(from the journals of Ortho "Stone Cold" Glick)
by Rick Catanzaro
Chapter IV
"I'd put that piece down if I were you little girl, you might get hurt."
Little girl was father's way of showing his displeasure with me. Twenty years ago it use to upset me to the point of tears, not that I ever did in front of him. The last time I did, I spent a week in a root cellar with only the occasional rat to keep me company and, ultimately, become my food. Like I said though, that was twenty years ago.
"You must be getting senile if think that little girl shit's going to still work after all this time old man."
Well, that shook him a bit. It's nice to know that the world still has a few surprises left for me. The strangest part of the whole encounter was the fact that Crusty the head was completely silent through the entire exchange. It almost looked as if he were trying to speak, but couldn't manage to get the words out. Could it have been my father's doing? I felt the answer was drawing near.
"Well, It's good to see the military gave you a backbone, but as much as I'd like to continue this precious moment, we'll have to continue it at a later date."
Father moved with blurring speed, straight down into the ground. The bad news was that Crusty was still held firmly in hand as he made his escape. Know when to stay and fight, know when to retreat. That's what father always said. I slowly moved to the spot where my father had been, choking down the old fears. This wasn't the reunion I'd hoped for with my father. I'd pictured him in an unceremonious grave and me pissing on it with reckless abandon, but life rarely works out the way you want it to.
My daydreams were brought to a grinding halt as Slater gave a good whack on the shoulders to bring me back to current events. She made a "now what the hell do we do" gesture. Good question, considering our only guide was making like an involuntary mole. Through out all the fury and thunder, as it were, I (and I assume Slater) lost sight of Dr. Creeps. Our dilemma was short lived however, as the unmistakable sound of maniacal laughter rang out from the tent my father had emerged from a short while back. To neither of our surprise our eyes fell upon the visage of the frantic Sage. It was as if he were engaged in an orgy with paper and tome. Slater seemed hesitant to interrupt the Sage's glee. I wasn't quite as reserved. With one fluid motion, I grabbed the aged scholar by the back of the his cloak, ripping him from his rapture and swung him onto his feet.
"What the Hell is wrong with you!"
His look was that of a child who realized not only that Santa Claus was a myth, but that all of his Christmas gifts had caught fire. He quickly gathered his composure and gestured to me to release him from the grip that was still in place.
"Yes, ah. Oh my...how embarrassing. Please forgive me my enthusiasm, but I believe that I have found ancient texts that my help in our...ah...quest. I'd wager that our Purifier friends were using these to find the elusive relic."
"All right, you've found a lead. Wonderful. What does it say?"
"Oh dear me - I can't read this, though I think I recognize the language. Aramaic most likely. What a splendid find!"
Wonderful, I thought to myself. We're in the middle of nowhere looking for some goddamned relic, our guide's head has been kidnaped and the only clue as to the whereabouts of the aforementioned relic is written in a language I've never heard of, which our resident relic expert can't read. I was about ready to say the Hell with the whole deal, when I recalled I knew of someone who might be able to help us out. I just hope Gaby could hold out long enough for the rest of us to backtrack to Kingman. Perhaps the proprietor of Dante's Equipment and Trading House would unlock this important puzzle piece and I could get this job over and done with.
The trek back to Kingman was thankfully uneventful and made with haste. Occasionally Dr. Creepy would trip over a his own feet or a fair sized rock, walking with his nose buried in the old scrolls we'd found. Slater was as silent as ever. Focused only on the job. My kind of woman. Then of course there was Crusty's body. The loss of his head didn't improve his stench, but at least he was quite for once. I figured if we ever caught up with his head his body would be waiting for him. I remember Kelly told me once that some deaders could reattach limbs - even heads - to their bodies. Maybe Crusty could pull it off. Who could tell? If I had my way I'd have left his stinking carcass to rot in the desert. Slater, being the loyal type, was the one that hoisted his decaying ass on the back of her junker-horse. I guess she felt obligated to keep her friend intact.
The sun had been down for a little over an hour which meant that the inhabitants of Kingman would be milling about the streets in their undead fashion. I figured that the town collectively wanted to live in some sort of classic vision of an old horror novel, where the dead come to life at night. What ever floats their decaying boats I guess. You imagine our surprise when we entered the town and found the streets empty. After a quick sweep of various buildings it did indeed appear that the town was deserted. Could it be that they were some sort of nomadic tribe of Harrowed traveling from ghost town to ghost town, staying only as long as circumstance would permit? It didn't seem likely, especially with the number of named businesses in town. Nomads don't tend to get that attached to property. It looked like the mission was going to be a scrub after all until Slater got my attention and pointed out the that the lights were still on over at Dante's equipment and trading house. Well, how convenient the man we came back to see seemed to be the only person left in town. It was time to see if he held the keys to all the answers we needed.
As we entered the shop, it was if we had arrived on the set of some morbid melodrama. Lit candles adorned various wall mounted fixtures causing shadows to dance and play about upon numerous shelves and piles about the shop. The man of the hour himself seemed to be cloaked in complete darkness. He stood like a dark colossus behind his counter; not at all startled by our arrival. In fact, it seemed as if he were waiting for us.
"Good evening Mr. Glick,. What may I help you with this night?"
His voice was like an old epic ballad and each tone and inclination of his words were that of a well schooled aristocrat. Why he chose to reside in a run down town full of the common dead puzzled me, but only mildly. I had business to get to and fleeting curiosities would wait.
"You mind telling me what happened to the rest of the towns people?"
"Your tone would be indicative of events most foul, but rest assured the good people of Kingman are well. They prepare for a local holiday atop a mesa a few miles to the south."
I could only guess as to what that might entail and decided to let the issue lie for the time being.
"We've found something that you may be able to help us with. It's written in a language our resident scholar can't decipher. Perhaps you'd like to try?"
His shadowy frame seemed to glide from behind the counter as he approached me. The sage eyed the shopkeeper with morbid fascination, all the while clutching greedily at the parchments he'd been carrying from the wastes. Mr. Alighieri's face was slightly more visible as he moved towards the Sage and myself. His smile was that of a practiced diplomat, but his eyes told the real story. A mix of indignation, curiosity and...hunger...swam behind them, most likely from the thinly veiled challenge I had set before him. If he was like most of the officers I'd served with on Banshee, then he'd have to show us up if he could. After the Sage begrudgingly released his grip on the ancient texts, Mr. Alighieri briefly glanced at the first page of the loose tomes. The quickest flash of surprise came and went across the face of the bizarre merchant. His practiced mask of control had returned instantly as he began his reply.
"A tome worthy of a museum. Pity there are none left for it's halls to adorn. The language is a very old and rare dialect of Aramaic, but if you wish me to translate it for you there will be, of course.... a cost".
Will the surprises never cease I wondered. From the sound of his voice and the expression on his face the aforementioned "cost" was most likely a lot more then the standard scav trade bait, especially when I took into account the vast amount of gear the man had in his shop to begin with. The other factor that stood out in my mind was Mr. Alighieri's eyes barely left me the entire time the Sage and I were in his shop. That told me who was going to foot the bill for his help. So with no other real options and a peaked curiosity I pinched my nose and took the proverbial plunge.
"Let me guess, Dracula...judging from your inventory and the way you dress you're not hurting for trade goods. So either your gate swings the other way or you want the standard ?sign on the dotted line in blood, forfeit your eternal soul' cliché bullshit".
Now, if I were saying that to any one else they would be either very insulted and walk away in a huff or the would throw down the gauntlet and start the gunfire tap dance on my bad ass. Mr. Alighieri on the other hand facial expressions never changed. He paused briefly as if to consider what I was really all about and smiled ever so slightly softening his eyes.
"Really Mr. Glick, I require neither the vulgar nor the.... cliché as you so eloquently put it. My... payment will be collected at a later date. All that I have need of is the gentlemanly gesture of a hand shake".
This sounded as good as the open line of credit he had offered me a few days earlier. I saw the warning sign all over this deal, but what the hell. The way I see it I've been damn lucky to have been alive this long. Coupled with the fact than I secretly get off on the rush that dangerous circumstances came wrapped in and that I intended to sweeten the deal for my self, I threw caution to the wind. As I extended my hand it became clear to me why the macabre shop keep had focused upon me or should I say my eyes. From the beginning of our conversation it was my face that Mr. Alighieri had focused upon even when he took the old papers from Dr. Creepy.
"I'll agree to your on one additional condition. You either get my favorite professional tool fixed or you get me a new one. I'll also need two full clips of .50 caliber ammo".
I waited patiently for the bottom to drop out, so to speak. To my surprise the macabre shop keep tilted his head slightly forward, bowed and looked me in the eyes and said,
"Your offer is accepted, good sir. I shall have the knowledge you need within the hour".
I was mildly unsettled by the way he looked at me and as I stared back into the emerald green pools, I tried to look past the surface and into the man. He wore his mask too well and my entry I was denied. Somehow I thought that I rather not know what lie behind the eyes of Dante Alighieri, even though I've seen many a terrible event in my life. In this case, one less mystery unexplored would be just fine with me. One thing was becoming clearer to me as we waited for the translation. Whatever our nebulous employer is sending us after it's definitely worth a lot of trouble to a growing number of people. I was starting to get that feeling I used to get on Banshee when something of extreme consequences would be eminent. Like the final battle with....no. No need to relive that chapter of my life. Still, my instincts told me that something big would go down soon and that number of players involved were a lot greater than I had imagined.
The occult was always a topic of interest to me. Ancient myths and legends of old, most of which proved to be true and which I've actually encountered a fair portion in my travels were no strangers to me. What Mr. Alighieri had transcribed for us was something I was unfamiliar with. Dr. Creeps on the other hand was in sage heaven. In fact he was so enthralled by the translated scribbling that he wouldn't stop reading it out loud.
"To a land not yet blessed by the true children of God
Eastward across a vast sea that stretches past forever
There lies the prison of one
To dry and jagged land with mountains black
Betwixt the glowing evil and the city of the dead
There lies the prison of one
To the place which reaches to touch the hand of God
Yet plunges to the pit to reach Lucifer's lips
There lies the prison of one
To the chamber of lost tears
To the chamber of that which sleeps
There lies the prison of one..."
"All right Creeps that's enough poetry for one night's travel." I decided that twenty minutes of a nonstop "prison of one" mantra was more than enough for that or any other night. It was bad enough that the greedy bastard snatched the pages from the shop keeps hand before either Slater or myself could take a look. It was more aggravating because he was only reading one page of the damned thing.
"Would you mind terribly if the rest of could take a look at the rest of translation, or would you prefer to read those aloud as well?"
I nearly walked into the sage when I found the source of the muffled, yet stern voice. I nearly dropped newly fixed widow maker (Mr. Alighieri was a man of many talents as well as fast. Everything on the rifle was in perfect working order. I made sure of that before we departed.) when Slater made her way over towards the sage and myself. What followed next was a slow yet steady unveiling as she first removed her hat then the cloth around her head. The sage and I were frozen, awestruck as the grizzled wasteland mummy was transforming slowing into a beautiful woman. This, in and of it self was surprise enough. The surprises, however were just beginning. She then opened her coat to reveal the sword and rumpled tabard that I had briefly spied when she'd healed me. But even that wasn't the end of the surprising striptease. When she removed her tabard to reveal what lie underneath is when got that "Banshee" feeling again. The unmistakable purple tunic was plain to see even with what little light the full moon provided. The Tri-legged symbol at its center standing in fire was also unmistakable. A little voice deep within the recesses of my mind told me that, not only was I in it up to my neck, but the shit was continuing to rise. Damned annoying as little voices go.
"Allow me to introduce myself. You may call me... Joan."