Category: Updates

The Problem With Pookles

Posted on by ravenbait

 

A circular fortification on the coast

“Shouldn’t you be out sniffing in the woods?”

— Merlin

 

The Maze

Ana slouches at her computer, watching the debrief video of an undercover mission she and Elres carried out some months ago. A slice of Jackie’s lemon cake lies untouched on the desk. In the video, people in costumes seemingly assembled from thrift stores are clutching expensive-looking swords. A watermelon sits upon a pedestal. A short, stocky man with a two-handed broadsword steps up and swings confidently. The watermelon explodes with a satisfying ‘PLAPF’ and cheers ring out. The watermelon is replaced and a gentleman with a katana steps up. He strikes so swiftly that some onlookers are still waiting for him to begin. The melon appears whole; an oozing equator and the echoes of the man’s Kiai the only indication that something has happened. He bows and exits the stage to respectful applause. A fresh melon is settled into the holder and Elres takes the stage.

Ana leans closer to the screen.

Elres smiles demurely, looking around the assembled throng with doe eyes. Elres takes aim at the melon, and chops it neatly in two. There is a smattering of polite applause. The two halves of melon fall to the floor and promptly burst into flames. The audience erupts, whooping and hollering. Elres waves regally to the crowd and exits the stage.

“Show off,” mutters Ana. She rewinds and watches Elres again. And then a third time. Ana sighs, picks up the cake and slumps back in her chair. She’s just about to take a bite of the delicious, lemony goodness when suddenly she glares at the cake like it’s poison and flings it back down on the desk. She snatches up her sword and stalks out of the room.

Merlin is in the training room, tweaking the sensitivity on his newest laser-based weapon… to the detriment of the training dummies. His contraption resembles a section of deer antler, such as one might find in a pet shop, with a rotating dial on the end. The dial is inscribed with sigils that are probably better not enquired about. He aims the cervine laser pointer at a training dummy and rubs his thumb back and forth. There is a whumping sound and the unfortunate strawman is peppered with charred, smoking holes the size of golf balls. Merlin frowns, scratches his beard, and begins fiddling with the dial just as Ana shoulders her way through the door.

“ANA! WHAT HO,” cries Merlin.

Ana glares back.

“What brings you down here? Shouldn’t you be out sniffing in the woods?”

“Elres has better form that me. Figured I should practice,” Ana grunts.

“You mean you want to knock seven shades of Sunday out of a straw man to make yourself feel better? HA HA. EXCELLENT IDEA.”

Ana says nothing and begins hacking at the straw man.

“Want to know a secret?” says Merlin, in what he probably thinks is a whisper but sounds more like someone trying to help a deaf person understand them by TALKING MORE LOUDLY.

“Not really.”

Merlin continues on regardless. “I’ve been working on something for Robin’s birthday party. They’re special candles. They LOOK like normal candles but when you blow them out, they summon up a cohort of Satyrs to pipe the tune of ‘Happy Birthday.’ HA HA. It will be wonderful. PANDLES, I call them. HA. HAHAHAAAA!”

“Where’d you get the Satyrs?” Ana asks, suspicious.

“I found an incantation in some old book or other. Nobody was using it. I’m rather proud of how I worked the incantation into the wax.”

“Very clever,” Ana replies. “Robin’s favourite colour is blue.”

With that she stalks back over and resumes battering the training dummies.

“Well…” BAM “That’s one party…” WALLOP “I definitely won’t be…” CLOBBER “attending….” THUMP “Ah, that’s better. Where’s that cake?”

The morning of his birthday, Robin galumphs around Covenant HQ singing a version of Happy Birthday by Altered Images, so fractured and broken it is frankly unrecognisable. He eventually finds his way to the chorus, “If dey were me, if dey were me…”
 He stops, his brow furrowed. “Steve always pretend be Robin on birthday,” he mutters loudly. “Pretend be Robin, do big bad, get Robin in trouble… Perhaps me tell someone, give warning? Me always give warning ’bout Steve. Who listen? Nobody! Always sigh and give Robin dat look. Me look for Steve in now time, but Robin never find. If me no find Steve, maybe Steve no find Robin?” Robin’s brow wrinkles even further with the effort of thinking this through, then relaxes. “Ok, no worry. Everyfing be hunky dory dis year.”
 
He resumes his carefree peregrination.

On the day of Robin’s birthday party, Elres (not invited — Merlin decided that invitations are way too complicated when it comes to the Fae, even those who are technically human), Phil Nhiles (not invited as on disciplinary for his behaviour with valued partner organisations), and Ana (invited, declined), were supposed to be the only Hunters in the Maze. Apart from them, there were some of the RaAD personnel (aka Maze Monkeys) and Jakes, Commander of Field Recovery, Containment and Sterilisation (sometimes shorted to recovery and Deposition, but most often simply “the Cleaners”). Elres was doing some boring E-learning on manual handling, with first aid at work lined up for afters. Phil was in the lab, helping Egbert with some projects, and Ana was in the gym, working out some of her frustration. Oddly enough, Robin was also in the gym — Ana assumed that he didn’t fancy his own birthday party. Either that or he thought the point of a surprise birthday party was for everyone to bring a surprise, and the biggest surprise of all was for him not to turn up.

They spotted the first pookle behind the dumbbell rack. As soon as it realised it had been spotted, it swallowed a 24kg kettlebell, which was almost 10cm taller than the pookle, then scarpered.

Ana sniffed around after it, and discovered it smelled mostly of magic. Robin declared it was probably Robin’s fault, “Robin being so stupid.”

In the lab, Phil was startled by the appearance of several adorable balls of grey fluff that proceeded to start eating… Everything. Scans suggested some kind of inter-dimensional anomaly, and he had to talk Egbert down from his latest rather-more-than-micro dose to get any sense of what this might mean. In short, these things were intrusions into this reality from somewhere else, the way a scientist’s hands would penetrate a glove box containing something they didn’t want to touch directly. Whatever these things looked like, it was unlikely to be a basketball-sized ball of fluff that made cute noises like a happy guinea pig.

Back in the training room, Elres had found a pookle behind one of the vents, and had tried to tempt it out with a rather dry cheese sandwich she had left over from lunch. Initially tempted, the pookle seemed way more interested in eating the computers and chairs.

The team finally got together in the labs, where Ana discovered the pookles were quite content and friendly unless anyone tried to get between them and their food. Robin said he was going to go down to the Archives and see what he could find out about them. He promptly disappeared without waiting for anyone to go with him. After a while, Ana and Elres decided to follow, leaving Phil to try to get hold of someone who could tell them what to do.

Down in Archives, Robin persuaded Rogers the Archivist to open the Archives, which he had sealed shut to keep the pookles out. Robin assured Rogers that he could put up a magic barrier that the pookles wouldn’t be able to get through. Although Robin is not normally well known for his magic skills, Rogers did not know this, and was therefore merely impressed rather than surprised when Robin stripped off his furs and conjured a barrier as promised.

By the time Elres and Ana turned up, Robin was trying to get Rogers to show him where the files were for the missions to which Robin had been assigned. Ana and Elres couldn’t understand why this was necessary or even useful, but they let him get on with it while Elres called the emergency number on the internal comms. This put her through to Jakes mobile, and Elres left a message because Jakes wasn’t picking up — she was already on her way up to see what Phil had to say.

Eventually, the team reconvened on the top floor, where Jakes had assembled a crew of Cleaners, probably pulling some of them in from being off-duty. She swore everyone to secrecy, explaining that they didn’t have clearance to access the parts of the Maze where they were about to go, but she had emergency authorisation to do it anyway, then handed everyone powerful electromagnets, split them up into pairs, then the assembled crew drove the pookles in to the central shaft where the emergency stairs and the cabling/pipework came up from the power generator and desalination units in the lowest level. They continued to drive them down to the bottom level, passing through the high security levels such as Heavy Containment.

The Covenant, it turned out, had a portal on the lowest level, presumably built by Merlin. Jakes activated it, then they drove the teeming throng of reluctant pookles inside.

Only then did “Robin” reveal his secret — he had been Robin’s sorcerous evil twin Steve all along! In the confusion caused by this revelation, aided by distraction from Steve’s pet Pleistocene Cave Hyena Fenella, he escaped, taking some of the Covenant’s files with him.

C’s office, Camelot

Jakes stands straight and stiff in C’s office at Camelot, the main HQ, arms clasped behind her back, gaze resolutely fixed on a point some distance above C’s head. C flips through paper reports, cross-referencing them with whatever she has displayed on her computer screen. The damage is devastating.

“Correct me if I am wrong, Commander, but I understand you permitted one C4 Hunter, a C5 Hunter here on placement from a partner organisation, an Intern on disciplinary watch, and our resident Neanderthal’s evil twin access to OHQ SG5 and SG6?”

“It does sound pretty bad when you put it like that,” Darling murmurs from her seat in the corner, where she is taking notes.

“Yes, ma’am. It was either that or lose everything not nailed down. And anything less than five metres across that was nailed down.”

“I understand that, Commander, but do you comprehend the potentially severe consequences posed by at least two of those present seeing we have access to that technology?”

“I assumed they had been vetted, ma’am. My priority at that moment was to clear the infestation before we lost anything more vital.”

“Can you reassure me that exposure to Asset 1277α is the only extreme security risk you permitted during the course of the incident?”

Jakes clears her throat. “With all due respect, ma’am, I did not permit the security breach. I contacted a senior officer and cleared the proposal.”

“You spoke to Merlin, Jakes! He was three-quarters of the way down his second bottle of rum, and it wasn’t even very good rum! You should have come direct to me.”

“Again, with all due respect, ma’am, you were incommunicado.”

C pinches her nose between her eyes, forehead furrowing. “Yes. I was.” She returns her attention to her computer screen. “Pookles. I hate the bloody things. I refuse to believe they evolved to look like that without intervention. Nothing that dials cute all the way up to eleven, despite coming from another Realm, can possibly have evolved that way without some sort of interference. Have we ascertained whether anything important is missing other than the Archived documents?”

“We have, ma’am,” Darling says, scanning her tablet. “We lost the subjects being held in Heavy Containment. Arctos Halkias, the Coppersmith. Jennifer Drayton, who Section 7 pulled in from the Proton Beach mission — she’s the one Gawain tried to convince you had found a Pandora Jar and sold it. We also lost Joshua Weber, AKA Doctor Keen.”

At that last name, Jake’s right cheek twitches.

“Don’t worry,” C says grimly. “I cannot imagine the inside of a pookle is better than what you had planned for Weber.”

“I beg to differ,” Jakes replies, the hint of a snarl putting an edge to her voice. “We don’t know what happens to things inside a pookle. I know what would have happened to him here.”

C nods. “It can’t be helped now. Did we lose any artefacts?”

“Artefacts remained sealed, and Merlin’s workshop was protected by Dante,” Darling says.

“I never thought I would be thankful for Dante, but I should know by now never to say never. Can you bring Rogers in, please?”

Darling leaves her tablet on her chair and goes out to her own office. “Can you come in now, please?” she asks, her voice slightly muffled by distance and the deadening quality of the magical wards around C’s office.

Rogers enters, his expression nervous. “Ma’am.”

“Have you discovered exactly what this Steve took with him?”

“All documents relating to the Abersky mission, ma’am, including those retrieved by the cleaner crew. He dropped the map with the ley line calculations on it when he escaped. The intern brought it back. Everything else is gone.”

“Just Abersky?”

“He asked about Wormsley, but he only took Abersky.”

“Did he get the photograph?”

“Whi… Which photograph ma’am?” Rogers’s skin appears ashen.

“You know which photograph!” C snaps.

“Uh… Yes. Yes, ma’am. He got the photograph.” Rogers is so nervous he stutters, but he carries on regardless. “All the archived documents were together ma’am, as per protocol. And he was a Hunter. I’ve seen him around. He put a magical barrier up to keep the furry round things out of the Archives, ma’am.”

“Which wouldn’t have been needed if you’d kept the damn door shut! All of that was so he could get in there and steal some files. We don’t even know what he wants with them.”

“He asked for missions involving Robin and the Fae. I had no reason to refuse. He was… I mean, the person I thought he was participated in those missions, so I didn’t see the harm.”

“No. Robin never thought to tell us that the infamous Steve was his evil identical twin.” C sighs. “Very well. You may go.”

“The barrier was really impressive.”

“I said, you may go.” C’s eyes glint like moonlight on a blade, and her voice is as sharp as a flint shard.

Darling offers Rogers a sympathetic smile as he scuttles out. Jakes has not moved a millimetre.

“Other than Heavy Containment and Asset 1277α, was there exposure to any other high security asset during the incident, Commander?” C asks. “And don’t try to avoid the question this time.”

“No ma’am,” Jakes says. “All other C1 classified assets remain secure.”

“Well. That’s something. We should at least be able to get the Heads of Bran off the premises without having to run a full decontamination cycle.” C taps some papers together and feeds them into a slot on her desk. A hint of burned paper drifts through the room, quickly disappearing under the aromatic cedarwood emanating from the ceramic diffuser on the windowsill and the waxy scent of furniture polish. “Very well. Best get on with sorting out this mess. Go and wake up Merlin for me. I don’t care how bad his head is. And you have my authority to requisition resources from available Hunter squads if you need them, but be parsimonious. The rest of the world doesn’t stop just because we’ve had a problem with pookles.”

 

Consequences

Posted on by ravenbait

 

 

“You would think that necromancy and taxidermy would be an obvious partnership. And yet…”

— C

 

The Maze, SW France.

The wind whistles through the courtyard, picking up some of last year’s desiccated autumn leaf-fall and sending it rattling around the cobbles with an insectile clicking. C, standing by the open heavy intake door for R&D, pulls her jacket more tightly around herself, the movement almost imperceptible. Merlin shuffles forwards to try to shelter her a little from the wind, but it is caught between the curtain wall and the castle, and so burls around as if dancing the Dashing White Sergeant all by itself.
Merlin glances at the dark hole into the castle, clearly uncomfortable. The door, made of 10cm thick ferritic stainless steel with a fullerite core, and outfitted with a triple deadlock and three hydraulic bar-locks made of 6mm duplex steel with an adamantium core, would normally open by the minimal amount for the shortest possible amount of time. It currently yawns wide, and Merlin does not like this one bit.
There is a reason for this state of affairs. Three nimble Cleaners are running around the courtyard, swearing, trying to catch some escaped animals. A couple of the beasts are bear-like, and three resemble artiodactyls, which bound around with gymnastic ease. The resemblance to either bear or antelope stops with their faces, which are human. In addition to these, four rabbits with antelope horns and wings scamper around, occasionally attempting to take flight.
“You would think that necromancy and taxidermy would be an obvious partnership,” C says. “And yet…”
Another gust of wind, this one carrying the memory of Pyrenean winter, hurls into the courtyard and pinballs.
“We should have brought in a sheepdog,” Merlin grumbles as C suppresses another shiver. “I could—”
“No,” C says flatly. “Where did these come from again?”
“Some place on the east coast of Scotland’s central belt. Sayles called in a Cleaner crew for their last job, and they came back with these things.” He gestures to the cage at C’s feet. “And that.”
C turns her attention to the cage. It is made of silver and copper, braided together with a dull, almost black metal that has no name outside Merlin’s lab. The cage holds something that looks like the offspring of a polyamorous relationship between a hydra, a crow, and a gooseneck barnacle. Its multiple heads droop, murmuring sonorously to themselves in an enforced slumber.
“What is it?”
“Give me a chance! I haven’t had a chance to examine it yet.”
“Any thoughts? Theories? Ideas? Anything at all.”
“Are you asking me if this is another Sìth thing?”
“I wouldn’t be so crass, Merlin.”
Merlin thinks better of arguing. “It could be anything. The heads are superficially common carrion crow, which makes it roughly European, but the rest of it… I don’t know. Let me look at it. You’ll be the first to know when I’ve got something.”
“Hmph.” C scowls at the sky as raindrops spatter onto the dry cobbles. She takes her left hand out of her pocket and murmurs a few words in an ancient tongue, drawing a sigil with her forefinger that glows briefly red-orange before fading. All of the escaped creatures come to a sudden halt and then topple over. “I don’t like this, Merlin. Humans shouldn’t have access to that kind of power.”
She watches the Cleaners collect the creatures and set them surprisingly gently back into their transport crates before carrying them into the building.
“I agree with you,” Merlin says, as they follow the Cleaners into R&D. He thumps the door lock with a loud sigh of relief. “But it’s a damn good thing some of you do.”

Later, C’s office, Camelot

C doesn’t need Darling to tell her that Merlin wants to see her. Her office door is reinforced and theoretically hermetically sealed, but there is a distinct odour reminiscent of wet dog whenever he is waiting to come in.
Perhaps wet wolf would be more accurate.
She opens her door and pours two glasses of good Scotch. It has been one of those kinds of Mondays. The kind that leads to tiring Tuesdays involving travel and meeting people who need persuading that some things are not worth the effort.
“What have you got for me, Merlin?”
“That artefact Sayles brought in. I know what it is.”
“Oh?” She nudges one of the glasses across her desk.
Merlin shakes his head, agitated, but then takes the glass and knocks back the contents. His hand trembles a little.
C frowns. “What is it?”
“It’s the Penaethiaid Bran.”
“As in Bran the Blessed?”
“No. Well, sort of. You know how Bran’s head was taken to the White Hill and buried facing France to ward off invasion, and that’s where the Tower of London now stands? They keep the ravens there. Well, there is a little known spell that involves the heads of ravens from White Hill being made to speak like Bran’s head did before they left the island of Gwales. Nobody thought it was real.” He accepts a refill gratefully and downs it before continuing. C pours another three fingers into his glass. “The Penaethiaid Bran was to be made from living birds, braided together ‘as hair is wound into a rope to hold a ship fast against the winds that come from the northern dancers,’ whatever that means. There are incantations, other things that have to be done, but we’ve lost the knowledge.” He takes a sip of whisky, calmer now. “It was said to be the Penaethiaid Bran that guided the ship that took the dying Arthur to Avalon. It can guide a traveller who knows how to use it between the realms. Any realms.”
“So how did Hartley manage to make it? How did he find the spell?”
“He didn’t. This thing is old. It might even be the one that took Arthur to Avalon. I don’t think he made it. I think this is what told him how to channel life force from one being to another.”
C drains her own glass and pours herself another. She notes the slightest of tremors in her hand and clenches it into a fist. “Where is it now?”
“In my private lab. I didn’t even want to trust it to heavy containment.”
“Good. I will escalate this. This is too valuable even for the Zoo. We need to move it where it can be guarded by…”
“A higher power?” Merlin’s relief is palpable.
C nods. “A higher power.”

Everyone’s a Critic

Posted on by ravenbait

 

 

“I don’t think letting Merlin have this would be entirely sensible.”

— C

 

C’s Office, Camelot (Covenant main HQ), France.

C has hung the painting the team recovered from Wormsley Church on a wall in her office. She leans back in her office chair, head tilted to one side, staring at it.
“Oh, don’t worry, I’m not keeping it there,” she says. “A couple of our more robust R&D — that’s Recovery & Deposition, not Merlin’s mob, I don’t think letting Merlin have this would be entirely sensible — will be up presently to take it somewhere safe.” She glances at Keira. “Belial, Hyacinth said? Interesting. I thought we’d recovered all of his infernal artefacts when we disbanded that cult in the 80s. They were all big hair, bad attitude, and body odour. Nothing to give us any serious problems, but what they lacked in common sense and competency they made up for in funding. Quite the collection, they acquired. Belial isn’t very hands on, as arcane beings go, but I can’t say I like the idea of associated artefacts being in general circulation.”
A small light flashes on C’s console and she presses a button to open the door to her office. Two people enter, both illegally tall and made entirely of muscle. They wear gear that might have been designed by Rob Liefeld, considering the number of pockets, and shades so dark the lenses look opaque.
“The artefact, ma’am?”
“Over there, thank you.”
“Precautions?”
“None necessary. Magical containment with minimum Epsilon level clearance. Keep the graduate recruits out, will you?”
“Of course, ma’am.”
They present a PDA and C scribbles a sigil with many flourishes. Only then does the pair lift the painting off the wall, slide it into a protective case, then head to the door.
“One more thing,” C calls after them.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“The associated case is not entirely closed. Should it become necessary to dispose of the artefact, Robin here is to be given the opportunity to carry out that task.”
“Understood, ma’am.”
Once the Cleaners have left, C picks up the painting that had been there previously. It appears to be the Gustav Klimt painting “Medicine”, which was supposedly lost in WWII. She rehangs it, then sits back down at her desk.
“Assuming Agnes is now at rest, I think we can call this case closed. At least unless Black’s predicament becomes a problem for people other than Black. But let’s keep an eye out for any other artefacts that might belong to Belial regardless. Anything you wish to add?”
Nobody replies, apart from Robin, who mutters something about saving the day and wanting his picture on the wall as Hunter of the month this time.

There may be trouble ahead…

Posted on by ravenbait

 

 

A device resembling an old-school kaleidoscope

“Ok, tanks Merlin… What clockwise?“

— Robin

 

Heorot, the Maze (Covenant Operational HQ), south-west France.

Merlin enters the bar and nods to Ffred the barman, who proceeds to lift an enormous drinking horn down from the brackets up behind the bar and set it under Pilsner tap. Nobody else drinks the Pilsner. Everybody else knows who brews it.
“Did Karl go back to the States?” he asks Ffred.
Ffred shrugs noncommittally. “I’m not his mother, Merlin,” he says in his strong Welsh accent.
“Well, if you see anyone from the team that was in Abersky, tell them Emily found something interesting in the paperwork the Cleaners brought back with them, will you? Ooooh, lovely. That’s going to hit the spot.”
“Aberscasbethau, was it?” Ffred asks casually.
“That’s right,” Merlin says happily, his beard made even more enormous by a ring of froth around his mouth.
“Right you are, Merlin.” Ffred returns to polishing the bar.

As he leaves the bar, Merlin spots Robin in the corridor, and breaks into a grin as huge as Brian Blessed’s is when he’s in a Hawkman suit making pew pew noises. Merlin hands over a cylindrical object. It is black, shiny, and has three rings of different kinds of metallic substance Robin has never seen before. Probably no-one has ever seen before.

“Twist the front ring clockwise — clockwise from the back, that is, don’t look into the lens, never look into the lens — to turn on the light. Turn it anti-clockwise to turn it off. Has a bit of an odd cast to it, but it’ll do for seeing by, if you’ve got nothing else. You didn’t really want a torch, though, did you? Turn the front and second rings clockwise and it might light up invisible things. Like ghosts. Maybe. Look, Egbert said he saw invisible things when he used both front rings, but then he also said he’d dropped a tab with his coffee this morning to help him focus, so who knows? That’s not really the fun part, though.” He pauses, almost too excited to speak. “What you… What you do… What you do, right, is make sure all the rings are fully anticlockwise.” He forces himself to be stern for a moment. “This is VERY IMPORTANT. Then you agitate it, like this” — he holds it in both hands and shakes it vigorously, like a winning Formula 1 driver with a bottle of Veuve Clicquot Yellow Label — “then twist the second ring clockwise and the back ring three notches anticlockwise. Understand? I shan’t do it right now, because C will have my head. She just had the place redecorated. For gods’ sakes, man, don’t be looking at it when you do. It’ll melt your face off.” He clutches his ribs, so pleased he might explode. “It’s a MASER. Magma Amplification by Stimulated Emission of Radiation. Not sure how long you can run it for before it melts, and Egbert said something about adding additional features to do with what rings you twist in what direction, but I’m not convinced it was only one tab he dropped this morning, so gods know what else it does. Have fun anyway. Let me know how you get on with it.”
Robin examines the object with some befuddlement. “Ok, tanks Merlin… What clockwise?”
Merlin strides off without hearing Robin’s question, too lost in thought of all the exciting things Robin might use it for out in the field.
Robin turns the magma-lite this way and that. “Ok, me figure out. Merlin say Robin twist bits then point, but me no look where point. Robin no forget shakey-shake bit. Was shakey-shake when look or no look?”
Oh dear.

Ripples

Posted on by ravenbait

 

 

A woman shown as head and shoulders sitting in an ornate thrown

 

The Queen’s Court, Elfame

Elres is summoned to Court. The ruler of the people sits in a large, ornately carved throne, iridescent with colours only found on the wings of insects. The drapes that conceal the servants’ entrances are the colour of moss growing in a forest grove. Tapestries on the walls depict hunting scenes, bordered by intricate embroidery in the form of stylised animals, plants, and geometric designs. Around the court fringes sit or stand the courtiers, nearly all of them wearing animal masks in a mix of highly decorated silks bedecked with jewels, and headpieces so realistic that it looks as though they are, in fact, anthropomorphised animals. A hare whispers to a boar, giggling behind one paw as both of them stare shamelessly at Elres approaching the dais. A courtier, wearing a fluttering ruby dragonfly the size of a magpie over their face instead of a mask, sidles amongst the rest of the court, keeping pace, watching slyly. A fox, sitting somewhat separate from the others, black paws neatly together and brush curled round them, scrutinises her with eyes that glow sapphire blue when the light catches them. A bear, towering over the others, huffs and grumbles wordlessly.
“The humans know about the Pechts, child. I am disappointed that you could not prevent this. How did we not know that the old witch was keeping one of the gates alive? And how were we to guess that a human might find a way to make use of such a thing for his own, inexplicable purposes? I made Athena believe I would take her hunters’ heads and have them set upon spikes in our Great Hall, and so gained leverage over her. I will not be shy about reminding her of that.” She allows her gaze to wander over her rich tapestries and fine drapes, and to linger upon one or two of her more finely dressed courtiers. She laughs. “What paltry decorations they would make. We do not want the Pechts to gain a foothold in the human Realm. I trust you understand this. We did not pass beyond the Ninth Wave and leave our first World to the humans only for the Pechts to find a way back. Come closer, child. I would add to your instructions.”
The courtiers watch with more than obvious jealousy as Elres ascends the dais and kneels, so her ruler can whisper into her ear.
~⊕~

Astoria, Queens, New York, USA

Cut to a much less grand setting: a small house in Astoria, Queens, which is kept neatly, but clearly hasn’t had new furniture, curtains, carpet, or inhabitants in a very long time. Beige, brown, and faded green are much in evidence. Several of the chairs have clearly had their legs repaired with newer wood; expertly, but with no thought given to whether the new wood matched the old.
There’s a knock at the door. There’s a doorbell, of course, but Norman had disconnected it years ago. Everyone he wanted to see knew to knock; anyone who didn’t could stand out there and press the button until the cows came home, for all he cared. Norm opened the door to find a man with enough lurid scars to give the impression that he’d been torn to pieces and stitched back together. He had a personality to match.
“Jesus Christ, you leathery old cuss, you’re still alive.”
“Hell yes, Karl. Clean livin’. Ain’t drank nuthin’ but vodka for fitty years. Keeps the pipes clean. You want coffee?”
Karl had no idea how old Norm was. He’d been old when Karl’s dad had introduced them, and Karl’s dad never knew him when he wasn’t old, either, or at least never mentioned it if he had. He *did* mention that Karl’s grandfather had introduced *them*, and that if you wanted to be welcomed in ever again, you never refused the offer of coffee.
After the usual polite chat, Norm walked Karl down to the workshop he had in the basement; Karl hardly ever visited if he didn’t have a request. “Whaddaya need?”
“Teflon-jacketed with a magnetic iron core. Sidearm caliber, three hundred rounds.”
Norm looked at him for a long moment. “No shit.”
“No shit.”
“Got it. Swing by on Thursday, and bring some of that kielbasa you get from the Polish deli you won’t give me the address for, because you’re an asshole. You want them in mags?”
“Six mags, the rest in boxes. Braille-key the mags with an ‘F’ on the back.”
~⊕~

Heorot, the Maze (Covenant Operational HQ)

In the seemingly deserted bar at Covenant HQ, lit only by the shrinking glimmer of embers dying in the open fireplace, a gravelly voice suddenly shatters the silence. “Robin try to ‘member what Karl say he get for bang-stick to throw? Special type of metal rock him say. Me think it sound like… um… err… mag-something. Mag….mag… magma-light! Yes, magma-light sound like what Robin need.” A figure rises from the concealing shadow of a wingback armchair and approaches the fireplace. It leans over and Robin’s face is revealed, his heavy angular features softened by the sultry amber glow. After a quick, furtive glance to check he is alone he leans closer, then bellows up the chimney “Hey Santa, Robin want magma-light!” As the echoes of his cry scrabble up the sooty brickwork to freedom Robin turns away, then stops. “Xmas not soon” he ponders, “Maybe Robin ask Merlin for magma-light as well as thunder-rock. Yes, good plan Robin, me ask Merlin.” He takes a step, then stops again. “Maybe me ask her too, just in case.” With a slight shiver of dread at the enormity of the power he is about to address in supplication, Robin returns to the fireplace and inserts his head, once again, into its gaping maw. This time his voice is tens of decibels lower, as near to as whisper as he can get, and respectful. “Please may Robin have magma-light? Me will tidy room, take medicine, and even wash behind Robin’s ears. Thank you… Mary Poppins.”
~⊕~

RaAD Weapons Development, The Maze

Later…
Merlin glances up as Robin skulks into the workshop. “Duck!” Something resembling a boomerang with teeth whizzes over Robin’s head. A few hairs drift to the floor, wafting gently. “Sorry about that. Rogers there is really not a very good aim. That’s why he’s not allowed in the field. I SAID THAT’S WHY YOU’RE NOT ALLOWED IN THE FIELD, ISN’T IT, ROGERS? Deaf as a post.”
Rogers shakes his head. “I can hear you just fine, sir,” he says in a small voice.
Merlin juggles awkwardly with some crystals. They look suspiciously like the crystals Windsor was using to power his leyline accumulators. “We’ve just been playing around with these. The clean-up crew brought them back from bonny wee Scotland.” He puts on a terrible, see-you-jimmy accent to say it. “There was some paperwork as well, but R&D are looking over that. What’s that Emily? SPEAK UP WOMAN? Yes, quite right, that’s us. You ARE looking at it, aren’t you Emily? WELL THEN. Quite fun. I can think of things to do with them already. Anyway. What can I do for you, eh?”
“Last mission Robin see people me no see since me come from long time back ago when to now time,” Robin says. “Robin see Vadhagh. Me no see often back then, but they always walk round with nose in air going la-de-dah look at hairy man how amusing, but how smelly. Robin think nose so far up in air it go round and up Vadhagh’s own poop place. They big danger if angry, rock no hurt good, stick no hurt good, and pointed stick only make more angry. Robin find out they no like special rock, but me only have normal rock, stick, and pointed stick. Keira no let Robin drive and no let have rock go bang, so how me halp good if only have normal rock and sticks? Robin need upgrade. Robin need thunder-rock that go bang… go bang and make all who hear thunder go surprise poop. Me also need special rock thing that Robin think called magma-light. Me not know what it do, but Robin need for good halp if meet Vadhagh again. Merlin and Robin frens, so Robin let Merlin know me already ask higher powers Santa and Mary Poppins, so if Merlin say ‘Robin, no’ like Keira and C” — he drops his voice to a loud whisper that carries all around the testing lab — “who like Keira, but old,” — his voice returns to normal, which doesn’t travel much further than to Merlin’s ears over the general background noise — “then me get anyway. Santa only come once a year and Mary Poppins busy lady, so will be delay. Robin sad for delay, so come to frens Merlin. Robin know Merlin no like be beaten by Santa or Mary Poppins, so me come Merlin to get thunder-rock and magma-light first. Imagine look on Mary’s… me mean Santa’s face when Robin say ho-ho-ho me already got from frens Merlin, just leave by tree and be on merry way.”
Merlin runs his fingers through his massive, furry beard. His eyebrows thicken, his eyes gleam with flecks of amber, and is there a suggestion of teeth looking a little more sharp?
“YOU ALREADY ASKED MARY POPPINS? GOOD GODS MAN. DO YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENED LAST TIME SHE AND C BUMPED INTO EACH OTHER? We can’t have the world’s most annoying nanny turning up here. We’re far too busy for C to be distracted trying double or quits on that sniper distance challenge. And less of the old. She’s a wonderful woman.” He grins in a way that suggests he knows exactly how wonderful she is. “That bloody umbrella-wielding witch cheats. Right. Thunder-rock, make surprise poop you say. Hopkins! HOPKINS! Get this man a whoopee grenade will you? Mark 2. Actually, better make that mark 3. The mark 2 was rather unstable. Not sure what a magma light is, but I do have some ideas. Give me a couple of days, will you? I’ve got a lad out collecting for me near Stromboli. Should be back soon. I’ll be in touch. And, Robin,” he pats Robin on the shoulder with an enormous hand, “best keep this on the down low, eh?”
Robin grins hugely. “Ok, Robin not tell. Surprise poop better if thunder-rock also surprise anyway. Me go now, but me come back for magma-light. Robin thank frens Merlin, so go fly kite ask Mary Poppins no come now.”
He skips merrily away singing the opening to Thunderstruck replacing the ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah bit with wet raspberry sounds.

Hyacinth’s cottage, somewhere in Scotland

Posted on by ravenbait

 

A raven

 

A Tap At The Window

Not long after Hyacinth gets home, a raven appears at her kitchen window and taps on the glass with its great beak. In the sheen of its feathers, held only in the iridescence and not part of its colouring at all, are swirls and lines she recognises from the stones of Abersky and the Cigfrain who kept watch over the hunters as they fled the Sluagh and the Cù Sìth.

Hyacinth opens the window and the raven presents her with a vellum envelope.

“Corvids bring the most interesting letters,” Hyacinth says, as she takes the envelope. The bird bows, utters a soft croak, then launches itself into the air and flies away.

Hyacinth makes herself a cup of tea and sits at the kitchen table to read the letter. It is from the witch Dolmech, who lives on the lochside not far from Abersky.

Bran Croft

Loch Briste

Sutherland

Annwyl Hyacinth,

       The folk of the village told me of how you helped Old Morgan understand what was happening, so she could tell Queen Drusicc. It was a bad business. A very bad business. I was on my way over when that  twmffat English boy ripped  Aberscasbethau from its moorings and sent it spinning like a drunken buzzard over to the Ancestors. As you may have gathered by now, that did nobody any good at all. Aberscasbethau should only meet with her ancestral village at the Cyfodiadau y Twyll. That’s when those bastard guiodel  are blinded, although there are few places where it works at all. It happens at the time of what you would call the Great Conjunction, and a long line of women going back into the ages have made sure that this window never sticks. Quietly, with no fuss. I am just the latest, and you have my gratitude for your part in ensuring I will not be the last. For even if the guiodel try to stop us, we will continue to bring the light of the descendants to our imprisoned ancestors. If it’s war they want, then war they shall have, and we have a forge and iron aplenty.

I hope they will not  attempt to put a stop to our family gatherings. It is bad enough that they tried to replace the spirit of Coed ar y Ffin with one of their own, and now our dear Cerddinen must pretend allegiance to the enemy when they come to make sure our kin are still imprisoned. Ah well. Needs must when the devil comes calling.

If you are ever back by ours, drop in. I shall know you are around.  Mewn pob daioni y mae gwobr.

       Diolch yn fawr

       Domelch y Pritani

 

Hyacinth folds the letter carefully and puts it back in its envelope. She has no intention of going out of her way to share its contents. It’s not a secret, but it is a personal letter, after all. Neither Keira nor Karl would be especially interested, she thinks, and she most certainly will not show it to Elres, who is not to be trusted. Still, if Robin pops round for lunch, she might tell him about it.

Thoughtfully, she puts the envelope away somewhere safe. She would like to meet this witch Dolmech. Perhaps there are other witches out there, too.

 

 

 

Abersky Debrief

Posted on by ravenbait

 

The Covenant's HQ: a castle on a wooded hillside.

“I DID GOOD OK?”

— Keira

 

C’s Office, Covenant HQ

“Well. You will be delighted to hear that Queen Maedhbh has agreed her current décor would not, in fact, be enhanced by the presence of your decapitated heads. Leaf green and blood red are not a good combination unless it is a battlefield, apparently, and she fears it might give some of her younger, more impressionable courtiers the wrong idea about the future she sees for her race.” C glares at them. She is not often visibly angry. She is so now. “I gave you very strict orders, yes? Can everyone agree that I gave very strict, very precise orders? Can we have that on the record? And I understand that it was Elres who made the initial decision to investigate further rather than returning as instructed? Yes? And by the time you made the decision to return as per orders and hand over the evidence you had collected, you were no longer able to leave?”

Everybody shuffles their feet and makes affirmative noises.

“Excellent. We have had suspicions about certain unsavoury practices on the part of our — ahem — esteemed allies for some time. You may consider, Mr Novac, that your team was an ill fit for this mission. I can assure you, it was carefully considered and absolutely fit for the job. Ms Sayles has the mindset to do unsavoury things where necessary. Robin comes from a time when the Sìth still lived in this Realm. Hyacinth — yes, I know she is not here — is an accomplished witch and as sharp as a tack. Elres is… Elres has a particular background that made her well suited to this mission. Mr Novac, you have the stopping power of an ill-tempered rhinoceros and little compunction about using it. Would you have suggested I send our intern? No. I thought not.

“There are only a few things I need to know at this point. The Sìth would have us believe that the Pritani — yes, Ms Sayles, those are what you would call the Picts — are a dangerous race. They say the tribes they have imprisoned were those who refused to give up their culture and integrate with changing society. They insisted on keeping their language, their customs, their martial practices, their pride. Their magic, ladies and gentlemen. Did they seem dangerous to you? What were your impressions?” Before anyone can answer, she continues. “And Windsor. Was there anything that might help us to ascertain how he found out about Abersky and its unique arrangements? Was he an opportunist, or do you think he had any additional agenda? Ideally we would have him in custody. As you know, we have agents who are very skilled at extracting information from even the most unwilling subject. Still. No matter, Needs must.”

Robin holds up one hairy hand. “Robin no do an investigate, me only throw rock.”

C sighs. “If you say so, Robin. I am sure you were more helpful than that. Or perhaps I should be speaking to your previous incarnation.”

“Keira no let Robin help. Robin want drive, Robin want rock go bang, Keira say no. Me only throw rock, sing song of Robin’s people… and me maybe mumble mumble mumble.”

Robin shuffles back behind Karl.

“All I wanted to do was have Keira get some pictures of the stone circle. Seemed like an important place to photograph. Not her fault that things went sour so quickly,” Elres says.

“This is not about fault,” C says sharply. “It is a record of fact. No one is being thrown to the wolves, or should I say Cù Sìth. I am establishing, for the record, what happened in what order. That is all. Anything more than that will come from your own people. At least as far as you are concerned.”

Karl grunts. “I’ve shared my opinions on the suitability of the team on a mission that wasn’t meant to go sideways; you didn’t throw us under the bus, and that’s really all I was worried about. As regards the Pritani, between them and the Sìth, they were the ones who didn’t attack us and in fact protected us while we were undoing the nutty professor’s work. They also aided us in keeping the villagers from getting fitted for body bags, and, excepting pointy-ears over there, I think we’ve made some tenuous inroads toward a functional working relationship. And they don’t seem to be shrieking assholes, which is more than I can say for our current Sìth allies. Ma’am.”

C almost manages to hide her smile. “Thank you for that carefully expressed assessment, Mr Novac. I am pleased you were less informative, not to mention expressive, when you approached me earlier. Elres, perhaps you can keep the ‘shrieking assholes’ part of Mr Novac’s assessment from official dispatches? Thank you so much. In your opinion, Mr Novac, is there likely to be anything left on site that makes it worth sending some forensic techs to run clean-up?”

“No worry, Karl leave plenty needing clean. He make big mess,” Robin cackles.

“Might be reasonable to gather up any equipment Dr. Wonko left, just in case any of it is potentially operational or instructive to like-minded dumbasses,” Karl says. “We were mostly concerned with shutting it down at the time; he might have more equipment tucked away under his bed or something. My sister-in-law is tenured faculty, and given what she makes, I have to assume these machines aren’t terribly expensive to make, if he had 8 or 9 of them. Might be an even ten, and again, see previous, re: like-minded dumbasses. And,” he says, jabbing Robin in the ribs. “as messes go, one sluagh tartare isn’t that bad.”

“I doubt anyone will replicate the work. It seems” — C pinches the bridge of her nose as if cutting off thoughts of even more complications — “Dr Windsor was born in 1843 and has been working on this problem for quite some time, aided by canny investments of an inheritance. Nevertheless, I shall send in the Cleaners. A sensible idea.”

“That’s a genuine relief, ma’am,” Karl says.

Robin leans out from behind Karl and holds up his hand. “Ok. Robin help, me go do clean.”

“No, Robin, we need someone sensible. As much as I appreciate your willingness, I am sure we can find something more suited to your talents.”

“C just like Keira and say no Robin,” Robin says, miming his idea of Keira telling him ‘no’ for the umpteenth time. “C Just like Keira, but old. Me bet second best stick C say no to Robin want rock go bang just like Keira.” He goes back behind Karl, muttering loudly. “Robin go Merlin and me get magic rock go bang. magic rock go bang better than just rock go bank, must have better name… hmmmm… Thunder rock! Yes. Thunder rock good name. Me get thunder rock from Merlin. If Merlin in good mood Robin get rock not only go bang, but when rock make thunder all who hear go surprise poop!”

Keira steps forward, obviously annoyed. “I took a LOT of pictures and distinctly a) reminded people we should not investigate; and b) prevented at least one Covenant Asset from jumping through a hole in the world; and c) managed to convince a local to talk to a relative to prevent an entire village being stuck in a fae prison. I DID GOOD OK?”

“Thank you, Ms Sayles. Your photographic evidence has already been passed to the Research and Archive Division,” C says, checking her computer screen. “We have a physiotherapist ready to assess your injury for any lasting damage, should you consent to medical support. Your intervention in the case of the villagers is duly noted and most appreciated, even though I understand Hyacinth mediated on the more technical aspects? A pity about Dr Windsor. I am sure we would have found placing him in one of our interrogation units most… edifying.”

“Dr Windsor’s demise was an unfortunate case of a ricochet warning shot. Won’t happen again.”

“Is that a euphemism for…” C checks her notes again. “Shot him in the talisman?” She offers a wink so subtle it might not even be a wink. “I cannot say I would have acted differently. A passing observation, no more.”

“All I can decisively say is a warning shot was definitely issued, and his talisman was hit by a bullet. Ma’am.”

Karl’s face is so impassive, the inside of his cheek must be a raw mess from being bitten to keep himself from laughing. His eyes have not so much as moved in Keira’s direction since she began talking, but after that last “ma’am” he was vibrating so hard that C’s tea resembles a water glass in Jurassic Park, and right now it’s 50:50 whether he’ll make it through the rest of the debrief without laughing or exploding.

Robin stops muttering for a moment. “Keira make bad promise. Man no here. Man already dead.. Hard to kill man already dead. Very hard if dead man no here,” he exclaims.

C fails to hide a chuckle by clearing her throat. “Very well. You are all dismissed. Thank you. Should there be anything else, I am sure I will be able to find you.”

 

Erebus. Aftermath.

Posted on by ravenbait

 

A Gulfstream G650

“The Homicide Squad are our people now? I thought they were our problem.”

— Merlin

 

The Prodigal Android Returns

C watches her private jet taxi into the Covenant’s hangar at their private, secure airfield somewhere in rural France.

“And there’s no one else on board?” she asks Merlin.

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“We have five hunters AWOL and your jet went for an unsanctioned joyride. Until I know why, I’m not willing to use remote comms. I won’t know what happened until I’ve got Dante back in the Maze and we’ve scraped the mission details.”

“Oh, I know why the jet went missing. One of our interns was persuaded by Dr. Malone to have it dispatched. My concern is more that we now have five of the most dangerous individuals in the Covenant unaccounted for.”

Merlin laughs. “I thought you wanted to get rid of them. I thought that was why you sent them down there in the first place.”

C does not reply immediately. Her attention remains on the Gulfstream G650 as ground crew busy themselves around it and the door opens. Dante’s long-limbed, faceless form appears. Before the crew can pull up the steps, the android leaps lightly to the ground. Lights flicker behind the curved crystal visor that serves for a face.

“Would Dante have reported the death of a Hunter in the field without prompting, regardless of comms security concerns?”

“You know they would. That’s not strictly a comms concern. It’s a simple matter of triggering a flag in our system. The signal itself contains no content of use to anyone.”

“Assuming the entire group did not abscond, which seems unlikely, there’s a question for which I need an answer, Merlin.” She turns and meets his gaze with ferocious intensity. “How is it that Dante is not with them?”

Merlin’s massive eyebrows beetle as they scrunch together. “Dante brought your plane back, C. Probably thought the squad could take care of themselves. Maybe Rose sent them back. I don’t know.”

“Give it the effort of more than three brain cells, would you? They fly to Australia for some reason, even though the normal refuelling point is in Chile—”

“I wouldn’t expect them to go to a major airport if there was any risk of contamination. Australia is closer to Ross Island, and we have a mutual support agreement with NASA. The tracking data puts them at the secure landing facility at Tidbinbilla.”

“Then what happened to the Homicide Squad, Merlin? I already reached out to my contacts at NASA, and they had no idea anyone other than Dante was on board. We need to find out where our people are.”

“The Homicide Squad are our people now? I thought they were our problem.”

C’s expression does not change, but the glint in her eyes turns hard like sunlight reflected from an icicle ready to drop off and stab someone through the head. “Find out what happened. Report to me immediately.”

“Yes ma’am,” Merlin says.

C stalks back to her waiting car. Her driver opens the door for her, and she disappears behind armour plating and bulletproof, tinted glass.

Merlin beckons Dante over. The android approaches, elongated limbs giving them a strange, sinuous gait. Pixels glimmer on and off in flowing patterns behind the crystal face.

“What have you got to say for yourself?” Merlin asks in a not-quite mockingly stern tone.

“Would you like a verbal mission report?” Dante asks. Their voice is genderless, the accent somewhere between Scottish, Welsh and Cumbrian.

Merlin thinks for a moment then opens the passenger door of his big Range Rover and gestures for Dante to get in. “Not here. Come on. You can tell me about it on the way to the Maze.”

A tall, android figure. Legs and arms are too long for the torso.