On Hold While I Submit

Hello, internet!

I hope those of you who have stumbled upon my little book (or who clicked on the links I'm smeared all over Facebook) have been enjoying the adventures of Rory & Company thus far. If you are hungry for the next chapter, I apologize that I will be withholding it from you for a bit. Y'see, I've decided to put my heart at the mercy of literary agents once again, and I don't want to anger them by having the whole book up online.

Thanks in part to the help bestowed in the archives of the QueryShark's blog, I decided to revise my query letter again... and again and again... and I think I may finally have a good one. So now I'm off to see if the experts feel the same way about my writing as you do.

Did I mention I'm working on a zombie book, too? Maybe I'll post some sample chapters on here...

Anyway, wish me luck!

Chapter 7

HIKING UP A mountain was slow, tiring business, made worse by an unwilling pack mule and a teenage boy unaccustomed to life in the great outdoors. At best their progress was cut in half, but most likely it was taking them three times as long as it should to ascend the mountain trail, and this first leg was the easy part! Rory was not a big fan of hunting, but realized it would soon be a necessity at this pace. Fortunately, Bozius’ second favorite activity was killing, and the man would welcome any escape from Rafule’s company. It was still too early to consider hunting, but the time would surely come.

The party broke for lunch sometime after noon. Octaria was a good distance away in the valley, but from the slight elevation the party had thus far reached, the little village could be seen. Rory always found himself missing Tabitha terribly whenever he left her. She really was his greatest source of joy in this world. Still, he was not about to delude himself into thinking she wanted more than what they had, and he was damned sure he was above begging.

Unless it was involved in foreplay, in which case he would beg as much as was needed…

“What, if it’s not flowing from your fingertips you just can’t do it? Let me guess, you don’t know how?” Bozius was busy scolding Rafule for his inability to start a campfire. “Give it here, sally!”

Bozius took over fire-starting duties, probably hungry from being angry, and angry because he was hungry. Bozius Bozinius was a man of simple means, but he got downright ornery when his needs were not met. Rory would not put it past his friend to start rubbing up on the mule if he did not soon find some release. Maybe hunting would be a good idea, Rory considered. It’s either Rafule or some innocent deer at this point…

“Let’s save the salt pork and jerky for now, Bozy,” Rory suggested, grabbing a bow and quiver of arrows from the pack mule—as well as inspecting the security of the Golden Baby’s chest. “How about fetching us a fresh lunch? We can teach young Rafule here how to skin a rabbit or something.”

“But I don’t—” Rafule began, but was hushed by a wave of Rory’s hand.

Bozius was still aggravated, but appeared to take the hint. “Yeah, some rabbit would be real good right now. Maybe the kid’s hand will slip on the knife and make everything go away…” Bozius continued grumbling as he took the weapon and marched off into the trees.

“You really must learn to choose your words carefully around him, Raffy,” Rory insisted, waving the boy over to help him take the chest off the mule and give the animal some rest.

“He hates me,” Rafule lamented.

“What?” Rory replied. “What would ever make you think that?”

“He’s always telling me how much he hates me.”

Rory was quiet for a moment, but quickly picked up the conversation. “Nonsense, he likes you fine. But sometimes you just get under his skin. I know, you don’t mean to, but it’s quite easy to do. Just try to be more… accommodating.”

“What should I do? Buy him some whores and keep fetching him cold beer?”

Rory smiled at the notion. “That would be a great start, but I was thinking something a bit more subtle. Such as stay out of his way, don’t second guess his decisions, and yes, fetch him a drink whenever you can. Actually, in your case, that prostitute idea might not be such a bad road to take…”

“Great,” Rafule threw his hands up in submission. “So, bribe him into liking me? All so he won’t kill me in my sleep.”

“Oh, he would never do that,” Rory assured him. “Bozy considers that a coward’s homicide. He would much rather kill you to your face.”

“What a relief!” Rafule mocked.

Rory finished building the fire in silence, and set some water to boil for tea. Rafule would learn, though his education would likely be more a trial by fire. Still, it was nice having the kid around. Not just for his magical talent, but Rory enjoyed seeing Bozy get upset by the little things. Small pleasures in life, Rory considered. So sweet!

Bozius eventually returned with some rabbits, and the three adventurers ate quickly, repacked the mule, and continued up the mountain trail. Rande Bahn was a significant distance up into the Crescent Mountains, which made it safer and more dangerous all at once. The safety was not so much for the visitors but for the criminals that took shelter from the law in the town’s remote location. Authorities had to really want to go to Rande Bahn to even consider the trip, and even then no sane person would go without a heavily armed team. It’s remoteness from anything and everything else is what increased the town’s danger: in the Pit, no one could hear you scream—no one that would care, at least. Rory was counting on a two-day journey at minimum, and at that point his party would be completely on its own.

It was the only viable option, unfortunately. He had to beat the news from Castletop, and the only news reaching Rande Bahn was carried by villainous scum, and they tended to take slower, more indirect routes through the country. If all went well, he would be in and out of Rande Bahn with heavier pockets before anyone was the wiser.

Too bad nothing ever went well in Rande Bahn.

* * *

IT INDEED DID take the party two days to reach the Pit, but not just the wake-up-for-breakfast-be-there-by-lunch variety of two-day journey that Rory had hoped for, but instead the Bozy-might-throw-Rafule-off-the-mountain-if-the-kid-complains-one-more-time brand of traveling that he feared the most. There was nothing quite like arriving in the sickest, cruelest, immoral, most vile den of evil in all of Vimiland in the middle of the night to really test a man’s courage. Rory half-considered making camp sometime after sunset, but time was of the essence… and what was to stop murderous brigands from robbing them in the night this close to Rande Bahn? Pressing on was the only feasible choice.

Either way, they were walking into the dragon’s mouth.

“This place gives me the willies,” Bozius admitted, hand firmly gripping the sword at his hip.

“You’re scared of something?” Rafule urged him.

“Hell yes I’m scared!” Bozius said with pride. “And if I were you, I’d be, too! Hell, if I were you I’d kill myself…”

“Boys, boys,” Rory interjected. “You two fighting isn’t going to help. I’m not going in there with a fried bodyguard and dead wizard.”

“I’m just sayin’, this place is all kinds of wrong, is all,” Bozius continued. “Thieves, gangs, mobs, murderers…”

“Murder-burglers!” Rory smiled, looking at Rafule’s face contort in discomfort at the sound of the term.

“Worst of all is the Circle,” Bozius stated.

“The Circle?” Rafule asked.

“A thieves’ guild, and they’re harmless,” Rory explained. “Probably the safest people to be around in the Pit. What’s their name short for, Bozy?”

“The Unforgiving International Circle of Death and Robbery,” Bozius answered, emphasizing his point by spitting.

“See?” Rory gulped. “Perfectly safe.”

“International?” Rafule suddenly sped up his pace, closing the gap between himself and Bozius. “How are they safe?”

“Rory thinks cuz of their rules they can be trusted,” Bozius replied, staring Rafule down until he backed off a step.

“The Circle has a code, and all members must follow it or be killed,” Rory stated. “One of the big rules is that members of the Circle can’t kill without permission.”

“But I thought you called them the Circle of Death?” Rafule wondered.

“Permission ain’t very hard to get,” Bozius cleared that bit up. “Even after the killin’s been done. They ain’t no safer than jumping off the mountain.”

“Just keep your eyes open, Raffy, you’ll be okay,” Rory assured the boy, patting him on the shoulder. “They all mark themselves with a barbed circle, part of their initiation.”

Torches were alight at the gate to Rande Bahn. The town was defended by an under-kept stone wall and a cracked wooden gate of about ten feet in height. Some could argue that the scum within the walls did not care enough to maintain the wall, but most would say that the appearance of the outer defenses was the best defense the Pit could ask for; it practically taunted all comers to even attempt to lay siege to the town. All who knew anything definitely knew better. The self-proclaimed mayor of the town—better known as the Pit Boss—was Franklin Beucomp, a defected general from some foreign army, rumored to have killed a whole battalion of his own men for no other reason but that he didn’t like the rhythm they marched to. His reputation kept any and all authorities at a great distance from Rande Bahn, allowing for the scum to float to the top, figuratively.

There were men at the gate, though whether they were official guards or just outright bullies was negligible. Most people passed in and out without so much as a look from the men, but most people weren’t wearing bright red silk with a paisley pattern.

Most people weren’t Rory.

“What is this, a family vacation?” one of the men barked. “Get lost, sissies.”

“Can you do a little magic and still have some left over for later?” Rory whispered to Rafule.

“Sure,” the boy responded, “I suppose. Like what?”

“Just a hint,” Rory suggested. “All we need is a hint.” Then he turned to the guards and replied, “Gentleman, please, we are merely tired and hungry travelers in search of food and shelter for the night.”

“Keep walking, Sally,” the same man argued, flexing the muscles of his barrel chest for emphasis.

“Wait, Edgar, wait,” cut in another man, sitting on a stool against the open gate. “Maybe these ladies have the toll?”

“Oh yeah, right,” Edgar agreed, looking back at Rory. “The toll.”

“I’m sorry,” Rory smiled. “Edgar, was it? But we haven’t a single bobby amongst us.”

“Too bad,” Edgar agreed. “How was you expecting to pay for your room and board?”

“Oh, we have payment,” Rory offered. “My dear boy, would you be so kind as to show our new friend Edgar our payment?”

Rafule presented his hand, palm up, and as Edgar leaned forward to look, a spark of flame shot up from Rafule’s palm. Edgar jumped back, practically falling into the arms of his fellows—some of whom laughed, though all were keeping their distance, if not so much their composure. Rafule closed his hand and waved it back, probably for emphasis. Good lad, Rory thought.

“May we pass, Edgar?” Rory asked, innocently. Edgar nervously nodded and waved them ahead. “Splendid! Good night, gentlemen. See, Rafule,” Rory whispered to the boy as the trio led their mule past the front gate. “Nothing to fear here; nothing at all.”

One would think that the best time to find the right person to pawn the Golden Baby off to would be after midnight, but it a town without law, most of the villains kept regular daytime hours. Rory would be conducting no business tonight, which meant that his group would actually have to seek a room until morning. Fortunately he spent some time in Rande Bahn before, and knew a few places where he could find descent enough lodging, though he and Bozius would still have to coordinate watches through the night.

After a casual stroll through town—a direct, purposeful trot was a sure way to stand out, which the party definitely did not want—Rory and Company found themselves at a quaint little tavern called the Bull & Gremlin. From the window, Rory could see what could only be described as a bourbon-fueled display of gambling, sex, and violence.

“An orgy!” Bozius’s eyes lit up. “Whatta ya know, this town ain’t half bad after all!” Waiting for no one, the brute simply walked right on in, just as two men mid-brawl rolled right out, followed by a man in a dirty white apron shaking his fist at them.

“Don’t think about leavin’ without payin’ your tab!” the man shouted. “Oh, hey, Rory! Long time no see!”

“Hey there, Chuck,” Rory greeted. “Got any rooms?”

Chuck started smashing a broom atop the two fighters. “Oh sure, no pets though,” Chuck eyed Rafule. “The donkey can stay, but this one’s gotta be roped outside.”

“Of course,” Rory smiled. “Always a pleasure, Chuck.”

The innkeeper seemed busy putting a chokehold on one of the brawlers. “Go ask Vivian for a key. We got stew tonight.”

“You have stew every night!” one of the street fighters complained.

“Cuz we knew you were comin’!” Chuck snarled.

Rory smiled and nodded. “Go in and get Bozy before he gets his member caught in something he can’t get out of. We have to get our stuff inside before anything happens to it.” Rafule looked positively terrified. “Alright, I’ll get him. But if anyone tries to take our things… well, kept your hands warm.”

Rory winked and walked away. The street was dark save the moonlight and torches lit at most corners, a stark contrast to the dusty red interior and tallow candle stench within the Bull & Gremlin. First class by comparison to the Broken Spoke in Appleton, this tavern’s food smelled halfway decent and the piano player—when he wasn’t busy drinking or pressing himself against one of the ladies of the house—was actually playing enjoyable tunes. Many of the visitors were topless, bottomless, or halfway between both, but the atmosphere was fairly peaceful, save for the fight that found itself moving outside.

Rory bumped into Bozius by accident, who was talking to some random harlot while attempting to drink from two handfuls of shot glasses.

“He there, Rory, this place is great,” Bozius smiled. “Let’s go unpack quick so I can get back to business. Did you get a room?”

“Sure did, Bozy,” Rory answered. “All is taken care of.”

“Good! Because me and Kim here—”

“Lisa!” the girl at his side corrected.

“Sure,” Bozius smiled. “We’ve got plans!”

“Another International Standoff?” Rory tried to recall the name of Bozius’s complicated sex act.

“Hell no, been there already!” Bozius rejected the idea. “I’m thinking a Reverse Griffin Wing! Maybe throw in some Wilting Tiger…”

“None of that sounds remotely appealing,” Rory smiled and nodded, when Chuck bumped into him, knuckles bleeding with at least a dozen bobbies in his hand.

“Your skinny friend seems to be having some trouble out there,” he said to Rory in passing.

“I’m gonna kill this kid myself!” Bozius exclaimed. “Betty, I’ll be right back!”

“It’s Lisa!” the girl repeated. “I think…”

Rory and Bozius stepped outside to find Rafule backed up against the mule, with three men squaring off against him. Two had barbed circles branded into their forearms, and another had the same branding on his shoulder.

“What’s going on here?” Rory asked.

“The kid was eye-balling me!” Shoulder-circle challenged.

“I doubt that, friend,” Rory offered, stepping closer to Rafule, though not close enough to get in the middle of the altercation. “He’s harmless.”

“I’m not your friend,” Shoulder-circle insisted. “And I’m not leaving here until I’m satisfied!”

“Let’s not get hasty here, fr—er, uh… guy,” Rory stumbled. If this guy fights Rafule the kid will die… or the guy will get burned to death but I would much rather sell the Golden Baby first… “I can totally understand, but how about—”

“I want an apology!” Shoulder-circle demanded. “And he better mean it!”

“Yes, well…” Rory suddenly considered what the brute actually said. “What?”

“I want him to say he’s sorry!” The branded thief repeated.

“Well, yes, of course you do…” Rory agreed. “Why wouldn’t you? Rafule, how about apologizing to this man?”

Rafule looked confused, but stumbled out an apology. “I’m… I’m very sorry? I hope I didn’t offend you, sir…”

The man’s face was a grimace, and a long moment of silence followed before he spoke again. “There, was that so hard?” He asked, and led his cohorts away down the street. “Why can’t people just be friendlier around here?”

His friends seemed to console him as they walked away.

“What in the wild blue hell was that?” Bozius asked, completely dumfounded.

“See, Raffy,” Rory mumbled, watching in baffled curiosity as the three members of the Circle walked away down the street. “Nothing to be afraid of.”

With that, the trio unpacked their mule and headed inside, where—somehow—the world seemed a bit more sane; debaucherous, but understandable.

Chapter 6

THE ROOM WAS dark, save for the candles that hadn’t yet been smote. Bed sheets were tossed, clothes were lost, and the furniture was in shambles. The smell in the air was a mixture of scented candles, perfume, and sweat. The most beautiful woman in all of Vimiland rolled off him slowly and satisfied, and Roderick Casbury knew he was home.

Or at least as close to home as he would ever be.

Oh, Rory, how I missed you,” Tabitha Saris moaned gleefully as she nuzzled into the crook of Rory’s arm, tracing shapes on his chest with the tip of her finger. “Where have you been?”

“Out doing a service to the nation, my love,” Rory replied, kissing her on the forehead.

Rory adored Tabitha. They had met several years ago, before he truly invested himself into a life of piracy. She was the daughter of a shop owner, and now herself was the master of the café left to her by late father. Rory’s mother, Deidra, was always a loyal customer, and through what started as a business relationship became close to Tabitha, who now took care of the woman in the twilight of her life. Deidra introduced Tabitha to Rory, and since then Rory’s heart belonged to the barista-turned-café-owner.

“Services?” Tabitha smiled, looking up at Rory. “You mean running around being a thief?”

“A pirate, my dear, I’m a pirate,” Rory corrected. “There is a huge difference!”

“Forgive me, my lord,” Tabitha mocked, rolling to her back and pulling Rory’s arm around her to kiss his hand. “I forgot that I was in the presence of Roderick Casbury, famed Pirate of Vimiland, a force to be reckoned with!”

“Forgiven,” Rory smiled. “Just make sure it never happens again.”

“And how is it exactly that you are a pirate again? I mean, no hook for a hand? No peg leg? No bird? Where’s your fancy hat?”

“I lost the hat, but I’ll get a new one. As for the rest, they’re all details. Did you notice my new vest?”

“Yes, very nice. But what about the one detail you’re missing, my sweet Roderick?”

“Don’t say it…”

“A ship, Rory! You don’t have a ship! And do you know why? Because there’s no water to put it on! Vimiland is landlocked!”

“In theory, darling,” Rory answered. “I’m a pirate in theory!”

“Are you a lover in theory, too?”

“Oh, I believe we both know that to be a proven fact!”

Rory rolled atop Tabitha, wrestling with her and tickling her while still kissing her on any place his lips could find. With her, he felt the truest freedom, a release that even the greatest heist could not provide. Had he the fortune he desired, he would never leave her side again. Rising up on his arms to take her in, he found it was his breath that was taken instead. Her face looked as if fashioned after that of an angel, her emerald green eyes like magnets to his soul, and her long, fiery hair swept into a beautiful sculpture even when unkempt from hours of reconnecting with Rory. Her soft, pale skin felt like warm water against his body, her curves like an hour glass that stopped time itself. She was a dream made real, a sensuous beauty that knew no rival. Her voice was his siren song, her touch his master, her glance his greatest weakness. Tabitha was the sun and the moon, the land and the sky, the everything and the anything that Rory ever wanted.

“Marry me, Tabitha Saris,” Rory proposed, sincerity swimming throughout the tone of his voice.

“Roderick, don’t be silly,” she answered.

“I love you, Tabitha, you know this.”

“Well, I don’t love you, Roderick. You know this.” Her words, though hurtful, were soft, her smile gentle.

“I can’t imagine a life without you, my dear.”

“I can’t imagine my bed without you, surely, but I won’t marry a pirate,” she smiled.

“That’s just it, Tabitha,” Rory offered. “My piracy days are near their end. I have something that will align the stars for us. I can be an honest man for you.”

Tabitha took Rory’s face in her hands and kissed him deeply. “Oh, Rory, you are an honest man. You may have chosen a dishonest profession, but you are also a horrible liar. You are sweet and sincere, and I do know that deep in your heart, you do love me. Now show me what longing can do to a man who loves me so!”

“My dearest Tabitha,” Rory whispered, pressing his body against hers, watching the subtle change in her expression as her head tipped back and eyes shut. “I thought you would never ask!”

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING, Rory slipped out of bed and walked to the front of the building, where Tabitha’s café was. The mistress of the house was already busy at work, pulling fresh muffins from her oven and pouring her special brew of coffee for waiting customers. She still paused for a kiss with Rory, but quickly returned to work. He grabbed a muffin and coffee that Tabitha set aside for him, and walked over to a table to meet Bozius and Rafule, who were munching on a light breakfast.

“I don’t see why we always have to come to Octaria,” Bozius complained. “There ain’t a single whore in this town.”

“Good country air, good coffee,” Rory smiled, looking over at the counter. “It’s a good place…”

“If Tabitha weren’t here, you wouldn’t even think twice,” Bozius countered, nibbling on a muffin and some bacon.

“Is this where you’re from, Rory?” Rafule asked, sipping some coffee. “Bozy said your mom lives here?”

Rory was quiet a moment. “My past is not really all that important, Rafule. However, it seems that yours is quite intriguing.”

“Yeah, kid, spill it,” Bozius reiterated.

Rafule drained his cup before answering. It rattled a bit as he set it down, his hand trembling ever so slightly. “Okay, so I guess you know that Lord Wordsly is my uncle…”

“Guess?” Rory smiled. “I would say we’re right on the money with that one! Bozy?”

“Oh yeah,” his partner agreed. “If I were a gambling man, I would place a wager on that, for sure.”

“Okay, okay,” Rafule mumbled, wiping sweat from his brow. “Uncle Byron is the brother of my mother. As the oldest, he inherited their father’s estate when he passed. My grandfather was a fairly influential man, and acquired much wealth in his lifetime. My uncle took it all for himself, but allowed my parents and me to live on his estate, where we had already lived when my grandfather was still alive! Still, it was my uncle’s money that allowed me to study my gift with magic, and for this I am indebted to him. When he asked me to come along with him to Castletop, I couldn’t refuse.”

“And the Golden Baby?” Rory inquired, not sure how much of this story he was prepared to accept.

“I don’t know much,” Rafule admitted. “All I know is that some of his men appeared in the middle of the night, and there was much fuss about what they brought with them. The next morning, I was summoned and told that I was to accompany my uncle in transporting it to Castletop. I was excited! We were going to Appleton, I was going to see the country! All I had ever known was Dengalde.”

“Poor, poor rich kid,” Bozius cut in. “What a tragic life!”

“Hey, I don’t judge you!” Rafule shot back.

“I’m sure,” Bozius grumbled.

“Gentlemen, please,” Rory pleaded. “Rafule, here’s what I don’t understand: Who contacted your uncle? Who was he delivering the Baby to?”

Rafule rubbed his hands together; the kid was quite anxious the whole time. Rory felt that he was still withholding something. “A duke in Castletop,” Rafule replied. “Grey, I think?”

Rory and Bozius practically jumped out of their chairs. Patrons of the café stopped to stare at the men, but looked away and resumed their conversations and business after Rory and Bozius composed themselves.

“Grey?” Rory asked. “As in Calus Grey?”

“…that sounds about right…” Rafule answered, somewhat reluctantly.

“Duke Calus Grey?!” Bozius looked set to explode. “The Grey Callus of Castletop wants this baby? Great! Really great! Rory, I say we leave this damned thing at the side of the road and let some other idiot deal with it. Hell, I’ll give it to Sullivan! Hand it right over, have a nice day!”

Rafule looked very frightened. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know the name, nephew of a noble,” Rory piped in. “This whole time, you knew exactly where this Golden Baby was headed, and never thought about mentioning it? Time is of the essence now, boys. We might have a day, two at best, before word gets out. Calus Grey is going to want to know where the Golden Baby is.”

“If Wordsly is ballsy enough to admit his failure to the Grey Callus, he could be in Castletop by tonight,” Bozius figured. “Then whoever we try to shove the Baby off to will be after our heads, just for the reward. Dammit, Rory, we gotta move!”

“It was going to be hard enough pawning it off in the first place,” Rory contemplated. “And that was before we were in a time crisis. I was thinking about heading south, maybe even across the border. But now? Where can we go in a day?”

“There’s always Chaca Lacoco,” Bozius offered.

“No way!” Rory denied. “Not at least without being sure how much this thing is worth…”

“What? Who cares! You know we’ll get a good enough price from Chaca.”

“Not now,” Rory replied, refusing to make eye contact with his partner. “Not yet, at least.”

“I thought you and him were squared away?”

“I just don’t want to deal with him, okay, Bozy?”

“You’re the one saying we got a time crunch on our hands!”

“We’re not so desperate as to go running off to Chaca Lacoco!” Rory growled. Bozius actual backed off a bit, which was unusual. But Rory was furious at the thought, which was equally unusual. Rafule remained silent, likely happy to have the focus taken off of him. “We can go to Rande Bahn. It’s up in the mountains, but not all that far.”

Ocataria sat in the valley of the Crescent Mountains, far from the Bumps, some distance northeast of Appleton. It wasn’t accessible by way of the Queen’s Parkway, but instead by one of the many local roads cutting through the valley. A few various mountain trails would grant the party access to Rande Bahn, a small village of ill repute. If the Appleton Lows were removed on any respect or diginity and placed up in the unfriendly reaches of the Crescent Mountains, the result would be Rande Bahn. The town was run by murderers and thieves, but on the plus side was very unwelcoming to the Cache of the Hand, and therefore would likely be the safest place for Rory, Bozius, and Rafule, to get the Golden Baby off their hands. Another plus was that being a mountain town of ill repute, Rande Bahn wasn’t exactly the first place to get news, so the people there would likely be unaware of Calus Grey searching for the Golden Baby, when that time came.

“Isn’t that a dangerous place, Rande Bahn?” Rafule asked.

“Oh, now you’re suddenly wordly, kid?” Bozius asked. “What, they talk about the Pit a lot in them fancy schools back in Dengalde?”

The Pit was the name most people used to reference Rande Bahn, and it was a pretty accurate representation. The place was all scum, and it felt as if you were falling into a pit when you arrived.

“My uncle would sometimes talk about it,” Rafule said. “Something about it being a scab on the face of Vimiland.”

“One thing your uncle and I can agree on,” Rory admitted. “But it’s the best option.”

“Yeah, I always think of walking into the lion’s den as the best option for any situation,” Bozius mocked. “But I see your point. We’re gonna need weapons, more than what we got. I wish we still had the horses.”

“They wouldn’t make the journey,” Rory declared. “But a good pack mule would be nice. It’s not going to be a fun trip.”

“Thanks, kid, thanks a lot,” Bozius said, shoving himself away from the table. “I’ll go ask around. I’ll see you at lunch time.”

With that Bozius left, likely grateful to be alone for awhile. Rory sat in quiet contemplation, considering how best to go about this new plan.

That’s when Tabitha sat down.

“What’s this?” she scolded Rory. “Rafule, I hope you enjoyed your free breakfast. Now clean up my table and go busy yourself pouring coffee.”

“But I don’t know how,” Rafule tried, but Tabitha shot daggers at him with a glance. “But I can figure it out, sure…”

“What are you up to, Roderick Casbury?” Tabitha demanded, trying to keep her voice low. “Did I hear you say you were going to the Pit? Are you insane?”

“We’ve no choice, my love,” Rory pleaded. “We have to get rid of this last little treasure, but then everything will be okay—”

Tabitha grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him bodily back to her bedroom. “You come clean with me, Roderick Casbury! I want the truth! How little can this little grab of yours be if you have to go up to Rande Bahn to hock it? Some of those bastards come down here for a visit once in awhile, and they sicken me! You have no business up there!”

“Tabitha, we’ve got a bit of a situation,” Rory admitted. “Nothing to worry about, but we are on a tight schedule. It seems the newest addition to our team wasn’t very… forthcoming…”

“I’m not stupid, Rory, and I’m not deaf. I heard some of the things you were talking about. I saw you and Bozius jump. Calus Grey? Rory, if you are dead the next time I see you…”

Tabitha beat on his chest before she could no longer hold back the tears. Rory pulled her in close and held her very tight. He never meant to scare her, but the circumstances did call for a bit of fear. Still, if Rory could pawn off the Golden Baby before word spread for his bounty, he would win the day.

“I meant what I said last night, sweetheart,” Rory promised, pulling away just enough to look into Tabitha’s beautiful eyes. “This last heist could be the last one. We are a single sale away from retirement. This is a big thing, what we got. But we have to move quickly.” He kissed her deeply, and felt her kiss him back.

“You come back to me alive, Roderick Casbury,” Tabitha demanded, wiping her eyes and heading back to the café. “And visit your mother!”

* * *

THERE IT WAS, just as it looked when he was a boy. The house was quaint, small but cozy. The fence could use some mending, but the small holdings were sturdy. It was a good house, and Rory remembered it being full of love. His father had been a merchant, a hard-working man who traveled from town to town throughout the Crescent Valley, sometimes going beyond Appleton as far as Liebert, even having spent the occasional weekend in Heapsworth, selling pottery, cloth, tools, and the occasional knife or sword he came across. Seamus Casbury was a good provider, a faithful husband, and a loving father. Deidra Casbury was a stalwart rock in their family, strong against any turmoil. Quite loving and warm, as well, but sturdy as the house they lived in.

When Rory was a boy, a bit younger than Rafule was now, tragedy struck the Casbury family. Seamus was traveling for work, as always, and was attacked by bandits, killed for the handful of bobbies in his purse and cart full of knick knacks he was peddling that day. Slain for no other reason than because he was an easy target. Deidra was destroyed by the news. She was still loving and warm, but she became very distant. After several years passed, she finally emerged from the house and wandered Octaria again. Tabitha was the only person she really spoke to, hence what led to her introducing the woman to Rory. These days Tabitha stopped by to take care of Deidra, whose health was truly beginning to fail her.

When Seamus was murdered, Rory vowed to find the killers and deliver justice unto them. Somehow, this fruitless quest led to him becoming the Pirate of Vimiland. To find scum, he had to scour the underworld. To survive in the underworld, he had to emigrate to it. He considered himself above the petty bandits that slew his father, and hence took on the occupation of piracy. Somehow, adhering to a code of some kind allowed Rory to justify his choices.

His father’s killers were never found.

Now, he stood outside his childhood home, unable to enter. His mother was disappointed in his being a thief, and he could not blame her. Rory could admit that—despite entering the trade for the right reasons—he was no longer doing any justice for his father. If all went well with this final heist, he could finally give up piracy, and would have the financial means to pursue his original cause again.

Hand on the creaky gate, Rory lacked the strength to open it and head into the house. He had no idea how to face his mother, nor how to deal with her sickness. He wanted to walk in there with something to make her proud, but instead all he had were knee-high boots, tight breeches, lopsided belt, baggy silk blouse, leather vest, and a bandana. He was the personification of his trade, and his mother detested that. How could he visit her like this, with nothing to show for it but another mission to conclude another heist?

“There you are,” Bozius walked up, a donkey loaded with supplies in tow. “I got everything. You ready? Whose house is this?”

“This old place?” Rory said faintly. “I don’t know anymore…”

With that, he walked away with his friend, to meet up with Rafule and head up to Rande Bahn. Inside the house, an old woman stirred, peering out the window with a look of such longing: one hand to her heart and another to the glass, with a single sad tear rolling down her aged cheek.

Rory never saw this, and things may have been different if he had.

Chapter 5

“LET ME OUT!”

It was useless; Rory was screaming at shadows. Is the dungeon getting darker? It felt as if his prison was getting tighter yet expanding at the same time, to engulf the whole world. He was starting to see things: rats, doors, faces, a ladder. The rats may have been real, but everything else was illusion. Not merely illusion; Roderick Casbury was convinced that he was truly hallucinating.

How long had he been here? Hours? Days? A month? There was no way of telling. Darkness and dampness were the only things he had to go on, and such elements gave no allusion as to the time. Nobody came for him either. No meals, no torture, no contact. Just a timeless emptiness to drive him to the edge of madness.

All of this because of what they found in that damned carriage…

* * *

THE ONLY EXITS from the Queen’s Parkway were ramps into the cities along the way, but those would be manned as the gate at Appleton Heights, and the trio could not chance exposure to the guards there, especially with Rafule’s power all used up for the day. They would have to ditch the cart—and likely the horses with it—but first they had to count their winnings! Having traveled for some time without any sign of either Sullivan’s crew or Wordsly’s guards, it seemed safe enough to stop for now, however briefly that break would be.

Pulling the carriage to the side of the road, Rory called Bozius and Rafule over. The boy was a surprisingly competent rider—he was able to steer Lightning well enough, and demonstrated remarkable poise during the escape, when it was needed most. Still, Rafule was an enigma: his past, his present, his ability—it all begged so many questions. However, now was not the time for an inquisition; the treasure needed to be inspected, and a real escape plan put to action. Even with the noble and the bandits behind, it was a matter of time before Rory’s trio came across sentries on the highway or a gateway to a city. The sooner they removed themselves from the Queen’s Parkway, the safer they would be.

Rory threw open the door to the carriage and let himself in. Though he was not surprised at how lavish the interior was, he was always a bit put off at how excessively nobles invested into such things as the decorating of a carriage; Rory planned on being equally extravagant when he was equally rich. The two benches within were lined with plush velvet, the floor and ceiling carpeted to match. Lace curtains adorned the windows, and a single, unlit lantern was fastened to the back wall. Beneath it, the bench opened to reveal a storage compartment. With Bozius’s assistance, Rory pulled from it a very heavy chest. Within were many garments, some of sizes that Lord Wordsly couldn’t possibly wish to fit into. Rory found a leather vest and tried it on; a surprisingly comfortable fit!

“You really have a look you’re going for, don’t you?” Bozius asked.

“Bozy,” Rory replied, fastening the front of the vest, the buttons of which were solid silver. If he ever decided he didn’t like the vest, it would likely fetch a hefty price. “If you want to be a pirate, you must look a pirate.”

“I don’t want to be a pirate,” Bozius informed. “And speaking of pirate, how exactly are you a—“

“Now is not the time,” Rory interrupted, raising a hand. “After we are gone from here, we can discuss things. I still want to know about an International Starfish.”

“Intercontinental Swordfish!” Bozius corrected, rummaging through the rest of the chest and then dismissing it to the ground outside. “You have no culture, Rory!”

To this, Rory simply raised an eyebrow. Deeper in the storage compartment was another chest, this one made of iron. Both men strained their backs wrestling this case out of the hole. Likely, this was not just to make the prize within difficult to steal, but the sealed iron box would protect it from any element: including fire, interestingly enough. Rory could not help but steal a glance to the young mage waiting outside.

“All this, and it’s secured by nothing but a simple lock?” Bozius smirked, but as he attempted to pick it, Rory stayed his hand.

“Remember the armoire in Coply?” Rory reminded his friend.

Without a word, Rory wrapped his bandana about his mouth and nose, and Bozius tied one of the loosed garments about his face. Both men closed their eyes and Bozius went to work on the lock. It clicked open, but still they waited, expecting poisonous gas to burst forth at any moment. Daring to open one eye, Rory saw nothing, nor did he hear anything.

“Silent but deadly?” Rory dared ask.

“Neither man dared remove their mask. “Rafule,” Bozius called out. “Come here a minute.”

The kid entered, poking his head in. “What is it?”

“Smell anything?” Bozius asked.

“No…” Rafule sniffed the air.

“Any dizziness, queasiness, upset stomach?” Rory asked.

“Blurry vision, loss of hearing?” Bozius added.

“Itching, burning skin?”

“Suicidal thoughts?”

“Colors changing? Dry mouth? Sweaty palms?”

“Loss of speech? Diarrhea?”

“Trouble getting or maintaining an erection?” Bozius concluded, to which Rory just gave him a look. “What? I want to make sure we cover everything! I’m not taking any chances. Not after what happened in Coply!”

“No! For goodness sake, what are you guys talking about?” Rafule asked.

“Just checking,” Rory stated, removing the bandana from his face. “Go ahead and open it.”

Bozius lifted the lid and pushed it back on its hinges. Within the box, surround by plush pillows to cushion it during travel, was exactly what they were looking for: solid gold, likely the cause of most of the box’s weight—

“A baby?” Bozius asked, fairly disgusted. “It’s seriously a baby? That’s kind of sick.”

“Art is art, Bozy,” Rory replied, reaching in to pick up the priceless treasure. “And this art is worth a fortune!”

The Golden Doll really was a Golden Baby, finely detailed right down to the clothes-pinned diaper! However, appearance was where the comparison ended. Rory had to practically drag the treasure out of the iron box, for it surprised him with its weight.

“This must weigh a hundred pounds,” he groaned, passing it off to Bozius.

Bozius grunted, but he was otherwise not all that phased by the mass of the object. “What? You have to start exercising. It’s got some weight to it, but I bet it’s barely thirty pounds.”

“Bozy, how many times do I have to tell you? These arms weren’t designed to move mountains; I save that duty for other parts of my body.”

“We should probably get going, huh?” Rafule piped in.

Both men darted glances at him.

“What’s the hurry, Raffy?” Rory asked.

“Yeah?” Bozius agreed. “You afraid Uncle Byron is gonna catch up and ground you? Don’t think we forgot that little fact, kid.”

Rafule gulped nervously, but some distance away the shouting voices of men could be heard. Not close enough yet to be a concern, but that would change soon.

“Still, he’s right,” Rory said, helping Bozius place the Golden Baby safely back in its case. “For now. We’ll get down to the bottom of this when we get safely away. Which is the more pressing matter. But to get away, we can’t exactly take the carriage all the way to Liebert.”

“Don’t gimme that look, Rory!” Bozius demanded. “I’m not carrying that thing!”

“You just said it wasn’t all that heavy,” Rory smiled.

“You tricky little bastard!” Bozius snapped. “How do I fall for it every time? Still, that box alone is probably fifty pounds. And it won’t exactly fit on horseback.”

“I don’t think we’ll be getting the horses off the Queen’s, Bozy,” Rory regretted.

“You want me to climb down? What, rope in one hand, thirty-pound baby in the other?”

“There’s enough rope in here for all three of us,” Rory explained. “We can lower the whole case down, then ourselves. Someone will find the horses and give them a good home… I hope.”

“Are you crazy?” Bozius asked rhetorically. “We’re in the foothills of the Crescent Mountains. There’s no drop below the highway less than a hundred feet!”

“That’s what the rope is for.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I would like to have a functioning back after all this.”

“Bozy, do you hear that?” Rory asked; the voices were getting louder, closer. “We don’t have much time. Wordsly and Sullivan that way, Liebert and patrolling guards that way. We stay up here, we fight our way down. Either, we have to get down.”

“Dammit, fine!” Bozy agreed. “Let’s ride ahead, get a little more distance, and do this. I want two days of whores for this, Rory. Two days!”

The trio gathered themselves up and took off down the Queen’s Parkway. Feeling they had put considerable distance between themselves and whoever may be chasing them, Rory & Company came to a stop and started slinging rope securely around the Golden Baby’s case. Together, Bozius and Rafule lowered the case down what seemed to be about an eighty-foot drop, while Rory supervised. When it became obvious that the job was too much for Rafule to hand, Rory jumped in to assist the boy. The box was successfully lowered, and there was still slack in the rope. Tying the ends off to the wheels of the cart, Rory fetched a third rope and secured it to the carriage as well. He walked up to their faithful steeds and touched them both on their faces.

“You did good, boys, you did good,” he applauded them. “If we could take you with us, we would. But where we’re going, you can’t. Literally, you can’t. Not unless one of you knows how to climb rope. Seeing as how neither of you boys appears to have opposable thumbs, I can see that being a bit of a hassle. Still, that sleazy nobleman from before, remember him? Well, he’ll be here any minute. I know, he’s a bit of a weird chap, but he’s rich! You boys will likely be put out to stud. It’s a life I could only dream of providing you. Enjoy yourself, Thunder and Lightning…” Rory looked between both horses, still not quite sure which was which. “Take care of each other.”

He slapped each on the flank and walked over to the ropes, noticing that Bozius was already on his way down. Of course he is, Rory figured.

“C’mon, Rafule, down you go,” Rory said, already straddling the sidewall of the highway.

“I can’t,” the boy replied. “I don’t know how…”

“You don’t know how to grab a rope and let yourself down?” Rory asked, slightly irritated. “What kind of childhood did you have? Did you ever play, or was it all books and magic for you? Y’know what, nevermind! Now isn’t the time. Get up here. C’mon!”

Rafule climbed up and slowly perched himself on the wall. Rory couldn’t help but notice the sounds of horses approaching. This was quite ridiculous. Why does everything have to come down to the last bitter second?

“Are you sallies comin’, or what?” Bozius asked, already having reached the bottom.

“Yes, Bozy, on our way,” Rory called down. “Rafule, we don’t have much time. Take a hold of the rope. Good boy. This is going to be like a swimming lesson, the way I was taught: I’m going to push you in, and you’ll either sink or swim. Well, in this case, you’ll either die a brutal and horribly painful death—at the very least break some very important bones—or live to tell of your success. Here we go!”

“Wait, what?” Rafule asked, confused as usual, but wasn’t granted the time to figure things out or even verbalize an answer. Rory simply shoved him over the edge! The boy’s grip remained true, but now he simply just dangled over the edge.

Rory saw Sullivan & Company coming around the final bend, and it was obvious that the Cache of the Hand saw him as well. Rory leapt over the edge, rope in hand, and quickly began his descent.

“Kid, you can’t just hang there,” Rory demanded. “We’ve got guests!”

“I can’t,” Rafule retorted. It sounded like his voice broke, as if on the edge of tears.

“Rafule, you throw fire from your hands!” Rory reminded him. “If you’re not scared of that, how can you be scared of this?”

“We’re so high!”

Rory was nearly out of patients. “Do you have any idea what Sullivan is going to do to you when he gets here? You know, the guy whose men you torched back in the forest? One of two things: pull you up and set you on fire—he’s a big fan of eye-for-an-eye, from what I’ve heard—or cut your rope and let you fall. So, it seems like you have two choices: dangle there like a hopeless, frightened little boy, or man-up and take a chance at living.”

“I’d go with door number two, kid,” Bozius shouted from the ground below.

“Really? When door number one sounds so enticing?” Sullivan called from above. “Hi, Roderick. Thanks for the horses. They’re really quite nice! So, Rafule, is it? I would much rather beat you to death myself. Help up?”

As Sullivan reached down to grab him, Rafule panicked and released the rope. The boy screamed and fell several yards, scrambling frantically for the rope, and finally gaining purchase halfway down.

“Yes! Good boy!” Rory whispered to himself, before making his own quick descent.

Finding a pinch of bravery in his heart—or perhaps it was just choosing the lesser of two fears—Rafule attempted to climb down. His attempt turned from a controlled retreat to a bloody-handed slide, but at least he was making progress. Sullivan was shouting orders, likely for his men to cut the ropes, but at this point Rory was already at the bottom, and Rafule was no more than a bruising tumble from the end of his trip.

This obviously occurred to Sullivan as well, for several bandits were now making their own descent.

“I don’t think so,” Bozius asked, pulling a few throwing daggers from some hiding spot on his person. Two of the three descending bandits were hit in the back, and another in the neck; all three fell crashing to the ground.

“We can do this all day, Sully,” Rory called up.

Sullivan, angry, raised a hand to stop more bandits from climbing down. “Fine, Rory, run. We’ll give you a few minutes before we come down there, but we’ll be down! You won’t get very far, not carrying that box!”

“We don’t have to get very far, Sullivan,” Bozius smiled. “Just far enough to find a good perch and pick your men off as they come down. We can do this all day, really. I think you should come first!”

“Good one, Bozy!” Rory applauded his partner’s taunt.

“Then what?” Sullivan asked. “Where do you really think you’re going to go from here? You just stole from a noble. You’ll be wanted wherever you go.”

“I’m already wanted wherever I go,” Rory mentioned. “By the way, how’s the wife?”

“I’m going to kill you, Roderick Casbury!” Sullivan promised. “You are dead, you just don’t know it yet!”

“See ya later, Sully,” Rory smiled. He and Bozius each took a handle of the chest and backed away. Sullivan wasn’t about to give chase, not for now, at least.

But it was quite evident that things weren’t over; not even close.