Furious Scribe
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8. Hull - Jokes Should Be Funny
🕑 Added 2023-11-04 16:43:31 +0000 UTC
Chapter 8
Jokes Should Be Funny
My feet started burning the second I crossed the threshold. I bit down on my tongue and threw myself forward. I knew right where the card was supposed to be. Every step forward felt like holes being burned straight up through to my foot bones, and it was getting harder and harder to hold my breath. My singed face felt like it was about to catch fire. This is stupid this is stupid this is stupid!
My whole front fetched up against the glass of the tall vertical case in the corner; it was half a step closer than I’d thought. Somehow the glass was even hotter than everything else around me. The blaze all around me reflected off the glass, keeping me from seeing what was behind. Is it there? I don’t think it’s there. I’m going to die.
I swung my hammer and shattered the glass. There, sitting pretty on its narrow little shelf, sat The Sucking Void card. Either the tailor had missed it in his mad dash or he had a cache of Epics and Mythics so valuable that this was a minor loss. No matter which it was, my heart soared, and I snatched it with eager fingers that were already starting to blister. The soft inner part of my arm snagged against the broken glass, drawing a bright line of pain down my arm that felt different, cleaner somehow than the burning hell around me. I barely noticed the blood on the glass as I drew the card to me. As much as I wanted to look at the card, to drink it in and revel in my luck, I shoved it against the side of my head behind my right ear.
If taking in my Uncommon Relic had felt like swallowing a too-big bite of food, this was like choking down a whole rat as it kicked and wriggled. I gasped and immediately regretted it as burning air flooded my chest and I started to hack and cough, doubling over. I couldn’t feel my feet, and suddenly I knew that even with my new card, I was in big trouble. The card itself tumbled about inside my Mind Home like a rock tumbling down a stairwell. Focusing through the pain, eyes tearing and throat burning, I dropped my hammer, letting it vanish into the aether, held out my right hand, and called the Nether card forth. It vibrated into being like I’d snatched a hummingbird out of nothing.
Drawing desperately on my source, I pushed it all into the card. I didn’t even know if it was too much – I couldn’t think. I had maybe ten more seconds before I choked on smoke and died.
The card turned to stardust, but instead of coalescing as the hammer had done, it flew toward me and stuck to my skin, forming a kind of starlight skin of armor.
The heat vanished. My breath whistled cool and easy in my throat. I stood up straight and laughed. My hands and feet were still burned, and blood still dripped down my arm where I’d cut it on the glass, but compared to the terror and desperation of a moment before, I felt like I was walking on clouds.
No time to waste. On impulse, I grabbed another card off the narrow shelves sight unseen, jammed it into my pocket, and then darted for the door, running as hard as I could through the smoke. I fetched up against one body and then another, and hands snatched at me, but I batted them away and bulled forward. Confusion reigned and smoke wreathed everything. I kicked a bucket full of water and it flooded onto the cobbles even as I stepped through it. The iron-banded wood should have broken my toes, but I felt nothing but a gentle bump as I kept running. I couldn’t see where I was going, but any place was better than here. I was young, I was fast, I couldn’t be harmed, and I didn’t care at all about saving the neighborhood. None of these rich fools could catch me. The streets of the Merchant District disappeared behind me.
I felt it immediately when my minute of invulnerability guttered out. My feet suddenly hurt three times as bad, and the blood ran faster down my arm. I groaned and stumbled, but I didn’t stop. If I’d had any more cards inside me, they’d have been temporarily stripped out of my Mind Home, leaving me vulnerable to any attack… but so long as I didn’t get stabbed or start another fire in the next ten to fifteen minutes, I’d survive. I was streaking through the still-shadowed streets of the Lows as the sky went slowly from a glimmer of brightness in the east to the lightening blues of day. I saw old ladies sweeping their stoops and laborers trudging toward their early jobs, but none of them gave me a second look. I was back in the Lows – nobody wanted to know about whatever emergency I was running from.
Wait, I’m in the Lows. What am I doing? My burned and battered feet were carrying me back to my little nook on Hook Street like I was a cow bolting for the slaughterhouse. I skidded to a halt and ducked into one of the natural eddies of the road where barrels and other clutter collected. I was on Murder Lane, three crossings from Hook Street. One of Ticosi’s men was sure to be waiting near my chimneyside hidey-hole. I’d almost let my unthinking panic deliver me to the Big Man of the Lows.
I thought through the best route to the wharf. I had the tailor’s five silver bits in one pocket and my bag of shards in the other. Ticosi would have someone stationed at the docks, but if I was careful I’d spot them and maybe I could slip past and buy passage out of town. The straight shot was on Broad Street, but he’d have people there too. Better to loop around on the Ring Road and take the long way. Two seconds to catch my breath and I’ll go. I pressed a hand against my cut arm and felt my shirt sodden with cold blood against it and the deep, urgent ache within. Maybe I could pay one of the sailors aboard ship to stitch me up once I’d gotten away.
Cursing myself for a fool, I remembered the other card I’d stolen. I pulled it from my pocket and angled it into the light to get a good look.
I made a sound that was half sigh and half snort. It was a Fire spell, so I couldn’t use it, but I’d half-expected that when grabbing blindly, no matter how much I hoped for another Nether card that would fit in my Mind Home. The real problem was that, despite the silver border marking it as Uncommon, it was a joke card. I’d heard a gaffer talk about them once in the taverns: cards that someone had put incredible effort and time into which had no practical use in real life or dueling. It was a cruel twist. Maybe there were more useless cards than this one out there, but if so, I hoped I’d never see them.
Fate take me. Even if I didn’t end up with a card I could use, I’d expected to get something I could trade away to my advantage. This, though…I’d be lucky to get a handful of rusted bits for this trash. Unless, that is, I happened to find one of those idiot collectors who made whole decks out of joke cards to amuse their idiot friends at fancy idiot parties. Folks like that lived in the Palace District or the Hills, not the Lows. I jammed it back into my pocket, disgusted. At least I got an Epic Nether card, because this one’s a total loss. I mentally paused. Wait, this one was right beneath mine…is my card a joke card? Is that why the tailor didn’t take it? The Sucking Void was supremely useful, as I’d just proved by not dying in a fire, but in a place where Nether users were about as common as hen’s teeth, maybe he’d decided it was more novelty than treasure. After all, the loss of the Summoner’s entire deck when the spell ran out would be a massive drawback for anyone who had a proper-sized deck in their Mind Home.
Worry about it later. Get out of the neighborhood. Just as I got up to head on my way, Harker stumped into view at the far end of the street, her blond, bovine face swinging from side to side as she scanned the houses and passersby. Everyone shrank away from her visibly. Nobody wanted attention from Ticosi or his lackeys, and I could only sympathize. I shook off my fear-freeze. I needed to make myself scarce.
There was a deep pocket of shadow not ten steps away where two angled walls and a protruding sign blocked the rising sun. The walls above were a brilliant, reflective yellow and the cobbles below shone with a fresh coat of whitewash, increasing the contrast. There was just enough space in that shadow for me to hunker down and be invisible. I hobbled over as quickly as I could, held my breath, and sent up another prayer to Fortune. I was abusing his good will today, but I needed to roll the dice one more time.
Harker made her methodical way up the street, looking everywhere in her dull, stupid, vicious way. I didn’t see her check any corners, though – she was just eyeing the people on the street and generally making sure they weren’t me. I’d be safe if I held still. She was only fifteen steps away now, and in moments she’d pass me by.
Then, high above the rooftops, a man soared into the sky, his golden cloak snapping in the wind as he flew without wings up to where he could see the whole city at a glance. His hair gleamed black and lustrous, cascading in perfect loose curls even as he streaked through the air. He spread his arms, and a magically powerful voice boomed out over the city.
“Good morning, my beautiful ones! I see you, I watch over you, I light your homes and your hearts – today and every day!” His voice was rich, deep, and hatefully smug.
The Sun King was doing his sunrise ritual. The arrogant bastard never missed a day, rain or shine. Arms outstretched, he shone brighter and brighter until he became a miniature sun, shining golden rays into every nook and cranny of the city. Including mine.
Harker had been looking up at him, just like everyone did, but she knew to look away once the King started to shine. Doing otherwise was a good way to go blind. So she glanced away, and Fortune, instead of helping me, played one of his little jokes. She was looking right at me as the Sun King stripped away my shadow and left me exposed for the whole world to see.
The son of a bitch couldn’t have ruined me any more perfectly if he’d tried. He’d been doing it to me since before I was born. He was my father, and right now I wanted to kill him even more than when I found out he’d thrown my pregnant mother into the streets all those years before.
Harker’s smile was like the blooming of a poisonous flower. “Hullo, kid,” she said. “Let’s have a talk.”
She blocked the way toward Hook Street, so I got my burned, blistered feet underneath me and ran the only direction I could: away.
Comments
Furious Scribe
Yeah, not exactly the life you expect the crown prince to be living, eh? You know what they say, though: the greatest pressure makes the most valuable jewels. 😉
Brandon Baier
Way to bury the lede! Kids royalty. Mom was horrible. Dad was horrible. Tough break for hull.
