Jessica Strange

2. Reunited

2

REUNITED

Irving and Captain Trooper were escorted to a holding cell. Irving was manacled to the central table and sat on a rough-hewn bench. Captain Trooper was placed on another bench away from the door. Being the only one lucid, Irving was being talked to, sternly, by the Q’estirian that had affected their capture.

“Look, like I said, I don’t understand you,” Irving explained testily. “We aren’t here to cause any trouble. The captain needs help,” he gestured towards his unconscious companion, and the Q’estirian looked in Trooper’s direction. Irving thought he was starting to get through to him, a little, anyway.

It was then that another Q’estirian entered the tiny cell. Are these two twins? There certainly aren’t many differences in appearance of these two Q’estirians or too many differences between them and Blackwing, Irving thought, except Blackwing looks old enough to be their father.

The Q’estirian that had just entered continued giving orders to him and gesturing. All Irving could do was shake his head. He didn’t understand anything being said.

Samir Thunderclap was trying to get his questions answered when Clo’Cha Hornsdoodle entered.

“Where did these two come from?” Hornsdoodle asked.

“They were in one of the vaults,” Thunderclap explained. “The one lying down has yet to regain consciousness, and this one is incapable of the simplest understanding.”

“What do you mean, incapable?”

“I have tried every language I know, and I get no look of understanding. It just keeps pointing to the other one, gesturing and blabbering.”

“What species are they?” Hornsdoodle asked.

“I have no idea. The pair appear to be something of a cross between several species.”

“Do they have any magic capabilities? How safe are they?”

“I do not know, sir. I did not think to scan them for the Source.”

Hornsdoodle raised his sphere and began looking at the strangers through it. “They have something with traces of the Source,” Hornsdoodle said, “upper right arm. And there is something else close to the hip.”

Thunderclap stepped forward, indicated his upper arm, and gave the creature a questioning look. The creature looked to his upper arm and touched it. It stood and opened its suit and showed the platinum band above the bicep.

Hornsdoodle and Thunderclap looked at the platinum band with amazement. Hornsdoodle brought the sphere closer to the band, which shifted colors and showed a warning.

“Blackwing?” Hornsdoodle questioned as he read the sphere.

“Which one?” Thunderclap asked. “There are a number of them.”

“I do not know, but I am reluctant to contact any without more information,” Hornsdoodle said.

Having had the platinum band around his arm for a while, Irving had forgotten about it. He was as shocked as the Q’estirians when one of them indicated his upper arm and looked at him with that questioning look. When he exposed it, he saw the sphere they were holding change colors, and then he got more questioning looks from both of them.

“Well, it seems you two are curious about this band,” he said aloud. He knew they wouldn’t understand him, but it made him feel better. “A friend of mine gave it to me—” It was then that, in a flash of inspiration, Irving sat at the table and started drawing a few of the runes he knew on the tabletop with his finger. He didn’t know if he could get it across to them that he needed something to write on and with.

The pair talked amongst themselves for a bit, and one produced what looked to be parchment and something resembling a pencil. Irving sat and started to reproduce some of the runes he had seen from the letter of appointment that Blackwing had shown. He did translate it, somewhat, with Blackwing’s help. Now, he was trying to remember some of them. As he drew a few, he was starting to remember a few more.

After some time, Hornsdoodle snatched the parchment and pencil away from him.

“What does it say?” Thunderclap asked, trying to see what the creature had drawn over his superior's shoulder.

“It is crude and lacks any finesse or refinement, but it says something about ambassadorial services,” Hornsdoodle said.

“Ambassadorial services? Where would this creature possibly have contact with anyone in our ambassadorial service or our writing?” Thunderclap asked skeptically. “I think you might be reading too much into the crude drawings of this creature.”

“I am not so sure,” Hornsdoodle said skeptically. “It has a band that indicates K’obi Sha Shin J’oi Faqin. It drew runes saying something about ambassadorial services, and it is too much for coincidence.” He commanded a tankard of ale from the inside pocket of his duster. Immediately the creature reached out for the tankard and made drinking motions. Hornsdoodle slid the tankard over, and the creature grabbed it up and started drinking.

“Wait until the ale is gone,” Thunderclap said. “The creature will be lost on how to get more.”

As the creature finished the tankard, it tapped the handle three times, and the tankard refilled.

“That,” Hornsdoodle said, “was no accident. It knew what to do.”

“Let me check on someone named Blackwing in Ambassadorial Services,” Thunderclap said, still shocked by what he saw.

The creature was making motions that Hornsdoodle thought were eating movements. He produced some of the dried meat and slid it across the table. The creature snatched it up right away, and the bits disappeared down its throat.

“Anything?” Hornsdoodle asked over his shoulder.

“Yes, sir.”

Thunderclap looked flushed when Hornsdoodle looked at him. “Well, out with it!”

“The only Blackwing in Ambassadorial Services is Socrates Blackwing. Chief Commander and Ambassador to the Eighth Plane…”

“Is that all?”

“No, he is also great-great-grandson to Cornelius Blackwing—”

“Cornelius Blackwing? As in leader of the high council? That Cornelius Blackwing?”

Thunderclap nodded slowly.

Thaddius Crowfoot and H’Difa Thunderclap were sitting in Thaddius’ office.

“We may have a problem,” H’Difa said under his breath.

“What kind of problem? You know I hate problems,” Thaddius said.

“My grandson, I do not know how far back, works in the vaults.”

“How nice for him,” Thaddius said without looking up.

“He has apprehended two…creatures in the vaults. One of them carries the K’obi Sha Shin J’oi Faqin of Blackwing.”

Thaddius stopped and raised just his eyes. “Which Blackwing?” he asked.

“At this point, we are uncertain. Only one of the creatures has demonstrated writing of runes and drinking ale from one of our tankards. Thus showing familiarity with us.”

“And the other?” Thaddius asked.

“He remains unconscious and has been since found. He also has the K’obi Sha Shin J’oi Faqin.”

“In what form?” Thaddius asked.

“Bands, around their upper arms.”

Crowfoot closed his eyes and rubbed between his brows. “Well, that is quite the pile of P’koosh Z’airka. Who else knows?”

“No one, yet. I heard about it from my family communications network, and I brought it to your attention as soon as I could.”

“What do you suggest?” Crowfoot asked as he continued to rub between his brows.

“I would suggest getting a healer in to see to the unconscious one,” Thunderclap said quietly.

“Any other suggestions?” Crowfoot asked.

“I am uncertain how, but we need to discover who they are, where they come from…and how they got here.”

“At what point do you want to inform Cornelius?” Crowfoot asked.

“I do not want to inform him unless and until we get some answers,” Thunderclap stated.

“That is a dangerous gambit,” Crowfoot said quietly. “It could work against us.”

“I cannot see how. We did not bring them here, and our security requires that we determine how they got here.”

Crowfoot was about to say something and stopped himself.

“You had an idea?” Thunderclap asked.

“I had a thought, but I need more information. Work on getting the information quietly. If anyone prevents you from proceeding, let me know and keep me informed about what you find out.”

Blackwing and Jessica walked in the back door of the house that Suzanne had purchased. Currently, it was the ambassadorial residence. Blackwing sat Jessica down while he laid out the Sichuan for everyone. He did have to see to his fellow Q’estirians.

“You know, I need to hire a cook of some kind,” Blackwing said as he worked.

“You can hire me a bartender while you’re at it,” Jessica sniped. “If you get a chef or a cook, they’ll just try to change how you eat.”

“And will a bartender change the way you drink?” Blackwing quipped.

“Pro’ly,” Jessica slurred as she put her head down on the table.

“What were you doing there, anyway?”

“I had a meeting…with our ol’ buddy Smith. You know, the one that tried to ventilate you at the PD?”

“What did he want?” Blackwing asked with surliness.

“He wants to make me chief of police…or something. I think that’s what he said.”

“Sounds like something you’d enjoy. How you say, ‘right up your alley’?”

Jessica made a spitting sound: “Not b****y likely! I told ‘em I wasn’t in’erested.”

“Why aren’t you interested?” Blackwing asked as he came in and sat at the table.

“I got some huntin’ ta do, firs’.” Jessica had managed to get the heavy g*n out of her holster and laid it noisily on the table.

Blackwing eyed the pistol and assessed Jessica’s state of inebriation. “Well, eat up. It won’t be tonight.”

“I’m looking forward to it being soon,” Jessica said as she dished up some of the food. “I do need another drink,” she said before she began eating.

“I think your stomach will appreciate the break from the alcohol,” Blackwing said. He did send out messages to let the other Q’estirians know they could come into the house and eat.

As they filed through, helping themselves, Suzanne entered. She made up her plate and sat next to Blackwing.

“Hiya, Suze!” Jessica slurred.

“We need to talk,” Suzanne said to Blackwing, speaking Q’estirian.

“What di’ she shay?” Jessica asked thickly.

“It was something…personal, Jessica. Please eat. You’ll feel better for it,” Blackwing said in English.

“Yes, Jessica, please eat. It’s important that you keep up your strength,” Suzanne said sarcastically.

The room became void of conversation. The Q’estirians ate and watched Blackwing and Suzanne. None of them understood English and thought all the strange-talk was…strange. Blackwing and Suzanne were watching Jessica as they all ate. Suzanne was half-expecting Jess to pass out and hit the floor, given her level of intoxication. Blackwing was just trying to get his friend to eat enough to offset the alcohol she’d absorbed already.

“I think we need to hire a cook,” Blackwing said after an extended silence.

“Grum K’sha U’ien or human?” Suzanne asked.

“Either is acceptable to me, but I’m leaning more toward the human. I’d like someone able to cook Sichuan, more than once in a while,” Blackwing said.

“Wha’ the hell is a grum ka shoe in?” Jessica asked through blurry eyes. She was wavering in her balance and was about to fall over onto the floor.

“She will have quite the head in the morning,” Suzanne commented. “Why did you let her drink so much?”

“I didn’t let her. You know Jess. She does pretty much what she wants. I couldn’t stop her,” Blackwing said.

“Well, that’s not exactly true, is it?” Suzanne asked. “The Great Warrior couldn’t handle Jessica? There’s nothing in your bag of tricks to get her to slow down on the alcohol? Somehow, I think you could if you wanted to.”

“If she said that she has a problem and wants to quit, I can help. What I can’t do is violate her free will.”

“Take her to her room and put her in bed,” Blackwing said in Q’estirian. One of the guards that had finished eating got up to comply.

The guard bowed slightly and levitated Jessica to her room, placing her gently on the bed. As he closed the door, the covers flipped over Jessica without apparent external forces causing it.

Once the guards finished, they cleaned up and left Blackwing and Suzanne alone in the living room.

“What was it you wanted to tell me?” Blackwing asked in Q’estirian.

“I am to pass the word that the Hamadryads are backing Phelonius’ termination. So, it is the great council and the Hamadryads.”

“I was expecting that,” Blackwing mused. “He has angered enough people over the years that now they are all screaming for his head.”

A guard entered, stood a respectful distance, and waited to be recognized.

“Yes?” Blackwing acknowledged.

“Pardons, sir, but a messenger is waiting to see you and the Lady.”

“Send them in.”

The guard bowed and backed away. The guard was replaced by the messenger.

“Yes?” Blackwing asked. “You have a message for me?”

“Yes, sir, I have a message from Cornelius Blackwing.”

“I wonder what he wants,” Suzanne whispered.

“Mister Ambassador. Greetings. It is with a glad heart I request your company and that of the Lady Suzanne, immediately in my private chambers at Sh’tuk Q’estiria Faqin concerning a private matter.”

The messenger bowed and left.

Blackwing stood. “I’ll be making a trip to Sh’tuksa Q’estiria Faqin,” he said to the senior guard. “I’ll need three guards to escort myself and the lady, well-rested and well provisioned. It will be as quick a trip as is possible.”

The guard bowed.

“Also, I need the remainder of the guards to keep Jessica here and away from the alcohol and her firearm.”

The guard bowed again, and Blackwing dismissed him with a wave of his hand. The guard disappeared.

“I wonder what this summons is about,” Blackwing commented. “It can’t be good news, being summoned this way. Usually, it is ‘at your earliest convenience’.”

“He did start it ‘with a glad heart’,” Suzanne said, “so, how bad could it be?”

The trip to Sh’tuksa Q’estiria Faqin, the court of the Q’estirian Ruling council, took three days of hard traveling. Once Blackwing and Suzanne presented themselves at Cornelius Blackwing’s office, his adjutant told them to wait, and he entered Cornelius’ office. A long time passed before he returned.

Finally, the adjutant escorted them into Cornelius’ office.

“Socrates!” Cornelius greeted jovially. “And the lovely, as always, Lady Suzanne.” Cornelius gave a stiff bow to Suzanne.

“Cornelius,” Suzanne said coyly.

“What did you want to see us about that would warrant us presenting ourselves immediately?” Socrates asked flatly.

“Ever the pragmatist, eh, Socrates?” Cornelius cleared his throat. “Alright then, I have something I think belongs to you.” Cornelius turned towards his private entrance and clapped his hands together loudly.

As the door opened, two individuals, manacled and unwashed, were led into the plush office.

Socrates looked blankly at the pair and said nothing until the guards were dismissed. After the guards left, he attempted to make a more systematic assessment of the pair.

One of the pair seemed…lopsided. In Socrates’ opinion, he was older on one side of his body than the other, but that would be ridiculous. A glance at Suzanne showed that she found the smell offensive.

“Blackwing?” the apparent younger of the pair said…in English. “Is it you?” the individual started to weep. “And Suze!”

Suzanne got to her feet and looked closer, in shock. “Irving? Is that you under all that dirt and hair?” she asked.

“Do these belong to you?” Cornelius asked Socrates in Q’estirian.

“Not exactly,” Socrates responded. “I think I know who they are, just not how they came to be here.”

Cornelius exhaled loudly: “That is a major point for the council. Everyone is panicked, and they demand to know how they managed to get here in the first place.”

“Where did you find them?” Socrates asked.

“They were in the vaults, in one vault in particular. The vault belonged to Aenta Nighthawk.”

“There was an Aenta Nighthawk assigned by me to protect these two before the catastrophe,” Socrates related. “I included his name in my casualty report the day after. How long have they been here?”

Suzanne, who kept an ear out for Cornelius' questions, repeated them to Irving and relayed his responses. “Irving says they were in the captain’s office when an alarm sounded, and then a gigantic black something was thrown at them by the Q’estirian guard. The next thing he knew, he was here, sort of. Not here in this office, but here.”

“Irving? What is an Irving?” Cornelius asked.

“The younger of the two,” Socrates informed.

“We asked them several times who they were and got no response,” Cornelius said.

“Did you ask them in English?” Socrates asked.

Cornelius looked blank. “What is this…English…you are asking about? I have never heard of it.”

“Just as you did not understand them, they did not understand you. To them, we are speaking gibberish right now. They do not understand Q’estirian.”

Cornelius looked shocked. “They don’t understand Q’estirian? How can they thrive, or hope to be civilized, without the beautiful mother tongue of the Seven Known Planes?”

Socrates chuckled: “They probably think the same thing about you not knowing English.”

“Do you have any means that they may shower?” Suzanne interrupted.

Cornelius looked dumbstruck. “You mean they want to stand out in the falling rain?”

Suzanne smirked. “No, but strangely, that is close to the mark. They want to wash their bodies…in water. Do you have something like that?”

Socrates shook his head. “They will have to wait until we get home…assuming they are free to leave?” he looked to Cornelius questioningly.

“How did they get here?” Cornelius asked. “I need to know if I am not opening the Seven Known Planes to invasion by releasing them.”

“From what I can understand,” Socrates stated, “the guard assigned to them got them away from the trap that Phelonius had set. He had no idea if it would keep them safe, but he tried and succeeded, apparently. They cannot get here on their own.”

“How will you get them back to their own plane?” Cornelius asked.

“The obvious way is the same way they got here,” Socrates said. “They cannot go through a portal; they have…devices…that prevent the portal’s use, so they have to go the same way as they arrived. Suzanne, please explain it to Irving.”

Socrates pulled out the black cloth he last used to move the bookstore. “Ready?” he asked the pair. They nodded, and Socrates tossed the fabric, and it covered them. As it did, the pair disappeared.

“Make certain they do not return here,” Cornelius said sternly.

“I would suggest certain of our brothers learn English. It should be part of their training, should they need to travel to the Eighth Plane.”

“I will take it under advisement,” Cornelius said.