Month 12, Day 7, 5:00AM

Frank Poe

Frank would never willingly describe his encounter with the Aberrant after the fate ritual went so very wrong. His doctors at the Retreat tried and failed. Only the Red Guard drug the story out of him. Once.

This was not as bad, and many times worse.

At least this time, he didn’t know anyone affected by it, and didn’t need watch them torn apart. Ever since the accident, he hated being touched. But, when She had done it, he finally felt relaxed and comfortable among the crowd in a way he’d not experienced in a long time. Only subconsciously did he not stay in among the crowd closest to Her. She did not, however, let him escape too far from her shimmering, fascinating, and mesmerizing form.

But, fascination also came with longing, and that did not make his experience pleasant. This aberrant seized the mind and squeezed. Frank lost almost all control, and in that state he’d stood transfixed by the terrible, scarred, graceful, and beautiful figure of Her. From the moment he’d despaired, his will shattered and what was left of his mind scrabbled amongst the broken pieces.

From the moment She touched his shoulder and broke his spirit armor, She was his world. Already strained, Frank could not muster any motivation to stop the euphoria that came from gazing upon her. He’d known better. But, his emotions had lead him astray.

Most people think they make decisions based on logic, but they don’t. They decide what they want to do, then they fill the logic in afterward. Frank knew this. The mind held many traps for the unwary, and the University tried to warn its graduates about all of them. Frank had fallen for this trap, and in hindsight, he knew it.

In addition to the despair of his failure, he had trapped himself in his own recrimination.

So, instead of fighting back the compulsion to be fascinated by Her, Frank’s exhausted mind did no more than observe, and sooth itself in a strange half desire.

Hours had passed. Vaguely, Frank was aware that more and more people joined the vigil. She danced, and the dance contained sweet dreams and visions of unescapable nightmare.

In the throws of Her power, nothing would be as beautiful. Eventually, Frank’s reason did batter against the doors of his mind, seeking a way out. But, his reason possessed no strength. Frank’s strength had been sapped by his failures. He felt increasingly sure Marie died; either to Her, or Her protective and violent self-appointed protectors.

Binky, for example, always flanked Her, and was compelled to protect her just as strongly as Frank felt compelled to watch. Frank idly wondered, as he observed the beautiful red scars that accented Her legs like the etching on decorative glass, was Dinky’s protectiveness his idea, or was it part of Her enthrallment?

Then, after he and his fellow sycophants had passed the darkest part of the night—even in darkness She glowed with magic—Frank’s adoration was broken by a Raven’s resonating “KRAA.”

He snapped his eyes shut, and he grasped the sound with his mind.

“Marie.” He whispered. That was her spell. She had called to a raven. But, it also felt like she’d called to him. Frank’s mind was clear at last. He would save her. He had not failed.

Waking from the floating dream of Her, Frank finally had some sense of place. His will was clear and forceful. He was in the room with the aberrant, and she was dancing before him. But, he’d never dropped his pipe. The bowl of the pipe could act as a circle, and there was magic there he could activate. Magic designed to help him escape.

Keeping his eyes closed to put Millie’s influence out of his mind, Frank slowly reached in his pocket. If Dinky, or one of the more zealous sycophants, knew he was free of the magic, they’d try to put him back under. So, he’d have to do this without alerting them. He slowly drew his conduit out, to hold in his opposite hand.

Frank breathed. The cool, musty air of the parlor filled his nose. There was a perfume or incense. The parlor smelled like a city, with the people adding their own colognes and swamp flowers.

He lit the pipe with a touch of his will to the pipe’s enchantments. The rich smell of the etherglow kinninnick bloomed. It always reminded Frank of the gulf; the cool smell of wind over water, but without the stagnate smell of decay. Etherglow smelled variously like cypress and thyme flowers; open clean scents without cloying musk.

He gripped his will and snapped his eyes open. To a true sorcerer, this aberrant was nothing more than the sad marionette of Millie Parker. Frank was, if nothing else, a true sorcerer in his heart, even if his mind had temporarily gfailed him. Frank kept his observations detached, and so there was no place for Her to latch onto in Frank’s mind.

He needed to find Marie, and he needed to escape.

A steel smoking pipe doesn’t seem like much of a weapon to an untrained eye. But, when merchant sailors had been banned from carrying swords, they learned better than to rely on the Crowns’ Marines to protect them. Masters of the smoking pipe didn’t teach in some fine lord’s fencing hall. They learned and practiced in the rough seas and dock barrooms. They hid the techniques they knew behind whimsical names and obscure references.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

From these sailors, Frank learned that the business of a fight was to put your opponent down, no matter how. Honor and dueling canes were for fools that thought a fight had rules. He had his weapon ready, and he took a moment to observe his situation rationally. The windows would be the quickest way out, with the fewest of the crowd between him and freedom.

He began to plan his escape from the parlor. It would be better if he didn’t have to touch anyone. There were already too many people around, and he had to resist an urge to just start shoving.

He shifted his grip on the kisseru-pipe to “smoking on the afternoon watch.” Arm raised slightly, wrist turned up, fingers on the bowl-end so that he could switch to an underhand grip in an instant. He could start with an obfuscation.

“Poe!”

Frank spun about to see Marie standing in shock just across the hallway. The hallway, the room; the little house had become crowded, and much taller adults surrounded Marie.

She’d stepped away from the wall. This made her vulnerable.

In the light from the aberrant, Maire’s face appeared as a pale and terrified, her dark clothing otherwise giving the impression of a deep shadow. Poe saw the situation instantly, and took his first step toward her, but the strangers around her were quicker.

One of them grappled with her from behind, and a knife glinted. Marie’s knife. Marie wrenched her arm away, slashing and cutting the thin woman who attacked her. The woman stumbled. In the dark it was impossible to see exactly what happened. But Marie screamed in fear and outrage. And pain. She splayed her arms, and at first Poe could not see where the knife had gone. Had she dropped it?

But then as she was stumbling, she fell haphazardly onto her back against the wall, and stayed down.

Frank willed the circular array at the mouth of the pipe to life and burned the kinninnik. The kinninnik flared as an orange spark in the cool light of the aberrant. Frank brought the pipe to his lips, and blew. White glowing smoke exploded into the room and hallway, completely obscuring everything. He tucked his conduit away, so that his off hand would be ready to use with the fighting pipe.

Even in the smoke, a sycophant tried to grab Frank, pushing Frank away from the doorway. Frank flipped the pipe over, slid it under the man’s wrist, grabbed the mouthpiece end with his other hand, and used the two handed “twisting the auger”; the wrist twisted and then broke with a pop. The man staggered and nerveless fingers released him. Screaming in pain, the man still stood in Frank’s way. Frank stepped into the sycophant, as if moving past him, but using the mouthpiece end of the pipe, struck the forehead of his assailant with “carpenter hammers peg”. The attacker finally stumbled back the crowd.

Frank sucked in air and tried to catch his breath. He hadn’t practiced these skills for a while. His pulse raced, and his heart and lungs pumped hard. His attackers were not ready, and he was.

Even though the smoke reduced the people around him to shadowed outlines, Frank didn’t lose track of them or Marie. He still stood roughly in the doorway, so it was a simple matter to step out into the hallway, with shouts of outrage behind him, and the aberrant screeching something about light.

The smoke’s white glow faded, but it still blinded everyone, including Frank, turning the rooms and hallway into a dark fog.

Frank bent his knees, lowered his center, and strode to the place Marie had fallen and push aside anyone that might have moved in the way.

Only one step into the hallway, an attacker there attempted to grapple him. With the pipe bowl now on the back of the man’s neck, Frank used “stevedore’s hook” to turn the lunge, and “piper’s turn” to use his assailant’s momentum to redirect him and throw him down the hallway deeper in the house into other vague shapes, knocking them to the ground.

Another man lunged at him from behind in the parlor and clouted him in the ear, but, although his ear hurt, there hadn’t been much force behind it. Frank moved on instinct, without bothering with trying to see the attacker. Frank slid toward the attacker’s body, and by feel, slipped under their arm, locking the pipe in both hands on the attacker’s shoulder, and using the pipe for “Cooper at the shave-horse”, which dislocated his arm. A simple kick in the leg to unbalance and “pushing the capstan” sent the figure to the floor in the doorway, temporarily blocking more sycophants from rushing him from the parlor.

Finally, there was space enough, but no light.

Frank grabbed the moonlight sizzle from his pocket, and shook it. He had a moment while they peered through the smoke to find him; the moonlight sizzle lit the smoke like a white fog, further obscuring everything. Frank took another few steps, slipped the pipe in his coat, and scooped up Marie from the floor. He barely noticed how his anxiety faded when he saw her hurt.

“Marie! I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” Her head lolled about, and he wasn’t sure how badly she might be hurt. With all the smoke, and the odd light, Marie was barely more than a dark shape in his arms. Something bumped his chest when he tried to lift her; her chest still had her knife in it. He realized what had happened; she’d lurched so hard to break her attacker’s grip, she had accidentally stabbed herself. Her black dress did not show the blood, but Frank could feel it, dampening his fingers. He almost put her back down.

Frank had always known she was a small; but, Marie was no more than two-thirds his height, and weighed no more than a full barrel of wine. But she did seem to be breathing, although it was ragged. Even unconscious, she was groaning in pain.

The new blossoming glow that cast Frank’s shadow on the wall.

Frank’s smoke wasn’t meant to be more than a momentary distraction, and while the aberrant would hold the sycophants’ attention, that didn’t mean She wasn’t aware. Even as the Koi began swirling out of his coat involuntarily, the aberrant’s magic tried to convince him to look upon Her. She would not give him love, but he’d feel it. Like a warm bath. Like coming home. Tears came unbidden to his eyes.

But, he did not forget the weight in his arms; Marie gave his will purpose. He grit his teeth and resisted.

“NO!” Frank shouted.

Lurching into a run, Frank gave the aberrant no chance to touch him. Frank barreled down the hall. There were more people there, and he did not want to touch them, but, with his momentum, he shouldered away the unprepared sycophants that were at the doorway. When he made the street, the moon was out, and his smoke was drifting through the doorway, his school of koi swimming in the air. He let the koi return to the coat, and he leapt down from the porch onto the street.

Frank ran out into the stygian-blue night, escaping the terrible beauty and magic of that broken doll.