R&R! Rod and Reeling

R&R! Rod and Reeling

E ver look up from your dinner plate and find that the perfectly civilized restaurant you were peaceably eating in just moments before suddenly looks like it’s been ransacked by a herd of noise-sensitive elephants with firecrackers strapped to their butts?

You haven’t? Really? Wow. It happens to me all the time. Oh, quit making that face. I know what you’re thinking, but it wasn’t my fault this time. It wasn’t!

Let me explain: there I was in a cozy little cook shack in Atlas City. The food was fresh, but the guests were rotten. Most of ‘em, anyway. It was the kind of place that drew a steady crowd of mercenaries and hoodlums, with the occasional ruffian thrown in for flavor. In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have been surprised that a full-on brawl broke out, but I was. I mean, it’s no secret that I’ve done mercenary work from time to time, but that place had a reputation for good eats, and I’d gone in looking for a meal, not a melee. And anyone who knows me will tell you that I frown upon fisticuffs. I’m a pacifist, you see.

No, I am not kidding. Quit your snickering or so help me, I’ll wipe that—er… we better keep this moving.

Okay, back to the brawl: Once the battle got into full swing, I found a spot under a corner table and parked there. I had a good view of the action, and I was able to keep gnawing on the drumstick I’d snatched off my plate before it had gone flying. Dinner and a floorshow! Now that I think about it, maybe it wasn’t all that bad.

What caused the ruckus, you ask? Oh. Well, it had seemed like such a little thing at first…

I’d just dived into my fourth serving of a dee-licious chicken noodle dish when a fella down the counter decided he wanted to strike up a conversation with little ol’ me. He had red hair, and while he wasn’t exactly handsome, he wasn’t exactly un-handsome either. He wore scuffed leather armor over a tunic-and-trouser combo, and he carried a bastard sword in a scabbard on his back. It took me all of two seconds to figure him for a mercenary of the common variety.

“All alone, miss?” he asked.

I glanced up at him, decided I wasn’t interested and returned to my food. “I’m with someone,” I muttered, before shifting my attention to the waiter and ordering my next course: chicken soufflé.

The mercenary made a tut-tut-tut noise and waved his finger at me.

Just for future reference: You know what I think of a guy who wags a finger at me and makes a tut-tut-tut noise? I think he’s begging to lose a finger. Especially if he does it while I’m eating.

“Now, ain’t that a shame? A fella ain’t wise to be leaving a cutie girl like you all alone in a place like this.” Then he put his hand on my shoulder in an overly familiar way.

I didn’t mind the “cutie girl” part, but I didn’t much fancy the touching, and the sentiment was pretty insulting. I really hate the implication that just because I’m small and female, I can’t take care of myself.

Watch it, fella.

“What’s your name, cutie girl?”

The soufflé was pretty good.

“My name’s Lantz,” he said.

Eating with a guy’s hand on your shoulder can get kinda annoying, though.

“Cat got yer tongue, cutie girl?”

Hey! I felt a strange sensation on my butt. That’s right: my butt. Now Lantz was trying to touch my butt! Are you kidding me?!

You know, there’s some truth to that old cliché about being surprised by your own strength. I meant to flip him over so he’d land on the counter with a satisfy­ing “thwap!” but I must’ve tossed him a little too hard, because—

“GAAAAH!!!” Lantz somehow managed to smash into the corner and hit the floor groin-first. I didn’t even know that was possible.

That’s gotta hurt.

Hey! It was completely justified self-defense!

Big bad Lantz let forth a big bad sob, tried to stand up, and as he was doing so, he teetered and collapsed on a nearby table. Unfortunately, it was occupied.

“Hey, you! What do you think yer doin’?!” screeched the disgruntled diner, who upended Lantz onto yet another table… and so on and so forth.

While I suppose, technically speaking, I was the first one to throw a—er—punch, he was asking for it! You can’t just go around touching someone’s butt uninvited and expect to walk away without the owner of that butt using your face to break a few tables, right?

“Hey, Lina. When you gonna start cleaning up your own messes?” inquired a young, well-built blond man from his position squatting under the table right next to mine. He was wearing a black breastplate and carrying a long sword.

Gourry! There you are! I knew him well. We’d been traveling together since we met, which, granted, hadn’t been all that long ago, but you learn a lot about a person on the road.

“My messes?! Who started it?” I queried indignantly while savoring each chickeny morsel. Gourry snatched a bit of thigh meat before I could stop him. Toad!

“You did. You were the first one to swing. Or—er—toss.”

“You saw that?!”

“Just as I was coming out of the washroom.”

“Gourry! He was trying to TOUCH MY BUTT! He’s lucky I only threw him against a wall, considering!”

“Maybe he wanted to befriend your butt. Or maybe he mistook your butt for some mysteriously bony magical creature, and he was trying to—”

I bonked him on the forehead.

“Jeez, Lina! I was kidding!” he said, rubbing his noggin. “You know if you’d put up with it a little longer, I’d have come back and whacked him for you.”

I glared.

“In this world, there are things you can ‘put up with for a little longer’ and things you can’t! Strangers who try to touch your butt fall squarely into the second camp!”

“Fair enough. But is it possible you might have overreacted just a little?” He gestured at the surrounding pandemonium.

Okay, he might have had a point.

“You think I should finish it?” I asked. After all, I could cast a single fireball and things would get real quiet, real quick. Unfortunately, casting a fireball in a public establishment doesn’t usually endear you to local law enforcement.

“Nah,” sighed Gourry. “That’d just make it worse.”

“So, let’s stay right here and wait it out, then.”

“But…” Gourry was at a loss for how to finish that sentence. He was right. I’d done my part to start things going. and I ought to do my part to stop them. But how?

“Ah, I got it!” I said, as pleased as if I’d found a bag of money. “How ‘bout this: on the count of three, I’ll scream real loud and collapse. You draw your sword and swing it as you get up—it’ll look like you just struck me. Then you say something like, ‘Hmph, that’ll teach her!’ Everyone will totally stop what they’re doing and they’ll think you just killed me!”

Gourry didn’t like my idea.

“And just what do you think is gonna happen after that?”

“Uh… I hadn’t gotten that far.”

“They’ll think I’m a murderer!”

“Gourry, you know, you really shouldn’t worry so much about what other people think—”

“Forget it, Lina!”

“Well, if you’re not willing to work with me on this…”

I was just about to pitch my next idea when the front door burst open with a gust of wind, and the room fell weirdly silent.

Hmmm.

Gourry and I both got back on our feet and, like everyone else, focused our attention on the threshold.

The first thing I saw was his shadow. Slowly, a figure appeared. He was shrouded in black from head to toe—long black hair, black tunic and trousers; even his nose and mouth were hidden behind a black scarf tied like a mask. He carried a long sword on his back, and I could tell just by looking at him that he knew how to handle it. He was a master swordsman, at the very least.

Gourry could tell, too, and he let out a spontaneous sound of admiration.

They were about the same age—just a hair over twenty—and both were swordsmen. But that’s where the similarities ended. The shadow man was cold, pale… ghostly Even the air around him was different. It was his formidable aura that smothered the rampant bloodlust and quieted the restaurant’s rowdy clientele.

He was good-looking, but obviously trouble.

Hmmm… Isn’t that always the case?

“I’m looking for a bodyguard,” he said simply. His voice was just what you’d imagine: cold, clear, and sharp… like a sword.

“If you are confident in your skills and desirous of riches, then speak! The sponsor is Mr. Tarim. It is an excellent offer, I assure you.” He’d gotten right to the point. His manner wasn’t nuanced, but I’m sure he wasn’t hired for his public speaking skills.

Of course, there wasn’t exactly a stampede of volunteers.

Atlas City had played host to more than its share of nasty business in the recent past. It could all be traced back to the day the chairman of the city’s Sorcerers’ Guild, Halcyform the White, had gone missing—about six months before. A struggle for the vacant position had immediately broken out between the two vice chairmen, Tarim the Violet and Daymia the Blue.

The shadow man was acting as a recruiter for Tarim.

Of course, I had no intention of involving myself in any such nastiness, but what can I say? Curiosity got the better of me.

“I’ll listen to your offer,” I volunteered.

“Heeey, you’re—” Lantz the Heinous (the jerk who’d demonstrated such a fondness for my fanny earlier) interrupted. He was both bruised and bloodied. I guess table dancing didn’t work out well for him. Too bad. (Tee hee.)

The shadow man turned his attention to Lantz. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

Hmmm. So, he knows Lantz. It seemed they were acquainted, though not, I hasten to add, friendly.

“R-Rod sir,” Lantz stammered. “Well, uh… Master Tarim asked me to run an errand for him, and then—”

“You’re finished here. Go home.” The shadow man apparently wasn’t known for his verbosity. He looked directly into my eyes, and an icy chill ran down my spine. “A sorceress.”

Yep, I guess that pretty much sums it up.

I’d altered my clothes a little since I’d arrived in the city, changing into my white tunic, dark blue robe and trousers. But I was still wearing my black bandana, dragon scale style shoulder guards, a sword at my hip, my black mantle, and most importantly, my jeweled amulet—it would have been difficult to mistake me for anything but a sorceress.

Though I remember some fool once said he thought I looked like a fishmonger or a waitress. Grrr… Gourry!

“Fine. Your name?”

“You’ll get mine when I’ve got yours.” I wasn’t going to give my name first, no way. It’s a status thing. Of course, deep inside, I was terrified—but he didn’t need to know that! I was trying to slice through the cloud of gloom and doom he’d brought into the room with him. I had no delusions about taking him on, though.

“Rod,” the shadow man answered as bluntly as I’d expected. I exhaled silently.

This is getting old. “Lina,” I said.

“I see…” he responded with a hint of admiration in his voice. “So you’re Lina Inverse. I’ve heard about you.”

Great. He’s probably heard the bad stuff: Lina Inverse, Bandit Slayer! Queen of Destruction!

“Very well. Come with me,” he said, turning his back as he spoke.

Er, hold on…

“Okay, Gourry. Let’s go.”

“Uh… I’m going, too?” he asked as he rose to his feet.

Well, duh…

Rod sprang into action! In mid-stride, his hand went to the hilt of his long sword and he drew. Everyone in the room expected to see blood on the floor any second—everyone, that is, except…

“Gourry!”

Whether it was instinct or dumb luck (I suspect the latter), Gourry had crouched down to steal another bit of food off my plate at the very moment that Rod was drawing his sword. The crisis passed just as suddenly as it had come on. Rod was able to quickly assess the situation and determine that Gourry intended no challenge.

“Nice counter. You’re good,” Rod said, bowing his head approvingly.

“Nah, just better than average, I figure,” Gourry replied with his usual banality. Gourry may not look like much, but despite his complete lack of common sense or situational aware­ness, his skills with a sword are absolutely first rate. I’m better than average, and I’m no match for him. Actually, as a swords­man, I wouldn’t have stood a chance against either one of them.

Rod was able to accurately assess Gourry’s abilities in a single glance.

“I would be pleased to duel with you someday,” he said.

“Job comes first though, right?” Gourry made an agile parry.

“You boys can play once the workday’s done,” I added, teasingly.

“Should you survive,” said Rod.

Apparently, someone isn’t feeling very playful.

As we walked on, his words echoed ominously in my head.

* * *

Location: Atlas City.

Duke Rithahn’s Castle Vail occupied a commanding position high above that prosperous municipality and transportation hub. By day, so many people packed the narrow, shop-and cart-lined streets that brawls and pickpocketing were commonplace. But as long as you could avoid getting involved with one or the other, it wasn’t a bad place to find yourself. (Though at dusk, merchants hurriedly packed up their carts and closed up their shops, and girls in pretty dresses raced to get home because by night, Atlas City was a different story altogether.)

From the hill, the stately palace, framed by a series of anonymous buildings, looked as if it were a painting. As with most cities of this type, the closer one got to the castle, the wealthier the residents, the more refined the lifestyle, and the more impressive the public works.

Normally in such a large city, the administrative offices for the Church, the Sorcerers’ Guild, and the Warriors’ Association would hold roughly equal influence. However, in Atlas City, the Sorcerers’ Guild building was located right beside the castle wall, giving it great power. Lately, however, the influence of the Sorcerers’ Guild was dwarfed by that of the Clerical League of Saillune. The League, it could be argued, commanded more political influence than Duke Rithahn himself.

Such a loss of stature, though lamentable, wasn’t sur­prising considering the vacancy of the chairman’s position and the internal struggle over who should fill it. The spirit of dissent had actually taken root in the guild earlier, when a group of sorcerers calling themselves the Searchers of the Truth blamed the others for conspiring to keep them out of positions of power.

Personally, I didn’t have an opinion on the Searchers of the Truth one way or the other.

Though I’d gone into that restaurant around noon, the meal and the brawl had conspired to rob me of the latter half of the day, cutting the rest of my plans short.

Twilight was already setting in. Sorcerers in the employ of Duke Rithahn were hastily casting lighting spells to serve as streetlamps.

What a waste of a day.

“Lina…” Gourry muttered in a voice just loud enough for me to hear, but not loud enough to earn Rod’s attention as he walked on ahead of us. “What are we doing? You said we weren’t gonna take any jobs here.”

He was right; I had said that. I’d meant for Atlas City to serve as much-needed R&R. We were both pretty exhausted by the outrageous incidents we’d barely scraped out of over the last few weeks, and we needed to rest and blow off some steam. Our first day in town, I’d told him in no uncertain terms that we would not be accepting any jobs in Atlas City: no way, no how.

But… it’s a girl’s prerogative to change her mind. Besides, I didn’t actually intend to take the job. I was curious, and frankly, I saw Rod the Shadow Man as our ticket out of that chophouse!

“Considering the situation, Gourry,” I said through gritted teeth, “I figured getting the lowdown on this job was an easier way out than faking my death.

“Besides,” I added, “I said I’d listen. I never said I’d take the job.”

“But…” Gourry scratched his head and made that weird little mew sound he always makes when he’s confused. “From what I’ve heard about this Tarim guy, I don’t think he’ll just go, Ah, that’s too bad, take care.’”

“So if it comes to that, we’ll fight our way out. I can count on you, can’t I, Gourry?”

He grimaced. “You know, I’m starting to think traveling with you isn’t exactly the path to a long and healthy life.”

“You’re probably right,” I said, and smiled.

Then, just as suddenly, I stopped cold in my tracks and looked around in a panic. I could feel the flicker of eyes on us. “What’ve you got, Lina?” Gourry asked.

“I think we’re being watched…”

“Huh. You too?” He shrugged, just as off handedly as if he were asking for a sip of water.

Now just a…

“Let’s take the back way,” Rod whispered. Maybe I was the last one to pick up on our spies?

As we shifted our course, my senses went on high alert. A sour smell pricked my nose. I heard a dog barking somewhere in the distance. The tension in the air had every hair on the back of my neck standing stiff and straight.

Around the next corner, a row of filthy brick-red houses blocked the light from the street lamps. Every city has a “wrong side of the tracks,” and for Atlas City, this was it. We soldiered on through the desolation in single file. I didn’t much care for the scenery, but it was clear why Rod had chosen the route. Having also noticed we were being watched, he led us down the most lifeless path available.

The better to meet the watchers.

Like chumming for sharks…

Rod stopped dead. “Enough of this.”

Hard to mistake an invitation like that.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” I sang.

Right on cue: movement. Several silhouettes made their way out from the shadows.These were the men who’d been tailing us? They all came out dressed in top-of-the-line bandit-chic ensembles. Dorks.

All righty, then…

I’d picked up on multiple pairs of eyes earlier, but there was one stare in particular that gave me the goose bumps. Whoever that had been, he wasn’t among these macaroni clowns.

What the…? It couldn’t have been my imagination.

Regardless, it was clearly time to refocus my attention on the situation at hand.

“Tarim’s bodyguards, eh?” asked one of the men.

Well, not yet. But I don’t suppose it’s worth splitting hairs.

“Now, uh, that’s not necessarily the case…” Gourry piped in, always game to give hair-splitting a fair shot.

“They intend to kill you either way,” offered Rod. “Let’s see what you’re made of,” he said to us—or, more precisely, to Gourry.

Oh-no-you-don’t! Is this a setup? Some kind of audition?!

“Forget it,” I barked. “If we take on these clowns, we’ll be doing a job we haven’t decided to accept. Sorry, I hate to disappoint you now that we’re such good friends.”

“Disappoint me?” Rod’s cold gaze crept back to me. “On the contrary. I’d prefer you not accept this job.”

“Er… you what now?”

“I cannot fight an ally,” he explained, fixing his gaze on Gourry, who was standing just behind me. “Your point is well taken,” he continued. “I’ll handle this.”

The clowns—er, I mean, assassins—were indignant. A single man agreeing to take on ten of them? Why, it was so arrogant as to be insulting.

And yet, my money was on Rod. Easily I’d been making good use of my time, and while we were haggling, I’d also been observing the group’s demeanor and roughly gauging the extent of their abilities. In my humble opinion, they were a joke.

I also had little doubt in my mind that they’d been sent by Tarim’s rival, Daymia. But, whatever the case, they were bottom of the barrel. New recruits with little or no experience, at best. Hmmm…

Knowing full well he could handle them, I pointed to Rod and declared, “You heard him! If you want to get to us, you have to go through him first!”

“Oh now, that’s just mean,” Gourry winced. Of course, he could tell these men were no match for Rod and he was having a hard time not laughing himself.

“How dare you mock us!” someone with a genius for the unoriginal shouted. Mistake number one. Then, he took off and headed for Rod. Mistake number two. The other men drew their blades.

And mistake number three. Wow, nice goin’, guys!

Rod glared at them coldly and patiently drew his sword. At just the right moment, he stepped forward.

In an instant, the first would-be assassin met with a whirlwind of metal and malice.

The remaining men realized what they were up against and probably messed their pants.

About time.

The how-dare-you man’s epitaph was written the moment he rushed in Rod’s direction. The others wisely lost their will to fight.

“Retreat! Retreat!” one of them called out, his back already turned to us. Not the most courageous of calls, perhaps, but it was darn tootin’ the most prudent.

Unfortunately for them, as they tried to escape in the other direction, they ran headlong into a big man with a bastard sword held firmly in both hands. His face was swollen and his temper flared. It was Lantz, my buddy from earlier.

The men stopped. Lantz charged forward, slicing his unfortunate opponents into, well, slices.

Ewww. He’s better than I thought.

Rod took his turn with the few that remained. The “battle” was over in a wink of an eye, and neither Gourry nor I could find any cause for critique.

Rod used his scarf to wipe the blood off his sword as Lantz huffed and puffed in our direction.

“I saw that group following you when I came out of the tavern,” Lantz sputtered. “So, of course, I followed them. Maybe that wasn’t necessary, but—”

“It was not,” Rod replied.

Lantz instantly dropped the subject. He glared at Gourry and me a few times with blatant hostility.

“B-but Rod, do you really think that little girl and her goon are up to this job?!”

Little girl?!

“Lantz…” Rod growled before I could even open my mouth to reply.

Lantz trembled.

“I invited them,” Rod continued. That was to say, if Lantz doubted our ability, then he doubted Rod’s assessment of our ability.

Lantz paled as he caught the meaning behind the words. “I-I’m sorry, Rod sir, I didn’t mean to imply…”

“Very well.” Rod nodded curtly and walked past. He was back to his Gloomy Gus self.

Yippee.

We followed behind, Lantz bringing up the rear. He made a small thbbt sound with his tongue that I’m not sure he intended us to hear.

I spun back toward him, my hand on my hip—if he had a problem with me, he should’ve said so to my face! But an instant before my lips could form the words…

PLOOP! The earth beneath our feet went liquid. The surface of the alleyway had become a sea of mud.

“Whoa! What the—?” Lantz shrieked. He was a big guy, and he’d sunk into the ground up to his knees.

“Lina, I believe this is your department,” Gourry suggested calmly, his feet also buried in the mud, and sinking.

“Yeah, I know,” I replied.

Rod eyed me cautiously. At last my impulse to call him a “stick in the mud” wasn’t too far off.

I focused my attention on finding the source. As soon as I did, I saw a man floating in midair against the dim sky above us. “A wizard, hmmm…”

He wore a black mantle and hood, and a jeweled amulet at his neck. He had a pair of well-made shoulder guards sculpted to look like the heads of blow demons—one on each side.

Blow demons, in case you’re wondering, are not exactly handsome little devils.

Well, he certainly looks the part.

“I take it you sacrificed that bunch just now to test our strength,” I said, figuring we’d skip over the pleasantries.

“I did. And they performed their task admirably,” the sorcerer said, grinning and laughing over the loss of his minions.

“Using the earth spirit Bephimos to change the dirt into mud, then attacking from above while we couldn’t move… not bad. If I hadn’t been here, that might have done the trick,” I said, genuinely admiring the strategy.

Of course, I was standing on top of the sea of mud as if I were walking on water, thanks to a little spell I like to call levitation. As soon as I’d felt the soles of my shoes start to sink, I’d cast it, and it kept me high and dry.

“You will not be spared. I, Karuas, promise death to all those who defy the great Daymia!”

“People shouldn’t make promises they can’t keep, Karuas. It’s bad manners. Didn’t your mama teach you nothin’?” With that, I switched to a new spell in mid-cast. “Ray Wing!”

Karuas was instantly flipped on his side.

“Whoa!” he yelped in surprise.

Normally, that spell wraps a wind barrier around a person’s body, enabling rapid flight. It’s more difficult to control than a levitation spell, but—since I had no intention of using it on myself—its blustery nature was just the sort of thing I wanted.

By my count, Karuas was running two spells: whatever he’d used to transform the alley into mud and his levitation spell. No sorcerer, no matter how skilled, could handle more than two spells at once. And of course, if the spells were complex, even two would be too much. While controlling Ray Wing, I might be able to handle a lighting spell, for instance, but I certainly couldn’t cast another offensive.

The good news was that I was sure he wouldn’t be able to cast any more spells, either.

…or so I thought.

Karuas turned to me, and with an unnecessarily crude, “Take this, bitch!” several flare arrows appeared out of nowhere!

What the—?!

“Haaa!” The arrows flung themselves toward me and I just barely dodged them. Normally, I could have evaded them easily, but I’d been taken by surprise.

“What’s wrong? Off your game?” Karuas chuckled as he spoke. His shoulder guards chortled along.

Did his shoulder guards just laugh?

Hmph. Unless I’d missed a memo, accessories didn’t usually demonstrate anthropomorphic scorn. That could only have meant…

“Precissssely,” Karuas stretched the word out like taffy in his mouth. “They’re alive.”

Alive? It didn’t make any sense. First of all, blow demons weren’t capable of using high-level attack spells. And second, Karuas’ shoulder guards were each about the size of a blow demon head. Assuming these were some special variety of blow demon capable of advanced magical practices, where were their bodies?! Sure, they tend to be a bit smaller than humans, but there’s still no way one of them could fit under a sorcerer’s mantle. Let alone two!

“They’re not normal blow demons, foolish girl. They’re special. They were bestowed upon me when the Lord Daymia made me into a chimera. They are my beautiful pets, and with their help, I can run three spells simultaneously!” Karuas generously explained.

Oh, good. It’s nice when people are proud of their pets.

So, he and the two blow demons had a symbiotic relationship. Together, they could levitate, control the mud spell, and conduct an attack. With that going for him, he clearly had an advantage. However…

“Light!” I struck Karuas with my lighting spell. Since levitation was a low-agility conjure, he couldn’t dodge it. Too bad.

“Gaah!” he cried out. The great ball of light glowed just inches in front of his eyes.

“W-where are you?!” Karuas bellowed, flailing. I’d blinded him with my light.

“Up there!” the blow demon on his right shoulder yelled, ratting me out.

Fortunately, he hadn’t quite recovered his sight when he raised his chin to look up.

And as soon as he did, I revved up my attack… CRASH! I landed on his face with both feet. Then, positioning myself directly above his noggin…

KA-THUNK! He took a header straight into the sea of mud. No sooner had he hit than he was buried waist-deep.

I alighted atop his protruding butt-mound and calmly cast my next spell.

“Freeze arrow,” I whispered, and my cold arrows pierced the ground and froze the mud in an instant.

The sorcerer’s body twitched, then ceased to move altogether. At that, the ground returned to its original form. The blow demons must have died as well, releasing that spell.

In with a bang, out with a sad and squishy thud.

At the root of Karuas’ defeat was his belief that his strength could be measured by the number of spells he could use simultaneously.

It’s not the size of your spells, boys. It’s how you use them.

I turned toward the others. “Whatever you’re going to do, do it fast, okay?” pleaded Lantz. He and the other two were still buried waist-deep.

It’s true what they say, you know: A woman’s work is never done.

* * *

The steamed Roania lamb was DELICIOUS! Sprinkled with spices and sauteed with green veggies, its taste and delicate fragrance lingered like that of a very fine wine. The mussels and fried shrimp weren’t bad, either!

In fact, I’d go out on a limb and say that supper was one of the most extravagant feasts I’d ever seen, let alone eaten. If it hadn’t been part of a job interview, and if Rod and Tarim hadn’t been there, it would’ve been a perfect night. But it was. And they were. So it wasn’t. Alas.

Our host, Tarim the Violet, joined us at the table. He was rather plump—well acquainted with extravagant dining—and middle-aged.

Are you familiar with color suffixes? Phrases like “the Violet” and “the Blue” are appended to the names of those sorcerers within a guild who hold significant offices or who perform important deeds. They wear robes and mantles of the same color, and though the hues don’t correspond to any rank or hierarchy, they do make for easy recognition. I’m digressing, but you might be interested to know that I actually received a color title from the Sorcerers’ Guild in my homeland as a special honorific. They had a custom robe and mantle made for me, and they were to be handed over during an official ceremony at the guild, but I couldn’t go through with it. I couldn’t wear… pink!

When word got out, the other sorceresses laughed at me! “Lina the Pink!” they howled, “You’ll make a great cabaret dancer!”

“Like hell I will!” I yelled back at the top of my lungs, but all that got me was more roaring laughter.

Oh, shove it, all of you.

Of course, it was a guy who picked the color! “Pink is perfect for such a precious girl,” he pronounced.

What? In what universe does a Black Sorceress go around wearing all pink?!

Anyway, as inappropriate as my pink was, Tarim’s violet was doubly so. While a perfectly fine color on its own, violet doesn’t flatter everyone.

I mean, it would suit a slim, handsome man well. It might add a mysterious aura.

However… watching a middle-aged man stuff two buffet tables worth of fine foods down his throat, his plump body wrapped like a sausage in vibrant purple silks, wasn’t exactly doing good things for my appetite.

He was completely bald, which isn’t a bad look on its own, but it’s weird on a roly-poly frame—like a cherry on top of a sundae. And he blinked so often and so hard I started to wonder if he had something stuck in both eyes! The worst, though, was that instead of having wine with his food, he was about to light up a cigar.

This is where I draw the line.

“HEY! I’m eating here!” I yelled, barely managing to keep myself from whacking him on the spot.

What? Oh, like you want to breathe farty-cigar stink while you’re eating? Anyway, he obliged and stubbed out the stink-stick before it was even properly lit.

His story about the antagonism between him and Daymia matched what I’d heard on the street. What was different was how Tarim characterized the “succession dispute” as a one-sided series of attacks on him by Daymia, which forced him to hire mercenaries as bodyguards. Still, that was pretty much the story I was expecting.

“I would very much like for both of you to become my b-b-bodyguards,” he said weakly, his voice much more dignified than his appearance. He was having difficulty saying the word bodyguard, for some reason. “Although he continues to send assassins after me, as I have told you, I have no intention of engaging in the same foul behavior.”

Riiiight…

“After I become chairman, I will see that he’s properly dealt with. Now, don’t misunderstand me. I am referring to removing him from his post, nothing more.”

“What will you do if Daymia becomes chairman?” I asked.

He laughed it off with a wave of his hand as if I’d made a joke. “That’s not going to happen. I assure you, I will be the next chairman. Yes, certainly, his magic is stronger than my own. Perhaps even twice as powerful as mine. He’s the second born of a noble family, so he has a lot going for him.”

“However…” He paused, leaning forward and lowering his voice. “He’s a little… odd.”

“He’s what?” I asked, wondering why he was being so vague.

Gourry didn’t seem to be interested in listening. He was fully absorbed with picking the green peppers out of his vegetables.

Don’t let our conversation interrupt your freakish behavior there, genius.

While I focused on Gourry, Rod held his post at Tarim’s side. The bloodlust that I’d sensed in him from the start hadn’t dissipated one iota.

I was getting bored with it, frankly.

“I have come to believe that Daymia is pursuing an avenue of inquiry that is currently forbidden among sorcerers!” Tarim announced loudly.

“You know, we can hear you. You don’t have to shout,” Gourry responded.

Gourry! That was rude! I gave him a swift kick under the table. He raised an eyebrow and continued picking his peppers.

Tarim continued undeterred. Whatever it was that Daymia was up to, Tarim seemed deeply concerned.

“I have known for some time that my colleague has a particular fondness for ancient immortality research, homunculi, chimeras, and the like. Playing with life in that way is… counter to the code of ethics adhered to by our kind…” he said, his obvious resentment causing his voice to trail off.

Now we’re getting somewhere.

There’s never been any shortage of people who enslave themselves to the quest for eternal life. About five hundred years ago, the sitting king of the Principality of Letidius, then at the height of its glory, offered an enormous reward to anyone who could grant him immortality. A massive wave of violence broke out across the land—inside and outside the kingdom—as sorcerers competed for the reward. A mere two years after his appeal, civil war and foreign invasion claimed both the king and his kingdom. So much for immortality. Sorcerers still refer to that period as the Dark Age.

Even today, the first lesson driven into every student of sorcery is that the experiments of that era must never be repeated. And it’s just as well, if you think about it. I mean, say you do create your own Potion of Immortality, how are you going to test it? Exactly. Those experiments always end in tragedy.

Now, there are sorcerers who’ve lived for two hundred years or more—usually they’ve made pacts with Mazoku in exchange for longevity. However, one thing remains clear: All that lives must perish. That’s a law even an outlaw sorcerer can’t break.

In any case, all that the conversation up to that point established was that Vice Chairman Daymia wasn’t the kind of guy I wanted to be associated with.

“The electors for the chairmanship are well aware of this.” Tarim concluded, “He will never be made chairman, no matter how many times he stands for the position.”

“Huh…” I muttered inelegantly. I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Now, on the other hand, my area of study is the linguistics of magical research,” Vice Chairman Tarim said, suddenly switching gears.

Is he seriously… bragging about that?

He was! What a self-important jerk! I would rather have shriveled up and died than listen to him go on about the intricacies of magical gobbledy-gook.

“Of course, laboratories and rites are necessary for the practice of sorcery, but the most important factor is the spoken word,” he droned. “For without words, there can be no spells. But why do words have this effect? How do they draw upon powers not readily apparent in nature? Let us turn to my research.”

Oh, god.

He was really dragging on. I considered committing suicide by swallowing my tongue, but opted instead to change the subject.

“So, what was Chairman Halcyform researching when he disappeared?”

My question apparently startled Tarim. His body quivered.

Huh? What’s that about?

It wasn’t just that I’d interrupted him. Something about the subject I’d chosen was seriously disturbing him.

“The chairman was…” he trailed off, searching desperately for an appropriate answer. “Life—yes, yes! He was doing research related to life.” He had phrased it so strangely, it was obvious he was hiding something.

“So… something went wrong?” I asked, looking directly into his eyes. “We still haven’t said we’d take the job…” I reminded him.

“Well.” The vice chairman’s hands shook a little. “That, I am afraid, I cannot tell you, even at the cost of your refusal.”

“Seriously?” I was caught off guard by that one.

“Yes. If you feel you cannot work effectively without knowing, then perhaps this is not an appropriate job for you.”

Hmmm.

I guess, in retrospect, things could have gone much worse. After all, I’d gone there seriously prepared to fight my way out. However, I felt that Tarim was relying on his powers of persuasion and not being entirely honest.

“In any case, I’m far too young to die. I seek able bodyguards, and I eagerly await your reply.” That said, he returned to the food on his plate with a clumsy wink.

I almost choked on my pork stew.

* * *

The city was enveloped in darkness.

Gourry and I walked down the main street in silence. Just a little further and we’d be downtown, the area filled with inns and taverns, strip clubs, and so on. The street lamps did their best to poke holes in the blackness and light our way. Most of the people in the row houses we passed were already fast asleep, so few oil lamps offered assistance through the closed curtains.

Then, the street grew darker still. The brightest light in the area was now the full moon’s reflection off various windows.

Though I’d given a vague and inelegant “I’ll think about it” reply when we left Tarim’s place, I had no enthusiasm for the job. Which isn’t to say I wasn’t taking it. Of course, Tarim wasn’t pleased, but I got an “Ah, I see” reaction as soon as I gave him my name.

Not to brag, but I’m pretty famous.

…or infamous, you could say.

“She fires Dragon Slaves blindly!” they say. “She’s a destructive force of nature!”

“She conducts strange magical experiments, creating lakes of blood with corpses littering their banks!” And so on…

Those kinds of completely unfounded accusations really chafe my hide!

Certainly, a vice chairman of a Sorcerers’ Guild in a city of this size would have heard those rumors. Still, he wasn’t perturbed at the mention of my name. Maybe he wasn’t taking my words at face value?

After all, anyone can claim to be a famous person and try to use that to his or her advantage. Perhaps he thought that we were doing something like that. Or maybe after I asked about Chairman Halcyform, he decided I wasn’t going to take the job anyway, so it was better that he play it safe?

I was absorbed in those musings when, suddenly, some­one grabbed my collar and jerked me from behind!

It was Gourry. “This way,” he said in a lecturing tone. “Even though it was watered down, little miss ‘wine is wine,’ you do get drunk when you drink too much.”

What’s he talking about? Neither of us was drunk as near as I could tell.

“Whus drunk?” I asked.

Oh..

Okay, yeah, I was slurring a little—so what? I was completely levelheaded! I took a wrong turn because I was lost in thought, that’s all. I mean, Gourry’d had more to drink than I had, and he was walking and talking just fine!

“This way,” he said, somehow making the ground spin in the opposite direction.

“Mmmm…” I decided it was best to fix my eyes on Gourry’s back and follow close behind, just until they stopped rearranging the buildings.

A few steps further along, I bumped smack into his back. “Gourry! Don’t stop short like that—”

The moment I opened my mouth I knew something was wrong. The familiar darkness of night was thickening. The moon was now obscured, and not by clouds, either.

Two dark shadows stood on the rooftops, obstructing the moonlight.

A cold wind blew over me, instantly waking me from my stupor.

I muttered, “That’s…”

Okay, I might have been slurring my words a bit. That doesn’t mean I was drunk. I was not drunk.

And even if I was a little drunk, those figures were neither a dream nor an alcohol-inspired illusion. And how do you explain that spooky feeling?

Those of you who’ve encountered apparitions before, you’ll know exactly what I mean. If you’ve never run into one, it’s kinda difficult to explain the feeling. It’s a strange, icy sensation.

“Mazoku…” Gourry muttered.

The two figures remained there, still as the dead; their mantles flapping in the wind. The one on the right wore a white mask, like you’d wear to a masquerade ball, though it appeared to be made of stone. But the rest of him was shrouded in black. Because he was backlit, it appeared as if he were faceless, save for the white mask, of course.

The other one was crouched down, roughly humanoid in shape, but it was difficult to make out more than a black mass. The left side of its face was also covered by a white mask, this one pieced together from tiles.

I finally got it. They were the ones who’d been watching us. They were the ones who sent the assassins our way.

They stirred. The hair on the crouching one with the split mask fluttered in the wind. He pointed an unnaturally long finger at us. “Tarim’s guests…” he said in a thick, old voice. An emerald embedded into the white side of his mask flared for a moment. Apparently, it functioned like an eye. “Surely you have not accepted his offer,” he continued. “You’d be wise to reconsider, should you hope to live long.”

“Whatever Tarim told thee, the opposite is true. There is only one choice if ye wish to live,” the one in the full white mask added. His manner was calm, almost majestic. The tone of his voice was akin to a priest at Sunday Mass. Paternal, nearly.

I laughed loudly. “Duh heck ‘r ya sayun? I gut no raisin to beleef duh ikes ob yu!”

The Mazoku were understandably taken aback by the force of my words.

Shut up.

“She said, ‘What are you saying? I have no reason to believe the likes of you!’“ Gourry translated for me. The dear heart.

The split-masked one clicked his tongue. “What’ll we do, Master Seigram? I do believe she’s too drunk to take us seriously.”

“I care not, Gio. Our mission was to deliver a warning. That it be heeded is not our concern.” The one with the full white mask—the one called Seigram—was obviously the elder demon.

The one with the split mask, Gio, let out a small sigh, then turned to me. “Stay out of this affair, if ye be wise. Understand?”

“ ‘Sfhtay ut ob dis offair, uf de be withe. Orderstand?’ he said,” Gourry translated back to me. Smartass.

“The message has been conveyed.” And with that, the two melted into the darkness, taking that creepy cold feeling with them. All that remained was the soft: light of the full moon.

“Hoho, ur putty brayve ta puck a foot wit Lina the Goat.”

“‘Ho ho, you’re pretty brave to pick a fight with Lina the Great!” Gourry was now translating my own words back to me.

He has to have been drunk, right? That man was definitely drunk!

* * *

The next morning was surprisingly pleasant, considering.

I woke up Gourry, who was sleeping in the next room. We shared a light breakfast on the first floor of our inn and talked about the night before.

“So what did you make of those guys? Demonic minions of Daymia or someone else?”

“Those guys?” Gourry halted the fork en route to his mouth and stared at me.

Ha ha! My chance! My right hand lashed out. In a single impressive movement, I managed to cut a bit of fried chicken off the bone and flick it high into the air. I caught it in my mouth just as it started its return to the earth, and before Gourry knew what hit him, I’d gobbled it down. Ha ha! Sucker!

“Hey!” Gourry barked.

“What? I saw my chance and I took it!”

“Oh, I see, so that’s your game…” he fumed. “Take that!” he said and had a go at my breakfast.

“Aaaaah! My precious sunny-side-up egg!”

I’ll show you no mercy, you fiend!

“How dare you! Even if you are my traveling companion, there is no one in this world that I, the great warrior and sorceress Lina Inverse, will forgive for laying a hand on my eggs, sunny side up!”

“You sound like a regular weirdo, you know that, right?”

“Silence!! Or else I’ll do… this! Ha HA!” and I took another swoop at his vittles.

“Oh yeah? Well what if I do THIS?!”

“Pardon me, sir, madam—”

“You brute, how dare you! Then I’ll do this!”

“Gah! You strike like an ogre! Take THAT! My miracle two-stage attack! Feint thrust!”

“Eeeh?! Ogre?! You’re a demon! Okay, you asked for it!”

“Pardon me… sir, madam?!”

“Fear my mad, bad breakfast technique, sucker!”

“Oh, you think you’re all that? See this? Mine! And this is mine! And this!”

“SIR, MADAM!”

Wuh…?

We began vigorously dueling over the table with our forks and knives. Stab! Swipe! Munch! Stab! Bite! And stab again!

The innkeeper looked pained as he pleaded, “Please eat your meal quietly. “

The last bit of chicken fell tragically from atop our clashing forks and landed on the ground. And just as suddenly as our food feud began, it was over. At the—um— request of the innkeeper, we moved to Gourry’s room to continue our conversation.

“So, what did you make of those guys?” I repeated. “What guys?” Gourry still didn’t understand the question.

“Duh. The two Mazoku we met earlier. What did you make of them?”

“What two Mazoku?”

Uh… hello?

“You know, the two we met coming back from Tarim’s place. Them!”

“Oh!” he said, palming his fist. “I don’t seem to remem­ber them.”

Gahhhh!

I got right up in his face. “What do you mean, you don’t remember them?!”

“Well, sometimes, when I’ve had a little too much to drink, I—uh—forget things.” He blushed and continued, “I remember being at Tarim’s last night, but after that, zip.”

“Are you serious?!”

So he was drunk. I knew it!

“Zilch. Sorry. I’m drawing a total blank.”

Sigh.

With no other option, I filled him in on our adventures from the night before.

“Huh. No kidding?”

“No kidding.”

“Wow. I don’t remember any of that. I translated your gibberish? That’s awesome.”

“Hmph, it wasn’t that awesome. Anyway, that’s beside the point.”

“Yeah, okay…” Gourry rubbed his jaw, deep in thought. “Well, it makes sense that the Mazoku and Daymia’s assassins are on the same side.”

“Yeah. Something stinks about this, though.”

“Yeah. Wait. You mean… ?” Gourry looked at me skeptically.

“Yep.” I rolled over on my side and started formulating a plan. “I had absolutely no intention of taking this job, but I’m not running away from a demon threat like a scared little girl. We’re taking it… it’s on!”

* * *

The city bustled with energy. The marketplace overflowed with carts and people.

Aaaaaargh! Where did all these people come from?! It’s so crowded I can barely walk!

We gave up and moved to a less-crowded side street where I was finally able to breathe a sigh of relief.

Of course, by “less crowded” I mean it wasn’t wall-to-wall people or a major thoroughfare. There were still lots of people around; if anyone was looking for us, they’d have a difficult time picking us out of the crowd.

“What on earth do you think would make a person want to live in a place like this? Too many tourists!” I grumbled, not really wanting a response.

“Well, you know…” ventured Gourry, “Technically speaking, we’re tourists here, too.”

“I know that. I’m just getting it off my chest.” I continued to grumble and mutter under my breath as I walked alongside Gourry.

Then… I sensed a presence to my right. It wasn’t hostility or bloodlust, but rather, something bright coming toward us.

“Please…” It was a female voice.

I turned to face the speaker. She wore white clothes and had hair as red as the setting sun. As she spoke, she looked straight ahead. “Don’t involve yourself with this matter.”

“Huh?” I stopped walking.

“What is it?” Gourry asked.

When I turned to point her out, she was gone. I scanned the crowd, rising up on my tippy toes to find her.

There!

The crowd parted for a second, and I saw her again. She saw me and bowed her head slightly. I couldn’t make out her eye color. I’m not sure why I even tried.

“Miss!” But it was too late; she was gone. I stood there, staring blankly, until…

THUD! Some jerk bumped into me.

“Fool! You can’t just stop in the middle of the street, you stupid little brat!”

Stupid?!

I took a moment to chase the jerk down and kick him hard, right between the legs. If anyone ever tells you that violence won’t make you feel better, they’re lying.

What? Aw, he was asking for it!