09 - The Disorderlies

 Julia and Géraldine deal with a patrol of Fairy soldiers. 

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SPEAKER_01 0:00

It became harder and harder to tell what was real, and then one day nothing was. This is reality's end. Chapter nine. The Disorderlies. Julia. A cold panic seizes my heart. On impulse, I move to put out the fire, but Geraldine restrains me with an arm. What are you doing, Julia? I we can't let them see that we're here, I insist. Geraldine shakes her head. They probably already seen the smoke comin' out our chimney. You put it out now, it looks suspicious. I move to formulate a counter-argument, but realize that she's right, much to the disappointment of my nerves. If they come a knocking, she says, rising to her feet. We're just a couple of friends keeping each other company, yeah? No reason for em to bug us. I frantically nod my head. A quick glance to my right catches Geraldine picking up her shotgun from where she left it by the wall, moving with an almost obscene degree of casualness. A quick glance to my left catches the fairy knights out the window, moving toward the front door. In my ears I can practically hear the adrenaline being pumped into my bloodstream. Geraldine lays a hand on my shoulder. Hey, take it easy, eh? She gestures at the gun. This is just for insurance. With that, she seats herself on an old recliner and draws a blanket up over herself, looking for all the world like a harmless old lady, an illusion that is only betrayed by the telltale chick-chark of the shotgun being pumped beneath the cover. A split second later comes the chime of the doorbell, apparently a battery operated system. My skeleton makes a fair play at jumping out of its skin. Julia, be at the errand answer that, why don't ya? comes Geraldine. I shoot her a trepidatious look. Remember, she says, her tone soothing but authoritative. Nothing to worry about. I would tend to disagree, but I know it's too late to argue. I pull the door aside and force a smile. Good afternoon, gentlemen. The blue skinned fairies, who, I can't help but notice, carry rather large swords at their belts, smirk at each other as if I have just said something highly amusing, and then one of them, slightly taller than his comrade, says something in their language, making the other snicker. Good afternoon, the taller one replies with a bow. His voice is thickly accented, but I recognize sarcasm when I hear it. He gestures into the hall behind me. We come? Well he doesn't wait for me to answer before he and his partner breeze past me, the latter casually body-checking me aside. If if there's something I can help you with. The shorter one plucks a small obje dart off a side-table, unadmittedly rather gaudy porcelain statuette of an angel, and holds it up for his colleague who laughs. Then, somehow, he manages to rearrange it in his hand, such that it's pleasuring itself with its own trumpet. Apparently, guys are the same everywhere. We here restore order, the taller fairy says once the supposed hilarity of his partner's antics have died down.

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Revenants, wild magic, criminals, protect Canadian, hmm? Order of Winter Queen, Mother of All.

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The shorter knight starts snickering again, the taller silences him with a sharp glance. I open my mouth. I see. Well, um, we we've not had any problems with that. Take a look round. Freeby, hmm? I realize that there's no point protesting. So I look away. You're very kind. Yes, the taller one purrs. The shorter one smirks and tosses the now obscene figurine over his shoulder, where it breaks against the wall. I manage some offense on behalf of the homeowner I'm robbing, and then hurry to follow them into the living room. Would you ah one wonders whether I could offer you gentlemen a drink? I say as I come up behind them. I take note of Geraldine still in her blanket, now feigning sleep. We've got a a very fine gewirts, Tremainer. The shorter one gestures at the far side of the room, where the panel of glass that I punched out to gain entry still lies in shards on the floor. He says something to his partner in the fairy language. The taller fairy turns to me. What happened? I hesitate, trying to decide whether to answer honestly. On the face of it, it seems bizarre that these knights would care whether I'm a criminal, but perhaps I should invert that. Would these knights really care if I were innocent? I broke it, I say at last. I'm sorry, I didn't have a key, and it was very cold. The taller one says one word to the shorter and his smirk widens. Evidently the truth isn't going to set me free. But you really should try the wine, I say hurriedly, proffering the bottle. The taller one accepts it in his hand, a rickdis grin on his lips, and passes it to his partner, who immediately proceeds to empty it over the fire. I notice that the liquid, as it leaves the bottle, has turned bright yellow and now smells distinctly of urine. The fairy drops the empty bottle into the damp smouldering ash.

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My friend and me. The taller one says, We have license from Winter Queen, mother of all. Put down disorderlies. Anyhow we can.

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I stand rooted to the spot and find I suddenly need to swallow. I see. Smash windows, he shrugs. Disorderly. The interior of my mouth suddenly feels very dry. Behind the two knights, Geraldine, her eyes now opened, silently sits upright. Disorderly, I echo. Well, right. Yes, I'll try to do better going forward. The taller fairy advances a step. In our country. He shakes his head.

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Things die not. Not for real. Not fun. But here. Things die. Human. Human dies. Hmm?

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My lips quiver. Well, there's been some recent ambiguity on that point. Ah! Mistress Julia! As promised, I come bearing the finest curiosities. The sudden voice surprises me twice, first with its presence, and then again with the fact that I'm relieved to hear it. Elsevier! The oar spinner strides out of a doorway at the far side of the room, carrying a fine leather satchel in his hands, and then abruptly stops as the two knights spin around to face him. Oh, I see we have guests. How delightful! He does an obsequious little bow before them. I am always honored to meet servants of Her Majesty the Winter Queen, and I can only hope that Julia, as mistress of this house, has made you welcome. Geraldine shoots me a confused look that the knights are, thankfully, too occupied to notice. I raise my hand in a halting gesture. It is the shorter knight who speaks now, demanding something of Elsevier in the fairy language, probably some variant on, Who the hell are you and what are you doing here? Well, Elsevir replies, when dear Julia and I first The shorter one barks a command, and Elsevier stops and scowls. Then he adjusts his cravat and resumes speaking, this time in the fairy language. The body language of the knights, to the extent that I can read it, remains suspicious. He gestures at me with a pale hand and smiles sweetly. The taller knight crosses his arms and then nods at Geraldine, the first time he's deigned to acknowledge her presence. He asks Elsevier a terse little question that I assume can only mean and her. For the briefest of instants, a look of consternation crosses Mr. Elsevier's face, and I feel my heart sink. And then he says something, shrugs, and laughs. The shorter knight issues a demand. Elsevier passes him the satchel, which he opens and begins rooting around in. For just a moment I see huge and beautifully cut gemstones glittering inside, and then the shorter knight scowls and waves his hand, and at once I realize that the satchel full of jewels is in fact one of the reusable grocery bags for my toboggan, full of junk food I'd liberated from a vending machine at the university. The taller knight raises an eyebrow. Elsevier shrugs and smiles, passing his hand over the bag, and it's difficult to describe what happens. It becomes almost like an optical illusion, a satchel of jewels when looked at in one way, a bag full of junk food when looked at in another. For a moment the two seem to vie for dominance, and then, ultimately, the reality wins out. I pay a confused glance to Geraldine, who seems, to my surprise, transfixed by the sight. I wonder if it distracts her. The shorter knight makes a comment. Whatever it is, he sounds angry. Elsevier raises three fingers and speaks calmly. The shorter knight crosses his arms, but the taller one pulls him aside to converse for a moment. And then, to my horror, the taller one gestures at me. You gone. I draw in a deep breath and do as I'm told.

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This is your home?

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demands the taller knight once I stand before him. I don't allow myself to hesitate. Yes. A tiny smile flickers across Elsevier's lips. So far, so good. The knight gestures back at the broken window. Then why? Well, like I said, I reply, I lost my key, and it was cold out. The knights confer with each other. From the corner of my eye, Geraldine does a very passable impression of a confused old woman. The smallest amount of sweat moistens my brow. The taller knight gestures at Geraldine. Who's this? She's my friend, I say flatly, which is true as far as it goes. I'm having her over as a house guest. She's um she's not well, I'm afraid. The taller knight looks over at Elsevier, who keeps his face studiously neutral. I try to do likewise. And who this? he says, gesturing at Elsevier himself. I cough. I uh I didn't catch his name. He enchanted it. The taller knight cocks an eyebrow and starts chuckling under his breath, but the shorter shoots him a knowing glance. But who do you, hm? It takes me a moment to parse the question. Elsevir looks at me expectantly. He's a peddler. I say. I glance at Elsevier, who grants me a tiny nod. Yes, that's what we're pretending. I feel a small relief at getting it right. He ah he sells. I try to think back to the term that he used. Fine curiosities. From fairy, I assume. Just as I told you, Elsevier interjects, only for the shorter knight to bark at him. The taller knight nods. And he lifts up the bag of junk food. How much you pay for this? I accept it into my hands and begin looking through it. It is, indeed, exactly as I expected. Some bags of hickory sticks, some frozen nibs, a few bags of salted snacks, but maybe it's supposed to be jewels? Somehow I sense that they're expecting a score. Maybe a month of my life, I decide. Oh that's not too much, is it? The taller knight shouts angrily at Elsevier, who starts jabbering at both of them and fairies, seemingly trying to soothe their nerves. Across the room Geraldine sits up, and I know that we're seconds away from a bloodbath. Wait, I exclaim. The room falls silent. The fairy's eyes fall on me. Obviously this was just a preliminary offer, I say, f for the merchandise, in the condition that it's presently in. Of course I'll I'll pay more once the oar spinner's done with it. Elsevir tenses. The taller knight freezes, furrowing his brow in surprise. Finally he glares at me. You, oar spinner means I freeze, not sure what I'm supposed to say. He makes gold keened, mutters Elsevir. At this point a number of things happen in rapid succession. There's a hiss of steel as the taller knight whips toward Elsevier, drawing his sword from his scabbard, but evidently not fast enough. A brilliant flash of light consumes the knight's head, leaving behind just the charred stump of a neck and a plume of greasy smoke. The surviving, I can no longer say shorter knight, shrieks and charges toward his comrade's executioner, who wheels about readying another blast as the knight's sword bears down upon him. Just then a deafening bang sounds from Sheraldine's shotgun, and the knight is sent careening to the floor. He begins struggling to his feet, disoriented, but apparently unharmed by the shot, but it's too late. There's a second flash and the knight falls still. It's only when the headless trunk of his comrade finally crumples to the ground next to me that I fully register that, within the space of a few seconds, our interrogation has escalated into a double homicide. Sheraldine levels her shotgun at Elsevir, and I possess just enough presence of mind to interpose myself between them. No! She lowers her gun. Friend of yours, Julia I hesitate. Not exactly. You're welcome, by the way, comes Mr. Elsevir. I can't bring myself to acknowledge him. The scent of charred flesh fills my nostrils. It smells well, honestly, it smells a little like hot dogs. Two lives snuffed out. Of course they were complete assholes. I feel his hand fall on my arm, violently pulling me toward the patio doors. We need to get out of here now. I look dazedly at him. You just kill Yes, and more of them will no doubt be along shortly. I would prefer to be well rid of this place before that, and of anything that ties us to it. Speaking of he raises a pale hand toward Geraldine. I see at once what he intends to do and tear myself out of his grip. No Elsevier rolls his eyes. Out of my way, Julia. We don't want any witnesses. She saved your life hardly. Geraldine, for her part, glares back at him flinty eyed. This is how you Tinkerbell fuckers repay your debts, eh? If you hurt her, the deal's off, I insist, turning back toward the oar spinner. Elsevier scoffs. Do you imagine that I care so much for our little contract? Yes. Or else you wouldn't have stepped in to protect your investment just now. Only once I've said the words do I realize that they're true, which makes it perhaps the first intelligent thing that I've said since the shift started. For a moment Elsevir doesn't budge. Then, grudgingly, he lowers his hand. He smiles slightly, looking at Geraldine. I smell home on you. She furrows her brow. Very. You've had an encounter with it, yes? A portal, perhaps? Geraldine's expression darkens. It was her grandson, I supply, turning back to Elsevier. He disappeared. Oh really. Well then, perhaps we can help each other. Elsevier turns his attention back to me. And as for you, we shall have words, but for right now twin goats of flame issue from the palms of his hands, setting the room ablaze. I really think we ought to be going, don't you? You have been listening to a serialized audio adaptation of the novel Reality's End, A Theory of Magic Book 1, by JP Babb as narrated by JP Babb. The novel is available from Otter and Osprey Press and can be purchased in trade paperback on Amazon or as an electronic copy wherever ebooks are sold. The podcast, Reality's End, A Theory of Magic Book 1, is licensed under copyright by JP Babb. Special thanks to Alex K-Chan for composing our theme music, an epic arrangement of the K-Becqua folk song Lovabon, Sarah Clark for her services as a sensitivity reader, and Busirka design for the cover. You can support me on Patreon at patreon.com slash JP Babb for early access to new episodes, bonus commentary, and material from the unpublished sequel.