This is a tale of Chicago's Arcane Threat Division (the ATD). If you haven't read the other Officer Spurgeon tales, you might want to read those first.
"Doubt"
"Rookie"
"Spurgeon and the Rookie"
"Ugh. Tell me why we're down here, again?"
Ryan Segal, rookie and newest member of the Arcane Threat Division of Chicago's Finest, tried to pull the cobwebs he had just stepped through from his hair. He only partially succeeded.
"We're tracking down a lead on Il Monsignor," Detective Carter said, ducking to avoid another set of cobwebs.
"And who is this Ill-Mon-Seenyor character exactly?" Segal asked.
Carter turned to look at him. Light from Segal's flashlight cast strange shadows over the detective's face. "Don't you ever read briefs?"
"Uhm...I must have missed that one?"
Carter snorted. "Sure." He started back down the passage, his pace faster this time. Segal had to jog a bit to catch up.
"Il Monsignor is the ATD's largest pain in the arse. Most of the calls we get are either fakes or the result of some nut job who stumbles across some minor mojo. Most of those either can't control what they find, or the mojo is of such minor significance that we can shut it down pretty easily. Il Monsignor is different. He's the real deal - a true sorcerer. Sources claim he has his hands in most of the illicit activities involving magic in the Chicago area. I think he's probably responsible for the nut jobs, too. He makes sure the wackos find the magic and they cause enough trouble to keep us out of his hair."
"Mini magical distractions?"
"Exactly."
"So why haven't we brought this guy in yet?"
"Il Monsignor is smart. He knows that the use of magic isn't in and of itself illegal. So he uses magical means to get others to do his dirty work. There's no physical trace, nothing we can put into evidence. And the worst thing? We don't even know who he really is. All we have is a code name and a long list of ills."
Carter paused as the brick tunnel ended at a T. He flashed his light down both passages, and then chose the one on the right. Segal followed, still picking cobwebs from his hair.
"So what's all this got to do with an old prohibition era tunnel?" Segal asked.
"Spurgeon and Doyle arrested a deranged witch this morning. She'd been passing out candy tainted by dark magic to the neighborhood children. Totally out of character for this lady; she's usually the one offering to help people with their problems, not add to them. Neighbors say she starting acting strange yesterday afternoon. Spurgeon and Doyle traced her activities back to the building we came in by. Spurgeon found the tunnels and called us in."
Spurgeon. Just the mention of the guy's name ticked Segal off. As a result of a recent "partner exchange" with Spurgeon, Segal had spent a week under investigation by internal affairs for shooting a guy on Navy Pier. The shooting was legit. Everything should have been routine, but Spurgeon had mentioned the lack of a weapon on the part of the perp. ATD routinely covered for each other when it came to such situations - how did you explain the need to protect yourself from fireballs and lightning bolts when magic was not accepted as a realistic threat? But Spurgeon was the department's "Official Doubter." He didn't believe in magic and hadn't covered for Segal where anyone else in the department would have. Even after a few weeks it still made Segal's blood boil. Spurgeon might have saved Segal's neck a couple of times, but the guy was a Class-A jerk.
"So? Why didn't they check this out? Didn't want to get their clothes dirty?" Segal flicked his fingers to get rid of another cobweb.
"You're not thinking this through," Carter replied. "This incident practically reeks of Il Monsignor. The guy is smart; there won't be any physical evidence. Our best shot is to hope that there are traces of magic left from whatever he did to the witch, something we can use to track him down. If Spurgeon walked the area...."
"The traces would disappear."
"Exactly. Wouldn't be the first time Spurgeon inadvertently destroyed evidence. Protocol requires him and Doyle to call things like this in just in case."
So the mighty Spurgeon wasn't always the knight in shining armor. He messed things up as often as he helped out. The thought brought a smile to Segal's face. It wasn't the noblest of thoughts, but Segal felt better, nonetheless. Until the radio squawked.
"*Yous guys find anything yet? 'Cause we's gettin' hungry up here.*"
Segal grumbled. Carter pulled out his radio. "Not yet, Spurgeon. Give us another ten and we're out of here."
"*Ten? My gramma can move faster than you two. Tell the rookie to pick up the pace, Carter. You're killin' me, here.*"
"Maybe he should have called his grandma, then," Segal said. He pulled more cobwebs from his clothes. "Would've saved me the hassle of listening to him complain."
Carter chuckled, then paused. "What's that?" He trained his flashlight on a bundle sitting in the middle of the passage ahead.
"Looks like a basket covered with a cloth of some kind," Segal said.
"Yes. Odd place for a basket. And look, there's no dust on the cloth."
"Meaning it hasn't been here very long."
Carter nodded. "Very good." There was a note of approval in his tone. Segal smiled in spite of himself.
"This could be what we're looking for. Stand back a bit, I want to check for
magic."
Segal stepped back as Carter made a few complicated gestures while muttering strange words under his breath. The hairs on Segal's arms rose a bit, something he had learned to expect when in the presence of active magic. Carter said that sensitivity had been one of the reasons ATD had requested Segal be assigned to the division. Carter ended the spell, his hands spread out before him. There was a moment of silence, and then the cloth began to glow with a soft blue light.
"Yes!" Carter said. "We've got something...."
There was an explosion of absolute darkness. Sounds ranging across octaves struck Segal's ears with the force of a thousand mini sledgehammers. The sensation lasted but an instant, then became something more, transcending the physical to drive talons of agony directly into his soul. The pain was so exquisite Segal lost touch with his senses. The blackness consumed him.
He was floating in a sea of despair, tossed about on waves of terror. Images flitted through his view, horrors not seen by the eye, but conjured directly by the mind. Abominations of unimaginable evil committed heinous acts, abhorrent to his Segal's very essence. Works of vilest sorcery ripped and tore at him, laying waste to the innocence of his soul.
"And you are powerless to stop it," a familiar voice whispered through the darkness. "If only you were worth the badge on your chest."
Spurgeon's face, distorted into a demonic caricature of the man, yet eminently recognizable, blossomed into his view above it all. It threw back its head and laughed.
No! Not Spurgeon. I will not be laughed at by the likes of you!
The laughter rose in volume.
NOT BY YOU! NEVER BY YOU!
The psychic scream lanced through the image, rending it to shreds. It reverberated in Segal's mind, gaining force as it rebounded through his psyche. The darkness roiled, it pulsed....
It burst.
Segal came to on the floor of the passage. His head was pounding, but he struggled to sit up. He grabbed at his flashlight. Where was Carter?
Carter lay on the floor a few feet away. His eyes were rolled up in his head and he shook from what looked like a seizure. The spell - and Segal was sure that's what it was - still had his partner in its grasp. Somehow he had been able to get free.
Segal scooted over to Carter and tried to wake him to no avail. Carter was shaking more violently now. He wouldn't be able to manage the strain much longer. There was only one way out, and Segal hated himself for having to use it.
"Officer down, I repeat, officer down. Spurgeon, we need you here on the double!"
-----
Five minutes later the situation was over. Spurgeon's arrival had done the trick - the spell had been unable to survive in his doubting presence. While Spurgeon and Doyle took the basket, which had been filled with some kind of psychotropic mushroom, back to the cars Segal sat with Carter, making sure he was all right.
"What happened, Carter? What was that?"
"That was a mindtrap spell, and a nasty one at that." Segal raised an eyebrow and Carter continued. "Mindtrap spells are designed to cut the recipient off from the physical world and trap them in the confines of their own psyche. This particular spell had a rider, a glamor that dug up the deepest, darkest thoughts from the mind and used them to overwhelm the victim's soul."
"You were having a seizure."
Carter nodded. "The human mind is not designed to handle such things. The body goes into shock, then eventually shuts down completely. A very tidy little spell."
"We're lucky Spurgeon was here to save the day, again."
Carter placed a hand on Segal's shoulder. "Spurgeon does a job in the unit, and he does it well. But today it was you who saved the day, Segal."
"But it was Spurgeon who stopped the spell."
"Spurgeon would never have gotten here in time if you hadn't found a way out of it first. You're the hero today, Segal. I owe you my life."
Segal felt himself blushing. Dammit.
"Now then," Carter said, getting to his feet, "Let's check out that basket. The spells will be gone, but there may be a physical clue we can use to help us get to Il Monsignor."
"You still think it was him behind this?"
"A mindtrap spell that complex? Anchored to a basket left here for no other reason than to attract the ATD? Set to go off when other magic was activated? This has Il Monsignor written all over it."
There was more discussion as they headed back to the cars, but Segal would be hard-pressed to remember much of it later. His mind was too full of pride to fit much of anything else.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
"Return to Summer"
This was an immediate response challenge to "End of Summer." The "Return to Summer" challenge required the use of the following words: Sunshine, Watermelon, Ants, Warmth, Hamburgers, Hotdogs, Grill, Fris-bee, Grassy Field, Checkered Table Cloth, Fireworks, Cold Beer, A Hungry Dog. Of course, I couldn't help but modify them in my own special way.
"Hello, everyone, and welcome to the 2009 Fantasy Writing Group Summer Talent Show. With Ima Sidekick, I'm your host, Needa Betterjob. This year's show is sponsored by Tony R. 'Tony R., Someone's Choice for Pun-Filled Entertainment.'
"What's new at this year's show, Ima?"
"The choice of venues this year was a little surprising, Needa. Seems the Hungary Dogs had their MLB license revoked last week after publicly mocking the Commissioner by burning him in effigy in the dugout. It didn't help that the entire pitching staff got trapped behind the blaze and is now in intensive care."
"Ouch! Those are some hot Dogs, Ima."
"True, Needa. Turns out the team owner did it intentionally in order to win a bet."
"Did he win?"
"So I'm told, Needa."
"Well, there you have it folks. If you need to win a bet, fire works."
"Anyway, with the Dogs out, Grassy Field became an open venue and the Fantasy Writing Group snapped it up."
"It looks like the festivities are ready to start, Ima. What's this year's theme?"
"Warmth. People need to display some sort of talent involving things that make them warm and fuzzy."
"Sounds like an easy theme."
"Could be, but the Fantasy Group prefers for things to be outside the traditional box. It should prove interesting."
"Give us an idea of what we can look forward to."
"Well, scanning the entry list there are several that seem promising. The pigs should be entertaining."
"Pigs?"
"Yes, these particular pigs are legal residents of a borough."
"What does that make them?"
"Ham burghers."
"I see."
"It gets better Needa. There's a soldier bee from the hive down the road that's managed to grow quite an afro."
"What's his name?"
"Frizz Bee. And he's not alone. Hundreds of his aunts have shown up to watch him compete. And its rumored the Queen Bee herself will make an appearance to watch her son shine."
"That would be exciting. What else stands out for you?"
"There are some naiads on the list."
"What are those?"
"River spirits. There is some controversy over having them on the program, though, Needa."
"How's that?"
"Well, naiads don't wear clothes and these are rumored to be very well endowed."
"You mean they have large water melons?"
"Ahem. I wouldn't have put it that way, but...."
"Perhaps a safer entry?"
"How about a sculpture? One enterprising young fellow crafted a chrome golem entirely out of grills from '57 Chevys."
"That should be interesting."
"Then there's America's answer to the flying carpet."
"What's that, Ima? A jet powered Hoover?"
"Nothing so mechanical. We've already got Hot Dogs, baseball and Chevrolet. Outside of those, what could be more American than the flying checkered table cloth?"
"Apple pie."
"Hah. Got me there, Needa."
"Well, it looks like they're ready to start down on the field. Count Dracula is our MC this year and I'm told he's getting into the American theme, too. Foregoing his traditional coffin this year, the Count is entering the field in...some kind of stone box trailing wisps of some kind of mist. What is that, Ima?"
"I believe it's an iced cold bier."
"And you CAN'T get more American than that."
"Hello, everyone, and welcome to the 2009 Fantasy Writing Group Summer Talent Show. With Ima Sidekick, I'm your host, Needa Betterjob. This year's show is sponsored by Tony R. 'Tony R., Someone's Choice for Pun-Filled Entertainment.'
"What's new at this year's show, Ima?"
"The choice of venues this year was a little surprising, Needa. Seems the Hungary Dogs had their MLB license revoked last week after publicly mocking the Commissioner by burning him in effigy in the dugout. It didn't help that the entire pitching staff got trapped behind the blaze and is now in intensive care."
"Ouch! Those are some hot Dogs, Ima."
"True, Needa. Turns out the team owner did it intentionally in order to win a bet."
"Did he win?"
"So I'm told, Needa."
"Well, there you have it folks. If you need to win a bet, fire works."
"Anyway, with the Dogs out, Grassy Field became an open venue and the Fantasy Writing Group snapped it up."
"It looks like the festivities are ready to start, Ima. What's this year's theme?"
"Warmth. People need to display some sort of talent involving things that make them warm and fuzzy."
"Sounds like an easy theme."
"Could be, but the Fantasy Group prefers for things to be outside the traditional box. It should prove interesting."
"Give us an idea of what we can look forward to."
"Well, scanning the entry list there are several that seem promising. The pigs should be entertaining."
"Pigs?"
"Yes, these particular pigs are legal residents of a borough."
"What does that make them?"
"Ham burghers."
"I see."
"It gets better Needa. There's a soldier bee from the hive down the road that's managed to grow quite an afro."
"What's his name?"
"Frizz Bee. And he's not alone. Hundreds of his aunts have shown up to watch him compete. And its rumored the Queen Bee herself will make an appearance to watch her son shine."
"That would be exciting. What else stands out for you?"
"There are some naiads on the list."
"What are those?"
"River spirits. There is some controversy over having them on the program, though, Needa."
"How's that?"
"Well, naiads don't wear clothes and these are rumored to be very well endowed."
"You mean they have large water melons?"
"Ahem. I wouldn't have put it that way, but...."
"Perhaps a safer entry?"
"How about a sculpture? One enterprising young fellow crafted a chrome golem entirely out of grills from '57 Chevys."
"That should be interesting."
"Then there's America's answer to the flying carpet."
"What's that, Ima? A jet powered Hoover?"
"Nothing so mechanical. We've already got Hot Dogs, baseball and Chevrolet. Outside of those, what could be more American than the flying checkered table cloth?"
"Apple pie."
"Hah. Got me there, Needa."
"Well, it looks like they're ready to start down on the field. Count Dracula is our MC this year and I'm told he's getting into the American theme, too. Foregoing his traditional coffin this year, the Count is entering the field in...some kind of stone box trailing wisps of some kind of mist. What is that, Ima?"
"I believe it's an iced cold bier."
"And you CAN'T get more American than that."
"End of Summer"
This was in response to a challenge for "End of Summer." I admit it's a bit dark.
The photographer snapped another picture.
FLASH.
"I love this time of year," he said, "don't you?"
His companion didn't answer, too overcome by the moment to speak.
"Parents are happy for vacation to be over."
FLASH.
"The children mourn the loss of their freedom as they head back to school."
FLASH.
"It's a time of transition, from one stage of existence to another." He snapped another picture.
FLASH.
Beep-Beep.
The camera indicated the memory card was full, so he popped open the cover, pulled out the old card, and slotted in a new one. He took a moment to check the light settings and made a few minor adjustments. His companion was patient through the process. He appreciated this about her. An artist should never be rushed.
"I was never too attached to any one season as a child," he continued.
FLASH.
"Each one held something unique to look forward too."
FLASH.
"Think about it: Autumn had a new school year, Halloween, and Thanksgiving. Winter included Valentine's Day and snowball fights, not to mention Christmas. Spring meant shedding winter clothes, Easter egg hunts and kite flying. And then there was Summer - the coveted break from school, picnics and beach trips."
FLASH.
"If you had asked me back then, I probably would have said that Summer was the best of the bunch. After all, the good times lasted for three whole months, while the other seasons only had certain times to look forward to."
FLASH.
"Ask about specific memories, though, and I'd have had equally good memories about each season. That's part of the reason I became a photographer."
FLASH.
"You see, as time goes on I find I remember less and less details about things. I have a general memory of feelings and such, but the visuals - the visuals never seem to stay with me unless I record them."
FLASH.
"Seasons come and go, you see, and after awhile, they begin to blur into each other, making it hard to separate them in memory. With pictures, I can remember each one as if it were yesterday."
FLASH.
FLASH.
FLASH.
He checked the scene once more. Had he captured it all? Yes, that should do it. He set down the camera and addressed his companion once more.
"I have to thank you for being with me on this journey. Yours is a Summer I will recall fondly years to come. Sadly, our time together is coming to a close."
She spoke then, or tried to, but all that escaped was a muffled sob. A tear rolled down a cheek that was already wet and red.
"Yes, it saddens me, too," he said, catching the tear on the edge of his blade. "But time moves on. It is time for Summer to end."
One quick motion of the blade and it was over.
He pocketed the knife and retrieved the camera. His heart ached a bit as it always did at the passing of a season. It hurt when one was gone. Still - he patted the camera - he had his memories. There was no use crying over what was spilt. Not when another season awaited.
He closed the door behind him as he moved to the next room. His companion was already there.
"Hello, dearest Autumn," he said, readying the camera. "Let's get acquainted, shall we? Our time is so short. Fall will be gone before we know it."
The photographer snapped another picture.
FLASH.
"I love this time of year," he said, "don't you?"
His companion didn't answer, too overcome by the moment to speak.
"Parents are happy for vacation to be over."
FLASH.
"The children mourn the loss of their freedom as they head back to school."
FLASH.
"It's a time of transition, from one stage of existence to another." He snapped another picture.
FLASH.
Beep-Beep.
The camera indicated the memory card was full, so he popped open the cover, pulled out the old card, and slotted in a new one. He took a moment to check the light settings and made a few minor adjustments. His companion was patient through the process. He appreciated this about her. An artist should never be rushed.
"I was never too attached to any one season as a child," he continued.
FLASH.
"Each one held something unique to look forward too."
FLASH.
"Think about it: Autumn had a new school year, Halloween, and Thanksgiving. Winter included Valentine's Day and snowball fights, not to mention Christmas. Spring meant shedding winter clothes, Easter egg hunts and kite flying. And then there was Summer - the coveted break from school, picnics and beach trips."
FLASH.
"If you had asked me back then, I probably would have said that Summer was the best of the bunch. After all, the good times lasted for three whole months, while the other seasons only had certain times to look forward to."
FLASH.
"Ask about specific memories, though, and I'd have had equally good memories about each season. That's part of the reason I became a photographer."
FLASH.
"You see, as time goes on I find I remember less and less details about things. I have a general memory of feelings and such, but the visuals - the visuals never seem to stay with me unless I record them."
FLASH.
"Seasons come and go, you see, and after awhile, they begin to blur into each other, making it hard to separate them in memory. With pictures, I can remember each one as if it were yesterday."
FLASH.
FLASH.
FLASH.
He checked the scene once more. Had he captured it all? Yes, that should do it. He set down the camera and addressed his companion once more.
"I have to thank you for being with me on this journey. Yours is a Summer I will recall fondly years to come. Sadly, our time together is coming to a close."
She spoke then, or tried to, but all that escaped was a muffled sob. A tear rolled down a cheek that was already wet and red.
"Yes, it saddens me, too," he said, catching the tear on the edge of his blade. "But time moves on. It is time for Summer to end."
One quick motion of the blade and it was over.
He pocketed the knife and retrieved the camera. His heart ached a bit as it always did at the passing of a season. It hurt when one was gone. Still - he patted the camera - he had his memories. There was no use crying over what was spilt. Not when another season awaited.
He closed the door behind him as he moved to the next room. His companion was already there.
"Hello, dearest Autumn," he said, readying the camera. "Let's get acquainted, shall we? Our time is so short. Fall will be gone before we know it."
I'm Back!
Hey, I'm back. Long break, needed time, had a baby (well, wife had a baby) 3 weeks early, got sick, etc. Bad excuses. I'm back. New Posts will commence momentarily!
Todd
Todd
Friday, August 21, 2009
FFF - "Highgate" Chapter 2
Finally. I finally got up the nerve to continue this. I know, I'm one big chicken. I have actually avoided the urge to edit this. I haven't even read it over again since writing it. It probably stinks. :) Anyway, here is Chapter 2. Enjoy. I hope.
Jonathun awoke to a dreadful pounding on his door. A glance at the window told him it was still dark outside.
"Go away," he called. "Come back at a decent hour."
"I was told to fetch you, sir."
"That's nice."
Jonathun rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. The knocking started anew. Jonathun pulled his pillow over his head, but the pounding didn't stop.
"I said go away."
"But, sir, Master Lyden requests your presence."
Master Lyden....
His five day penance. In his anguish over missing the Returning Jonathun had forgotten it completely.
Jonathun rolled out of bed. His pocket watch read 4:45 in the morning. An hour no sane person would choose to be up and about, that was certain. Still, if he was late for penance, he might just find his sentence extended and that would never do.
The knocking started again. "Sir? Sir?"
"All right, already. I'm up. Just give me a moment to throw my pants on."
4:45. Let the torture begin.
Jonathun opened the door to find an elderly man dressed in the servant's livery of the Magisterium, holding a latern. Jonathun had never seen the servant before, but that wasn't a surprise. While Masters Horvinnt and Lyden were often with the cadets, seeing to their instruction, outside of weekly services the cadets were rarely at the Sanctum itself.
"If you would follow me, sir."
The man lead Jonathun out the student barracks. The moon shone brightly into the dark of the early morning, illuminating the empty courtyard in a sharp silvery light. Jonathun tried to blink the sleep out of his eyes. He had taken several steps towards the Sanctum before he realized that his guide was not going that way. Instead, he was making his way to the main building. Jonathun had to run a few steps to catch up to him.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
"To the kitchens."
"Good, I'm starving."
The man grunted, but didn't reply.
It only took a few moments to get to the kitchens. They entered via the back way, past the chicken coops and through the academy's herb gardens. Jonathun had been this way many times in the past. Students were generally asked to stay out of the kitchens, but part of their curriculum included training in all aspects of a seeker's role. That included food preparation in the field. Because of this each cadet had a rotation in the kitchens. It was tedious work. Jonathun could understand the need to know how to cook over a camp fire, but he had a hard time reconciling that skill with daily food preparation for the more than two hundred people that populated the Academy. Master Jermiah, head cook, ran the kitchens like a true military camp. As far as Jonathun was concerned, service in the kitchens was akin to slavery. Give him a forced march any day.
As they entered the kitchens proper, Jonathun was surprised to see only two other people present. Davind leaned against one wall, arms crossed, a scowl on his face. The other person was dressed in the apprentice robes of one of the Magesterium. The figure turned toward him. It was a girl he didn't recognize. She couldn't have been more than - seventeen? That would make her a couple of years older than him. She was almost as tall as Jonathun, but in contrast to his somewhat muscular build she was very slight; her apprentice robes practically enveloped her. Her dark brown hair was drawn back in a ponytail, tight against the back of her head. The effect caused her face to look almost severe. Or was it the fact that she was frowning?
"You're late, cadet."
Her voice was deeper than he expected, coming from someone so thin.
"Yeah, well no one told me what time to be here." It came out sharper than he intended, but the stress of the situation coupled with the early hour left him bereft of patience.
"Breakfast preparation begins at 4:45 sharp. You will be here at the appropriate hour tomorrow or your punishment will be extended."
Jonathun felt his temper flare. "I said I'd be here. Who are you anyway? I thought Master Lyden was in charge of out penance."
The girl's eyes flashed in the lantern light. "My name is Belinda. I am the personal assistant to Master Lyden. He has put me in charge of your penance duties. You would do well not to anger me."
Jonathun bit back an angry reply. If this girl was in charge of his penance he would need to tread carefully. He took a calming breath.
"Sorry. I'm just tired and hungry. As soon as I've eaten I'll be better."
He looked around. "Speaking of, where's the food?"
Belinda looked exasperated. "Are you stupid or just oblivious? With the exception of the four of us and Master Lyden the entire academy is on its way to the Returning. Everyone. That includes Master Jermiah and the kitchen staff. If you want breakfast, you have to make it. The same goes for lunch and dinner, for the next five days."
Jonathun blinked. No kitchen staff? He hadn't thought of that.
"What about after that?"
The words came from Davind. Jonathun had forgotten the other cadet was present.
Belinda glanced at him. "Alamel here will take over kitchen duties after that."
"Wouldn't it be easier if he just did it all?" Davind said. "It's not like this is the kind of work we're any good at. Jonner is likely to burn the bread. It certainly wouldn't be the first time."
"Hey, that wasn't my fault...."
Belinda cut him off. "It doesn't matter whose fault it was. Truth be told, I'd rather neither of you touched anything I have to eat. Unfortunately, that isn't my call. Master Lyden said you're to handle kitchen duty, so you'll handle kitchen duty. Alamel will be here to make sure you don't burn the place down, but that's all he's going to do. He is under strict orders to do none of the actual work himself. When you're done with the cooking, Master Lyden and I will get our breakfast first, and then the two of you will be allowed to eat. When you're done cleaning up in here, we'll talk about your next task. You have two hours - Master Lyden breakfasts at 7:00. If you're late, you get an extra day's cooking duties."
Belinda left without another word.
Alamel stepped forward, a parchment in hand. He smoothed it out on the counter. "Two hours isn't much time, sirs. We had best begin. Cadet Davind, take that basket over there and fetch the eggs from the hen house. Cadet Jonathun, grab that sack of flour so we can start on the bread."
Jonathun's stomach rumbled. Great. Just great.
Jonathun awoke to a dreadful pounding on his door. A glance at the window told him it was still dark outside.
"Go away," he called. "Come back at a decent hour."
"I was told to fetch you, sir."
"That's nice."
Jonathun rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. The knocking started anew. Jonathun pulled his pillow over his head, but the pounding didn't stop.
"I said go away."
"But, sir, Master Lyden requests your presence."
Master Lyden....
His five day penance. In his anguish over missing the Returning Jonathun had forgotten it completely.
Jonathun rolled out of bed. His pocket watch read 4:45 in the morning. An hour no sane person would choose to be up and about, that was certain. Still, if he was late for penance, he might just find his sentence extended and that would never do.
The knocking started again. "Sir? Sir?"
"All right, already. I'm up. Just give me a moment to throw my pants on."
4:45. Let the torture begin.
Jonathun opened the door to find an elderly man dressed in the servant's livery of the Magisterium, holding a latern. Jonathun had never seen the servant before, but that wasn't a surprise. While Masters Horvinnt and Lyden were often with the cadets, seeing to their instruction, outside of weekly services the cadets were rarely at the Sanctum itself.
"If you would follow me, sir."
The man lead Jonathun out the student barracks. The moon shone brightly into the dark of the early morning, illuminating the empty courtyard in a sharp silvery light. Jonathun tried to blink the sleep out of his eyes. He had taken several steps towards the Sanctum before he realized that his guide was not going that way. Instead, he was making his way to the main building. Jonathun had to run a few steps to catch up to him.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
"To the kitchens."
"Good, I'm starving."
The man grunted, but didn't reply.
It only took a few moments to get to the kitchens. They entered via the back way, past the chicken coops and through the academy's herb gardens. Jonathun had been this way many times in the past. Students were generally asked to stay out of the kitchens, but part of their curriculum included training in all aspects of a seeker's role. That included food preparation in the field. Because of this each cadet had a rotation in the kitchens. It was tedious work. Jonathun could understand the need to know how to cook over a camp fire, but he had a hard time reconciling that skill with daily food preparation for the more than two hundred people that populated the Academy. Master Jermiah, head cook, ran the kitchens like a true military camp. As far as Jonathun was concerned, service in the kitchens was akin to slavery. Give him a forced march any day.
As they entered the kitchens proper, Jonathun was surprised to see only two other people present. Davind leaned against one wall, arms crossed, a scowl on his face. The other person was dressed in the apprentice robes of one of the Magesterium. The figure turned toward him. It was a girl he didn't recognize. She couldn't have been more than - seventeen? That would make her a couple of years older than him. She was almost as tall as Jonathun, but in contrast to his somewhat muscular build she was very slight; her apprentice robes practically enveloped her. Her dark brown hair was drawn back in a ponytail, tight against the back of her head. The effect caused her face to look almost severe. Or was it the fact that she was frowning?
"You're late, cadet."
Her voice was deeper than he expected, coming from someone so thin.
"Yeah, well no one told me what time to be here." It came out sharper than he intended, but the stress of the situation coupled with the early hour left him bereft of patience.
"Breakfast preparation begins at 4:45 sharp. You will be here at the appropriate hour tomorrow or your punishment will be extended."
Jonathun felt his temper flare. "I said I'd be here. Who are you anyway? I thought Master Lyden was in charge of out penance."
The girl's eyes flashed in the lantern light. "My name is Belinda. I am the personal assistant to Master Lyden. He has put me in charge of your penance duties. You would do well not to anger me."
Jonathun bit back an angry reply. If this girl was in charge of his penance he would need to tread carefully. He took a calming breath.
"Sorry. I'm just tired and hungry. As soon as I've eaten I'll be better."
He looked around. "Speaking of, where's the food?"
Belinda looked exasperated. "Are you stupid or just oblivious? With the exception of the four of us and Master Lyden the entire academy is on its way to the Returning. Everyone. That includes Master Jermiah and the kitchen staff. If you want breakfast, you have to make it. The same goes for lunch and dinner, for the next five days."
Jonathun blinked. No kitchen staff? He hadn't thought of that.
"What about after that?"
The words came from Davind. Jonathun had forgotten the other cadet was present.
Belinda glanced at him. "Alamel here will take over kitchen duties after that."
"Wouldn't it be easier if he just did it all?" Davind said. "It's not like this is the kind of work we're any good at. Jonner is likely to burn the bread. It certainly wouldn't be the first time."
"Hey, that wasn't my fault...."
Belinda cut him off. "It doesn't matter whose fault it was. Truth be told, I'd rather neither of you touched anything I have to eat. Unfortunately, that isn't my call. Master Lyden said you're to handle kitchen duty, so you'll handle kitchen duty. Alamel will be here to make sure you don't burn the place down, but that's all he's going to do. He is under strict orders to do none of the actual work himself. When you're done with the cooking, Master Lyden and I will get our breakfast first, and then the two of you will be allowed to eat. When you're done cleaning up in here, we'll talk about your next task. You have two hours - Master Lyden breakfasts at 7:00. If you're late, you get an extra day's cooking duties."
Belinda left without another word.
Alamel stepped forward, a parchment in hand. He smoothed it out on the counter. "Two hours isn't much time, sirs. We had best begin. Cadet Davind, take that basket over there and fetch the eggs from the hen house. Cadet Jonathun, grab that sack of flour so we can start on the bread."
Jonathun's stomach rumbled. Great. Just great.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
"Spurgeon and the Rookie"
This was in response to a challenge to present a "Great Line" you had written. I took a very different tack on this one. In the story below you will find 25 very famous movie lines. All but three of them are from the Top 100 Movie Lines of All Time List. Great Lines, right? I did change one word for one of the lines to make it fit the location. The rest are word for word copied, AFAIK.
My challenge to YOU is to find the 25 lines and correctly identify the movies they come from. I suppose you could use the Top 100 list if you need help. Any takers?
(And, of course, I'm interested in what you think about the story - though it suffers from forcing 25 movie lines into it.)
Best of Luck!
"Come on, Joe. I'm supposed to be driving."
"You talking to me? 'Cause I never let a rookie drive. Now get in or I'm leaving your #$%@ a$$ behind."
Officer Ryan Segal got reluctantly into the passenger side of the squad car. His partner, Detective Carter, was in court today and he'd been assigned to work with the department's official doubter, Officer Spurgeon. The rest of the guys touted Spurgeon's praises, but as far as Segal was concerned, Spurgeon was nothing more than a big pain in the arse. Segal was contemplating calling Spurgeon on the driving thing when a call came over the radio.
"2319! 2319! Corner of Franklin and Washington."
"What's a..." Segal began, but was cutoff as Spurgeon floored the accelerator. Horns blasted and pedestrians made rude gestures as the squad car roared away from the curb. Segal held on for dear life and tried again.
"What's a 2319?"
"Little girl's cat is stuck in a tree."
"Oh come on. Tell me the truth."
"You can't handle the truth."
"Try me."
Spurgeon swerved the car, barely missing a parked ambulance.
"Jeez, you almost hit that paramedic! I knew I shoulda been driving. I should report you."
Spurgeon glared at him. "Go ahead. Make my day."
Segal reached for the radio. Spurgeon chose that moment to swerve again, turning into a narrow alley with reducing their speed. Trash cans and other less recognizable items were strewn across their path.
"Fasten your seatbelts," Spurgeon said. "It's going to be a bumpy night."
They bounced over several items. Segal banged his head against the top of the car. His face hit the window as they screamed out of the far end of the alley and hung a hard left, clipping a street sweeper in the process.
"I really think you should let me drive," Segal said.
"What we've got here is a failure to communicate, " Spurgeon replied. "Let's try this again. I. Don't. Let. Rookies. Drive."
They rounded another corner, this time narrowly missing a businessman crossing the street. The man's briefcase was torn from his hand, and papers scattered across the windshield before being blown away.
"But you keep hitting things!"
"Well, nobody's perfect."
Spurgeon slammed the brakes as they reached their destination. Segal stumbled out of the car, as much to get away from Spurgeon and his maniacal driving as to answer the call. It took a moment for him to orient himself. By that time, Spurgeon had approached the individual waiting for them at the front of the building.. Segal hurried over as Spurgeon shook the man's hand.
"Who's this, Spurgeon?" the man asked.
"The Rookie. Segal, say 'hello' to my little friend."
The man _was_ short. Segal thought it was rude of Spurgeon to point it out, but The man didn't seem to care.
"Name's Tork," he said. They shook hands.
"What's going on, Tork. Call said you know something."
This guy had his own code number?
"I see dead people," Tork said.
Segal raised an eyebrow. "Dead people? Like ghosts?"
"Naw, nothing like that. I'm psychic. I get impressions – see things before they happen."
Spurgeon rolled his eyes. "Psychic. Right. Way to spread it on thick for the Rookie. Tork's an informant. He's very well connected and his info's usually good."
Tork looked at Segal and winked.
"You made the call, Tork," Spurgeon continued. "What's the scoop."
"At sunset, at the farthest point of Navy Pier, some bad mojo is going down. If you aren't there, people are going to die."
Spurgeon checked his watch. "Sunset's in about fifteen minutes. We better hustle. Thanks. Tork." Spurgeon paused. "If you're wrong, I'll be back."
Ten minutes later they were exiting the car at Navy Pier. Segal was shaking form the wild ride, but Spurgeon wasn't about to wait up. They sprinted to the east end of the pier by the lake. The area was completely deserted.
"I have a bad feeling about this," Segal said. "Where is everybody? I thought he said people were going to die."
"They're here. Somewhere. We just have to find them. Tork said people were going to die if we weren't here. We are. We'll split up. You stay here, I'll check out the Grand Ballroom."
"But what if..." Spurgeon was already heading up the steps to the Ballroom doors.
Segal sighed. Alone again. He pulled his weapon, just in case, and made his way around the south side of the Ballroom toward the Beer Garden. He was rewarded with the sound of voices. He approached the area cautiously.
"Hello gorgeous," a male voice said. "Here's Johnny!"
"You! Why did it have to be you?"
"Look, Baby, it's not gonna hurt. Much. Just stand still right there against the wall."
"Nobody puts Baby in a corner."
There was the sound of a struggle.
"Get your stinking paws off me, you damned dirty ape!"
Segal peeked around the corner. In the shadows of the Beer Garden he could see two people struggling. The man succeeded in slamming the woman against the wall. He held her there with one arm across her neck while he reached for something in his pocket.
"Carlisle will kill you," Baby said. Her eyes were wide as Johnny pressed something onto her forward."
"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."
Segal couldn't wait any longer. He stepped out in the open and pointed the gun. "Hey, you! Get your damn hands off her!"
There was a flash of light, so bright Segal had to cover his eyes. When he could see again the man was standing back looking up at the woman who floated in the air. Her arms were outstretched, her head tilted back with light streaming from her mouth and eyes.
"What did you do?" Segal shouted. "Get her down from there."
"I don't think so," Johnny screamed back. "I'm as mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore!" He turned and pointed something at Segal. Segal reacted instinctively and pulled the trigger.
A shimmering barrier flashed into existence around Johnny. Segal could see where the bullet struck as ripples were flung outward around the semicircular shield. Johnny laughed.
"Prepare to be fried, copper. Take him out, Baby."
The floating figure rotated an extended a hand in his direction.
Flame gathered in the palm then lanced out at him. Segal dodged forward just in time to avoid the blast, but the flames were still close enough to singe his hair.
"Damn," he muttered. "I'll have what she's having."
Segal took refuge behind a trash can and yelled, "Hey! Come on, Baby. Snap out of it!"
"She's mine, copper. With her power at my command nothing can stop me. I'm king of the world!"
Segal fired again at Johnny. The shield was still in place. He barely managed to dodge another fire bolt. This wasn't good. Where was Spurgeon?
As if in response to his thought a gruff voice called out over the mayhem.
"Gentleman, you can't fight in here! This is the BEER room!"
Three things happened at once. The lights coming from Baby vanished, she fell to the ground, and Johnny's shield winked out of existence. Segal fired. Johnny spun around, falling backward.
Segal rushed to the man, wary a gun. Johnny was on his back, blood coming from a shoulder wound. He reached toward an amulet, just inches from his outstretched fingers. "My precious.... " he managed, and then closed his eyes.
Segal checked the man's pulse. It was still strong. He was going to make. Strange there was no gun, though.
"Nice shot, rookie," Spurgeon said as he walked up. "Thought you'd need some back up, but you managed it all on your own."
"Is that a compliment?"
"I give credit where it's due." Spurgeon replied. "Here's looking at you, kid."
My challenge to YOU is to find the 25 lines and correctly identify the movies they come from. I suppose you could use the Top 100 list if you need help. Any takers?
(And, of course, I'm interested in what you think about the story - though it suffers from forcing 25 movie lines into it.)
Best of Luck!
"Come on, Joe. I'm supposed to be driving."
"You talking to me? 'Cause I never let a rookie drive. Now get in or I'm leaving your #$%@ a$$ behind."
Officer Ryan Segal got reluctantly into the passenger side of the squad car. His partner, Detective Carter, was in court today and he'd been assigned to work with the department's official doubter, Officer Spurgeon. The rest of the guys touted Spurgeon's praises, but as far as Segal was concerned, Spurgeon was nothing more than a big pain in the arse. Segal was contemplating calling Spurgeon on the driving thing when a call came over the radio.
"2319! 2319! Corner of Franklin and Washington."
"What's a..." Segal began, but was cutoff as Spurgeon floored the accelerator. Horns blasted and pedestrians made rude gestures as the squad car roared away from the curb. Segal held on for dear life and tried again.
"What's a 2319?"
"Little girl's cat is stuck in a tree."
"Oh come on. Tell me the truth."
"You can't handle the truth."
"Try me."
Spurgeon swerved the car, barely missing a parked ambulance.
"Jeez, you almost hit that paramedic! I knew I shoulda been driving. I should report you."
Spurgeon glared at him. "Go ahead. Make my day."
Segal reached for the radio. Spurgeon chose that moment to swerve again, turning into a narrow alley with reducing their speed. Trash cans and other less recognizable items were strewn across their path.
"Fasten your seatbelts," Spurgeon said. "It's going to be a bumpy night."
They bounced over several items. Segal banged his head against the top of the car. His face hit the window as they screamed out of the far end of the alley and hung a hard left, clipping a street sweeper in the process.
"I really think you should let me drive," Segal said.
"What we've got here is a failure to communicate, " Spurgeon replied. "Let's try this again. I. Don't. Let. Rookies. Drive."
They rounded another corner, this time narrowly missing a businessman crossing the street. The man's briefcase was torn from his hand, and papers scattered across the windshield before being blown away.
"But you keep hitting things!"
"Well, nobody's perfect."
Spurgeon slammed the brakes as they reached their destination. Segal stumbled out of the car, as much to get away from Spurgeon and his maniacal driving as to answer the call. It took a moment for him to orient himself. By that time, Spurgeon had approached the individual waiting for them at the front of the building.. Segal hurried over as Spurgeon shook the man's hand.
"Who's this, Spurgeon?" the man asked.
"The Rookie. Segal, say 'hello' to my little friend."
The man _was_ short. Segal thought it was rude of Spurgeon to point it out, but The man didn't seem to care.
"Name's Tork," he said. They shook hands.
"What's going on, Tork. Call said you know something."
This guy had his own code number?
"I see dead people," Tork said.
Segal raised an eyebrow. "Dead people? Like ghosts?"
"Naw, nothing like that. I'm psychic. I get impressions – see things before they happen."
Spurgeon rolled his eyes. "Psychic. Right. Way to spread it on thick for the Rookie. Tork's an informant. He's very well connected and his info's usually good."
Tork looked at Segal and winked.
"You made the call, Tork," Spurgeon continued. "What's the scoop."
"At sunset, at the farthest point of Navy Pier, some bad mojo is going down. If you aren't there, people are going to die."
Spurgeon checked his watch. "Sunset's in about fifteen minutes. We better hustle. Thanks. Tork." Spurgeon paused. "If you're wrong, I'll be back."
Ten minutes later they were exiting the car at Navy Pier. Segal was shaking form the wild ride, but Spurgeon wasn't about to wait up. They sprinted to the east end of the pier by the lake. The area was completely deserted.
"I have a bad feeling about this," Segal said. "Where is everybody? I thought he said people were going to die."
"They're here. Somewhere. We just have to find them. Tork said people were going to die if we weren't here. We are. We'll split up. You stay here, I'll check out the Grand Ballroom."
"But what if..." Spurgeon was already heading up the steps to the Ballroom doors.
Segal sighed. Alone again. He pulled his weapon, just in case, and made his way around the south side of the Ballroom toward the Beer Garden. He was rewarded with the sound of voices. He approached the area cautiously.
"Hello gorgeous," a male voice said. "Here's Johnny!"
"You! Why did it have to be you?"
"Look, Baby, it's not gonna hurt. Much. Just stand still right there against the wall."
"Nobody puts Baby in a corner."
There was the sound of a struggle.
"Get your stinking paws off me, you damned dirty ape!"
Segal peeked around the corner. In the shadows of the Beer Garden he could see two people struggling. The man succeeded in slamming the woman against the wall. He held her there with one arm across her neck while he reached for something in his pocket.
"Carlisle will kill you," Baby said. Her eyes were wide as Johnny pressed something onto her forward."
"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."
Segal couldn't wait any longer. He stepped out in the open and pointed the gun. "Hey, you! Get your damn hands off her!"
There was a flash of light, so bright Segal had to cover his eyes. When he could see again the man was standing back looking up at the woman who floated in the air. Her arms were outstretched, her head tilted back with light streaming from her mouth and eyes.
"What did you do?" Segal shouted. "Get her down from there."
"I don't think so," Johnny screamed back. "I'm as mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore!" He turned and pointed something at Segal. Segal reacted instinctively and pulled the trigger.
A shimmering barrier flashed into existence around Johnny. Segal could see where the bullet struck as ripples were flung outward around the semicircular shield. Johnny laughed.
"Prepare to be fried, copper. Take him out, Baby."
The floating figure rotated an extended a hand in his direction.
Flame gathered in the palm then lanced out at him. Segal dodged forward just in time to avoid the blast, but the flames were still close enough to singe his hair.
"Damn," he muttered. "I'll have what she's having."
Segal took refuge behind a trash can and yelled, "Hey! Come on, Baby. Snap out of it!"
"She's mine, copper. With her power at my command nothing can stop me. I'm king of the world!"
Segal fired again at Johnny. The shield was still in place. He barely managed to dodge another fire bolt. This wasn't good. Where was Spurgeon?
As if in response to his thought a gruff voice called out over the mayhem.
"Gentleman, you can't fight in here! This is the BEER room!"
Three things happened at once. The lights coming from Baby vanished, she fell to the ground, and Johnny's shield winked out of existence. Segal fired. Johnny spun around, falling backward.
Segal rushed to the man, wary a gun. Johnny was on his back, blood coming from a shoulder wound. He reached toward an amulet, just inches from his outstretched fingers. "My precious.... " he managed, and then closed his eyes.
Segal checked the man's pulse. It was still strong. He was going to make. Strange there was no gun, though.
"Nice shot, rookie," Spurgeon said as he walked up. "Thought you'd need some back up, but you managed it all on your own."
"Is that a compliment?"
"I give credit where it's due." Spurgeon replied. "Here's looking at you, kid."
Update
It has been a very busy last couple of weeks. I have done very little writing, so very little posting. Hopefully that can change this week. Stay tuned for a new story.
Todd
Todd
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