded silver bracelets, electrum chains, a fortune in rings crowned with walnut-sized gems, and more. There was a counter leading to a workshop in the back. An old woman dressed in a drab grey frock came out and adjusted her spectacles.

“Hello, ma’am. Can you tell me about Baublegilt?”

The old lady sniffed. She tittered briefly, then waved a hand.

“Here I thought it was someone important,” she said.

“Excuse me,” demanded Vella, balling his fists and rising up. “That’s pretty rich coming from someone in a gold town dressed—”

“Dressed in the fanciest fashions available,” the woman cut in. “See these rings?” The old lady put her hand in front of Vella’s face so fast that Vella almost swung and clobbered her. The old lady rotated her hand, “Genuine sandstone glass set in pure tin.” Her hand had at least six of them on. Her other hand snatched at a chain necklace around her neck and held it out, “Lead and zinc links, crowning, this is not gold, a genuine pyrite crystal.”

“Uh…” was all Vella was able to manage.

“So you see, I am far too rich to be wasting my time with someone who won’t make me richer. Now, go buy yourself a mushroom pie or whatever it is you commoners eat. The goldsmith flipped Vella a gold coin the size of a cookie. “Ta ta,” she said, disappearing behind the counter and back into her workshop.

Vella left holding a coin that was worth hundreds of times everything that rude goldsmith was wearing, assuming this was home or anywhere else that made sense.

Vella went to the baker’s shop, a place she at least assumed would make sense.

“New here,” asked the friendly baker behind the counter. Aside from some gold dust flecked on the a few loaves of bread, everything looked pretty standard for a bakery, aside from a solid gold rolling pin Vella spied in the back near the oven.

“What can I get for this,” asked Vella. She held up the huge coin.

“A mushroom bun,” said the baker with a wide smile. “Mushrooms are pretty cheap, since we don’t have to import them. Or…” Vella wasn’t getting her hopes up, “your pick of my day-old bread.”

That was that, then. Vella could at least ask some questions to this guy.

“Tell me about this place. I just kind of…wandered down here.”

“Oh, we just mine and craft goods out of the local ore and stone. The stuff we dig up isn’t super valuable, but we have plenty of it, and we import fresh produce and fancier metals for the fancier folk.

“I see…” Vella remembered the goldsmith flaunting her tin and lead like it was silver and gold. “Have you seen any suspicious people around here?”

“Besides you? I’m kidding! If anyone important came by the guildmasters would know about them. Might be they’ll be inviting them to their annual banquet.”

“Can you tell me more about this banquet?”

“I’d rather not think about it, said the baker, scratching the back of his head. This might be my last year catering for it if I don’t make a desert that’s sweeter than last year’s. But the shipment of apples at the fruit stand are scrawny and overpriced. Don’t think they’ll go for a mushroom cake. Do you?”

“As a baker…” Vella didn’t want to hurt his feelings. “Sometimes you should try branching out,” she shrugged.

“Ah, no problem, little lady.”

Vella left with nothing but her coin to her name, besides her knife, hand towel, and cell phone—“No reception down here, of course.” The other street lined with more golden buildings passed an alley. She checked it. A shadow flickered. There was a clatter and a rustle. Her red cape flapped as she rushed to the source of the noise. A silver trash can was on its side, spilling garbage. In the trash was a tall wolf mask and the remains of Marek’s fursuit.

The wearer was nowhere to be seen. She ruffled through his suit, but turned up nothing. But there was a crack in the cobblestones nearby. She pulled out her knife, but put it away as soon as it started complaining, “For the last time, I am NOT a crowbar.”

She tried prying open the latch with her fingers, but it barely budged. The last thing she had on hand was the coin she had just gotten. She wedged the big coin in the crack and pried as hard as she could. The cobblestone budged, but that’s it. The coin bent in half. “Dumb gold,” Vella growled. She gave it one more try and succeeded in snapping the coin in half. “Well, now I have two coins, sort of.”

She got back up and left the alley. If Marek was hiding in town, then that had to mean there was something he still wanted here. The artificial sun was setting, reaching the end of its track. After a brief pause, the lights shifted and the color dimmed to resemble a crescent moon.

“Something about that sun and moon look awfully familiar…” Memories of Shay’s ship exploded into her head. “Of course!” There was the facility located on a cliffside above, but below…she just had to find the place the controlled the artificial lighting. “Hall of Day and Night” read another sign, leading to a blocky cement structure on top of a hill. The outside looked modern, with token gold plating, but the top was a crystal pyramidal structure like the Dead Eye God from Shellmound, and Vella knew what that was.

Vella sprinted up to the entrance, but despite the workers coming and going, she was stopped by two burly guards in gold and silver filigree.

“Halt, only authorized staff and guests allowed for the banquet!”

“Who is invited,” asked Vella.

One of the guards shrugged.

“Guildmasters of the Minter’s Guild, Goldsmiths’ Guild, Merchant’s Guild…you know. Bigwigs with lead in their pockets.”

“Are you with catering?” The other guard pointed with her truncheon at her clothes underneath her red cape. “What kind of desert are they having? We get the leftovers, you know.”

The other guard shushed and nudged her hard.

“It’s…a surprise,” said Vella.

Vella left the guards at the gate, left town, then hiked back up the ridge to Facility 4#. The tram that brought her to Baublegilt was still waiting, and she could get back to Woodburr in a flash.

As the tram zipped back in the other direction, Vella had another hour to spend thinking. Of course, the building that gave them light and made their lives possible underground was where the town leaders were holding their big stupid banquet. But then again, this might have been her only chance to infiltrate and snoop around the place, when a big party of people were already going to be there. All she needed was a disguise. Or maybe two.

Vella arrived in Woodburr’s facility and made her way back to the village’s general store.

“It’s you again,” said the plaid-clad vendor brightly. “I hope it’s not plastic explosives you’re looking for, because you bought my last stock. Plenty of other goods, though.”

Vella fished in her pocket and felt each half of the cookie-sized coin. She took out one half.

“How much maple syrup will this get me?”

“The store owner leaned in close to inspect the coin.

“One.”

“One what?”

“One keg,” he shouted. “I haven’t seen that much gold in one place in years! Hold on a second.” He came back wheeling a keg of syrup.

It was a barrel big enough to hide a person in.

“And here’s your change.” The shopkeeper heaved a sack onto the counter that jangled. “I hope you like pennies,” he said with a shrug.

“Um,” said Vella, having been paid at her family’s bakery with pennies before. Then a flash went off in her head. “On second thought, thanks for the pennies,” she said, picking up a copper coin from the bag.

Vella went back into town with her penny sack tied to her belt, rolling her syrup keg on the ground. One of the log cabins in town had to have a seamstress, and she found one by the sign outside.

There was a woman mending a pair of trousers under a noisy sewing machine.

“What do you need, sweetie?”

“I need a sort of dress…”

“What kind of dress? I don’t do anything fancy.”

It was hard to explain, and Vella didn’t want to explain her whole mission from the beginning.

“I need a…costume for…an event I’m going to.”

The seamstress stopped sewing and scooted her stool closer. She leaned close to Vella and asked in a conspiratorial whisper. She grinned.

“Do you need an outfit for…cosplay?”

“Excuse me?”

The woman beamed.

“I know what you kids are about! Why, my son Joshua is into those cartoons too.”

“Mooooom, they’re nooooot cartoooons,” groaned a loud voice from upstairs.

“What do you want to make a dress out of,” she asked Vella, ignoring her son’s cry.

Something reliable and sturdy came to mind.

“How about this,” said Vella, removing her red hood.

“But it’s such a nice cloak. Still, it’s nice fabric. It’ll make a short dress, though, knee-length, maybe.”

“That’s fine. I need to look flashy. Speaking of…” Vella pulled out her sack of pennies. “Can you sew these onto the dress, like sequins?”

“Huh,” said the woman, raising an eyebrow at the pennies. “I guess those characters do have some weird outfits. Still, sequins have holes in them. How else am I going to sew them on?”

Vella wandered around the shop in thought. She went over to the sewing machine and inspected it.

“This basically punches holes in fabric, right?”

“My sewing needle can’t poke holes in pennies, sweetie.”

But Vella had an idea what could.

She pulled out her knife.

“Listen, you like stabbing, right?”

“Ha, almost as much as I like slashing, sweetheart!”

“How do you think you match up against one of these?” She held a penny in front of the knife and rotated it in front of the knife’s little face.

“Those things wouldn’t stand a chance,” he said with a sneer.

“Here’s your chance to prove it!”

“What do you think you’re doing?”

A spool a thread was nearby, allowing Vella to tightly tie the knife to the needle, upside down.

“Excuse me,” Vella said to the seamstress, who politely let Vella take her seat. Vella pulled out a test penny and placed it beneath the knife. She placed a foot on the pedal and the knife rocketed up and down.

“Hold on a second!”

The penny was torn up in the center.

“Maybe a light tap this time…”

Placing another penny beneath the knife, Vella gave a quick tap on the pedal, letting the knife shoot up and down once. She picked up a penny and noted a clean groove cut out from the center.

“Pretty clever, dear,” breathed the seamstress. “You can let me take care of the rest of those. And I’ll fix up your dress in no time. Now, about payment…”

“Will this cover it,” said Vella, handing over the other half of her coin.

The seamstress’s eyes grew huge.

“And then some! I’ll finish it right away, a rush job. Why, I can buy a new workbench, some new records, and even some toys for Joshua.”

“Mooooom,” cried Joshua from upstairs. “They’re not tooooys! They’re figurines!”

Vella rode the tram to Baublegilt sitting across from her keg of syrup. It was easy rolling it through the facility, tricky keeping control while rolling it downhill, and easy rolling it up to the baker’s shop.

“I heard you needed some help baking!” Vella was in open baker’s garb, standing heroically with a hand on her hip and the other on her giant barrel of maple syrup.

“Is that filled with apples,” asked the baker, killing the mood.

“Better,” said Vella attempting to salvage the mood. “Have you ever made a maple syrup cake with maple syrup frosting?” Vella smirked and raised an eyebrow.

“No!” The baker smirked and raised an eyebrow back.

“Should I just do it for you?” Vella’s smirk was strained now.

“I wouldn’t mind if you did, to be honest!”

She would have been more irritated, but Vella was back in her element now.

Vella spent the next hour mixing cake batter, making frosting, preparing the pan, heating the oven, every little thing that made her think of home and not in a giant golden cave hundreds of miles who-knows-where. The dough was easy—flour, eggs, butter, spices, and her maple syrup were on hand. The cake went into the oven in no time, leaving her plenty of time to reduce some of the maple syrup into maple sugar to mix into the cake frosting. The baker’s tools were limited—he was clearly more of a pie person—but when the cake came out of the oven and cooled on the stove, she managed to apply the frosting as smooth as polished marble, and add a few artistic flourishes on the fringes.

“I’ve never seen a cake that nice,” breathed the baker. “How can I ever repay you?”

“Let me cater for you at the banquet. And…” She scanned the baking room. “Can I have your rolling pin?” It was solid gold. It might come in handy later. She certainly would have felt guilty spending it anywhere, since it was bigger than a gold ingot and probably worth more than a place like Woodburr.

“No problem! And take that old thing. I needed to get a new one anyway.”

Half the day had gone by, but Vella still had another errand to finish.

“I’ll be back for the cake. Just give me a couple hours.”

The seamstress was still working when Vella got back, but the dress looked done.

“Give me a second. Just one last coin…here we go.” She held up the dress for Vella to admire. It jangled lightly. It had a simple skirt, and a simple, sleeveless top, but the red stood out, and the hundreds of pennies were polished and dazzling. “I hope I made it right. I got your measurements, but try it on.”

Vella unzipped the back (one of her specifications was that it would be easy to take on and off) and put it on over her casual baking clothes (her other specification). It fit fine. She felt a bit flashy—the last time she wore a dress this flashy, she was escaping a certain monster—but unlike a lot of things in that situation, she was on the hunt, and the skirt was short and loose enough to leave her legs free. She unzipped the dressed and folded it up back in her satchel.

“Don’t forget your funny little knife too.”

“I can’t thank you enough. I…” she couldn’t tell them about Marek, her mission, the horrible things in that Bunny Tutu book. “I’ll make sure everything’s goes fine!”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine, sweetie. And I’ll be here if you ever need anything else in Woodburr.”

“Me too,” called Joshua. “Unless I’m busy,” he added.

It was difficult wheeling two dollies at once, but Vella finally made it back to The Hall of Night and Day. The guards looked her over. She was in her baking gear, uncovered by her red hood, and wheeling a dolly with the keg of leftover syrup, and a dolly with the huge, tan and brown maple syrup cake. They both grinned.

“The back entrance is that way.”

Her dress was folded up in her satchel. Serving staff wheeling a tasty desert didn’t have to be on a guest list.

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#broken age #fanfic #very long #part 1 #writing

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