The dark night was still once Arc killed his engine, bringing the rumbling engine to a halt and the beams from the headlights fading rapidly. He climbed from the car and looked around, making sure that nothing was lurking nearby, for nearby was all he could see.

Phantom Joyce

The seeker sniffed the air. “It smells like vinegar.”

“Then we’re close,” said Arc, drawing his spellcaster and ensuring he had a couple of cartridges loaded. “How well do you know black bubblers?”

“Well enough to know that they’re immune to several elements and their bodies will melt your flesh on contact.”

“As long as you’ve got a plan for if they sneak up on you,” said Arc. He looked around in the darkness. “Which will be easily done when we can’t see much.”

Joyce put a hand in his coat pocket and pulled out a small glass sphere. He held it to his mouth and blew gently on it. From within the sphere came a warm glowing light that swirled around within the glass like a serpent, leaving a trail of sparkling dust in its wake as it moved within the confines of the sphere.

“Fancy,” said Arc and Joyce smirked, shifting his handlebar moustache up. “Where’d you find a device like that?”

“Bought it from a junk vendor,” replied Joyce. “He thought it was a mere ornament, but I knew there was more to it. It had a whiff of magic about it.”

“Are you telling me you can smell magic?”

“Almost as well as we can smell the slimes from here. It leaves a sweet scent in the air that I’ve attuned myself to picking up on.”

Joyce walked into the wilderness with his light guiding him. As the man moved along, Arc kept close behind and constantly shifted his eyes from left to right, watching their surroundings. For Phantom Joyce to be so calm and collected told Arc that the man did not know the extent of the creatures he was dealing with. Black bubblers were no mere oozes; they were among the deadliest of the lot, able to detect faint movements in the soil with no need to see or hear. Not only did their bodies burn to the touch, they packed a hefty punch when they shaped their bodies into solid objects and lashed out.

Arc was far from an expert when it came to knowledge of the oozes, slimes, and jellies of the world of Maestria, but he had come across enough of them lurking in the dark corners of ruins that he had little trouble disposing of them. A single Arcane Shot was enough to take out the lesser ones, but the black bubblers often took a couple of hits to fell.

Joyce stopped and smelled the air. “We’re a little off the mark,” he said and then turned thirty degrees to his left. After taking a couple more steps he nodded. “Yes, this is the way.”

“You’re like a hound with that nose of yours,” said Arc, looking over his shoulder to where he believed the truck was. “Is it a natural gift or…”

“Or is it training? Cybernetics? Magic?” said the seeker with a low laugh. “It is what it is, my friend. It is what it is.”

“Fair enough,” said Arc. It was far from a satisfactory answer but he knew it was in bad taste to continue probing a stranger who did not want to answer him.

As the duo walked along, the acidic smell of vinegar grew stronger and Arc didn’t need Joyce to tell him they were going the right direction. The faint sound of fizzing reached their ears, occasionally joined by the popping of bubbles. Arc looked ahead and saw a sheer drop leading into a pit. The oozes lay somewhere down below and it did not seem as though they were aware of the humans just yet.

Before Arc could tell him not to, Joyce flicked his wrist and tossed his glowing sphere into the pit. Arc was aghast as the stranger walked forward and surveyed the pit below as the fizzing and popping grew louder and louder. Arc ran towards the pit and looked inside. Climbing up the stone were a dozen black bubblers.

They were as thick, viscous organisms that moved wholly unnaturally with their jerking lunges and rolls. They had no eyes, no ears, no mouth, and just enough sentience to know they had to feed. Not a thought coursed through the minds of the disgusting blobs of living acid; they were creatures of pure instinct.

Arc pointed his gun at the nearest of his foes and fired an Arcane Shot into it, blowing off a chunk of its body, but the bubbler continued to ascend to the surface alongside its fellow oozes, barely phased by the magical attack. A small speck of goo flew up and past Arc, singing a couple of hairs sticking out from the side of his head.

“You didn’t need to waste a shot,” said Phantom Joyce calmly.

“It seems like I did.”

“I’m perfectly capable of disposing of these creatures by myself. I’m waiting for them to get to the appropriate position before killing them.”

“Make it quick then because they’re not slowing down,” said Arc, keeping his gun pointed at the closest of the slimes. If the seeker did not get a move on, he would blast one of the bubblers to pieces and then head for the car.

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As the slimes came within a dozen yards of the two men, Joyce retrieved a bubbling orange potion from a flask within his jacket. He uncorked it and drank it whole, shuddering as the liquid burned his throat like the whiskey had burned Arc’s not half an hour ago. The moustached stranger took a deep breath and then exhaled a billowing jet of flame from his mouth, lighting up the pit and burning the flailing oozes as they kept trying to climb. Had they lungs, they’d have been screaming in agony.

Arc sniffed and then shook his head. “Got this job from an alchemist indeed,” he muttered as Joyce continued to breathe fire over the oozes, burning them and sending a mixture of smoke and stream into the air as the black bubblers shrunk from the moisture leaving their body.

The black bubblers withered into small rubbery lumps before falling from the side of the pit and tumbling down, landing beside the glass sphere that continued to shine its radiant light. Arc let out a whistle, impressed by the potion Joyce had used and how effectively the seeker had used it. Still, he much preferred the versatility of his spellcaster.

“Not bad at all,” said Arc, holstering his gun. “Although a head’s up about your plan would have been nice.”

“Apologies, Arc the Hawk,” said Joyce, tipping his hat. “Sometimes I play my cards close to my chest.”

“You and me both, Joyce.”

Joyce climbed onto the steep slope leading into the pit. “This will only take a moment,” he said before cautiously trudged down into the pit.

If there were any slimes remaining, they had hidden themselves very well for the light revealed everything save for the smallest of cracks. Joyce walked over to a puddle of still moist ooze lying on the ground and started scooping it into his vials, being careful not to let it touch his hand. Once he had filled all but one of the vials, he took out a nice and hacked a chunk off the rubbery remains of an ooze by his orb and put it into the final vial. With a last look around, he retrieved his orb of light and carefully climbed back out of the pit.

The seeker dusted himself off. “That should be plenty to keep the client happy,” he said with a satisfied smile.

“Now that’s over with and you’ve got what you need, shall we head back to town?” asked Arc.

“No, I’m heading on down the road. I’m sure you won’t have any trouble making your own way back to the inn.”

Arc was confused. “What about your horse?”

Joyce smiled and then put a finger and thumb in his mouth. He blew a loud whistle the echoed out into the night. Arc looked around, not sure what to expect. Surely, the seeker could not have called his horse all the way from the Red Whiskey Inn? He listened and the sound of galloping soon reached his ears. He peered into the darkness and a faint silhouette, blacker than its surroundings, came into view. East Wind sped towards the humans and then skidded to a halt, rearing up beside her master.

“Am I right in assuming there’s trickery afoot?” asked Arc with a chuckle. “She was tied up last I saw her.”

“You’re a sharp fella, Arc,” said Joyce, “but I’m going to keep that card close to my chest too.”

He extended a hand and Arc shook it. “I won’t pry further,” said the spellslinger.

The moustached man put his hands on his horse’s back vaulted over her, landing neatly on the saddle. “I’d better make haste if I’m to get these back before they spoil.”

“I know I said I wouldn’t pry further, but I have to ask…you never needed a ride in my truck, did you?”

Joyce shook his head. “Not really, but I reached the conclusion a long time ago that it’s always a good idea to accept a helping hand when it’s offered so rarely. Make no mistake, I do appreciate your kind gesture and I do not forget graciousness.” Joyce took out a small gold piece and flipped it to Arc, who caught it between two fingers. “For the spell bullet you wasted. I know they’re pricey and this should more than cover the cost.”

“Thanks,” said Arc, putting two fingers to his head and giving a small salute. “It was nice meeting you, Phantom Joyce.”

“And you Arc the Hawk. May our paths cross again one day. Safe travels.”

Joyce slapped East Wind on the side and she burst into a gallop. Arc watched as the two vanished from his sight, disappearing from sight and leaving only the fading sound of hooves on the soil behind. Even those vanished in less than a minute. Arc’s newfound friend was a curious man and he wondered if the two ever would cross paths again. If he was to place a bet on it, he would say not, but stranger things had happened in this fallen world.

He walked back to his pickup truck and checked around it to make sure the lingering acidic smell was coming from the pit and not from a hidden bubbler feeding on his car. Once he assured himself that he was safe and the car was intact, he hopped inside and turned the key in the ignition. He turned the vehicle around before driving back onto the road. As he drove, the dim lights of Rye came back into view and he felt an unexpected relief. He could not explain why he was comforted by returning to the town, having spent many a night out alone in the wilderness little concern.

He drove through the streets and quickly arrived at the inn. He parked the truck neatly outside and then strolled back through the doorway. The two old men were still playing cards, but their eyes were more bloodshot than before and they had taken the company of a couple of new empty bottles.

The bored bartender had slumped himself over the counter and was resting his head on his arms. As Arc headed for the stairs, he could hear the faint snoring of the bartender. He thought about how easy it would be for any scumbag to walk in and rob the place, but perhaps the people of Rye were very trusting of each other. Still, there would be nothing stopping him from looting the inn once the old men passed out—not that he had any intention of doing so.

Upon reaching the upstairs walkway, the door to room three creaked open and a sliver of Jack’s face appeared in the crack.

“Everything all right?” he asked in a low voice.

“Peachy, Jacky Boy,” said Arc with a smile. “I went for a short drive with a new friend and took care of a couple of nasties. Cost me a spell cartridge, but I made back the gold with a little extra change so it seems like I’m blessed with good fortune tonight. Have you slept at all?”

“No. I heard the truck starting up and I was worried something had happened. I knocked on your door and when you didn’t answer, I thought I should stay up to make sure you came back.”

“I’m all good, my friend,” said Arc, giving the young man a nod. “I appreciate your concern but you don’t need to worry about me. Get some rest because tomorrow will be another long day.”

“I will. Goodnight.”

Jack closed the door and Arc stood there quietly. He now realised why he was comforted by returning to town. It was stupid of him to go out and leave Jack and Julie here alone when they had no means of getting back to Pembroke without him. They were two youngsters and, capable as they were proving themselves, they depended on him.

Ashamed of his recklessness, he walked over to room four. He turned the key, headed inside and then locked the door. Without even bothering to turn on a light, Arc threw his bag and jacket on the floor, kicked off his boots, and then carefully placed his scarf and belt on the small silhouette that was the side table before flopping onto the bed. Seconds later, he was asleep.