Due Dead West
By: Stabbybaby
The people fish were uppity today. Loyd was losing patience faster than that roadrunner that stole his attunement crystal this morning and was about to deep fry these smug bastards for cutting into his research timetable. He had been at this for at least fifteen minutes, and it was time to stop trying to use sweet reason,
“I don’t care if you filled out the tags for next month’s harvest. That is for next month. If you go outside my mandate, everyone will go hungry. They don’t have endless numbers, even if it feels that way. They take years to raise their young, and we must conserve culling them, or they won’t be around much longer. They are just smart enough to understand when they are being hunted to non-existence.”
The merpeople sitting on their seahorses in lake mead frowned at Loyd and reigned them in as they squiggled in the water, sensing their rider’s pique.
‘Would they be lake horses? Is the leader a lake king?’
Questions for later, Loyd supposed.
The leader of the merpeople spoke in a burbling hiss,
‘Is that the term?’ Loyd wondered-
“WE didn’t fill our tagss for lasst month’s harvessst! Ssso we should get the ssurpluss carried over!”
Loyd needed to be decisive.
‘A puddle jester, he’s got to be joking with this. An example is needed. Maybe an equivalent exchange will be beneficial to resolving this annoyance.’
Loyd pulled a human skull from the bag at his hip that was too small to contain it with ease, then concentrated on one of the merfolk’s party. The crowned minnow clown looked decidedly nervous as he asked,
“What are you doing?”
Loyd held a desiccated finger to his thin lips as he continued concentrating. His duster flapped in a cold wind that sprung up behind him, almost knocking off his leather hat but only slightly fluttering his thin, stringy hair.
The anthropomorphic bass bourgeois opened his guppy mouth to protest the impoliteness as the party member Loyd was concentrating on started screaming. The merfolk he had chosen shrieked in pain that ended in a gargling burble as his insides boiled out of his mouth, and the merfolk’s steed started to panic.
‘What a weak constitution,’
Loyd thought as the merfolk finished turning inside out. The skull he was holding disintegrated, and the merfolk’s steed vanished beneath the waves, screaming all the way.
“There, now you are caught up on your debt for over-harvesting the humans. I would be happy to carry on this judgment, but I have research to continue later, with even more bothersome meetings scheduled to get in the way. Keep this exchange of services in mind for your future…misappropriations of unauthorized harvesting.”
The guppy of a monarch had paled, which seemed odd with the blue scales, but said nothing else as his retinue-
‘School?’-
Vanished beneath the waves after him.
Loyd turned from the shore and trudged away, so the energies from the lake wouldn't interfere with his next spell. Then, he pulled a chunk of marble from his pouch and performed the teleport.
In a moment of swirling energies, Loyd had returned to his office. It was a spartan, ostentatious room of polished marble. A set of dark wood shelves took up the back wall. Lining the shelves were random pieces of stone of various colors.
A gorgeous dark wood desk stood centered in the space with a plant similar to a Venus fly trap on one corner, two trays marked in and out took up space on the opposite corner, with a large strangely leathered book a centerpiece on the enormously ornate desk. The book was closed, the out tray empty.
Swiftly moving from the circle of arcane symbols carved into the floor on one side of the room, Loyd slid behind the desk and sat. Then, pulling a drawer of the desk open, he retrieved a form and started filling out the incident report. Finishing it quickly, mainly because of how much detail was needed to outline the whole thing.
FISH FUCK’S GIVEN EXAMPLE OF OVER HARVESTING EXCHANGE PROGRAM didn’t need much elaboration. The bold letters seemed to get his point across.
Loyd decided it didn’t need anything else for clarification. He placed the finished form in his outbox. Then, sliding a different drawer open, he retrieved today's edition of the Las Vegas Times and browsed the articles. At the same time, he waited for Timothy, his secretary, to bring him the next portion of today’s business.
Thinking of the creature appeared to summon him through the oak door bearing a tray of Tea,
‘Ceylon and Assam,’
if Loyd remembered Timothy’s preferences for putting on airs.
Sure enough, there were a few slices of lemon on the tray. The creature placed the tea tray on the side of his desk, away from the plant, with a similar appearance to a fly trap. Wise, the squat frame of Timothy didn’t lend itself to sudden speed when surprised.
He was only about three feet tall with bone-like spikes down his spine, gray leathery skin, giant bat-shaped ears, and the stature of a slightly bipedal but still stooped dog.
‘I need to have the goat pen replenished for him. He doesn’t do his best work when hungry,’
Loyd added it to his mental list of minor annoyances above meeting with the mayor later today.
“What do you have next for me, Timothy?”
Loyd asked as he sipped from the tea he had poured for himself.
The chupacabra sighed softly in successfully delivering the tea without getting attacked by the plant.
“Well, sir, you asked me to remind you my name is Jim. Timothy was my grandfather. That task completed, you have a nine o’clock with the sasquatch tribe leader at the Less than Salty Spitoon one Elder chief Sinctum. Followed by a nine-thirty consult with one Dr. Jerkyl. There is a small break for brunch, then a lunch meeting with the prospective mayor, Mr. Boul, and his client on a matter of criminal possession.”
Loyd’s thin lips pursed in distaste at the thought of who he now remembered was not the actual mayor. That peculiar idea that the “people” should be “governed” by their kind should have been stamped out back when that upstart had been rabble-rousing,
‘Jeff washing stone? Was it?’-
No matter. At least half a decade was left before anything formal could be settled.
The prospective mayor was a miserable little human concerned with currying favors from anyone who could invest in Las Vegas. Useful, Loyd supposed. More humans made expanding the harvesting rights amongst the various creatures migrating to the area easier.
‘Less hurt feelings over a smaller cut of the bison. Those pesky vampires and prideful werewolves are the worst of the lot. Although the orthodox Jew vamp had been quite a nice fellow,’
He supposed.
Loyd waved away his distaste at having to meet with the mortal, whatever his agenda today, and spoke,
“You’ve left the afternoon and evening open for my research?”
The Chupacabra shifted as if caught out sharing his pay of goats with his girlfriend again,
“There is one more meeting…at two o'clock…with the council. They were quite insistent that you attend.”
Loyd stared at the creature for a moment, unmoving, and said,
“Did that circle of relics say what this was regarding?”
“No, sir. Or not specifically. Vague hints at a disagreement of intellectual property regarding the ley lines you’ve been studying at Lake Mead, sir.”
Loyd stood abruptly and roared at the creature,
“Bad enough, I had to finish my transformation with them trying to interfere, and now they wish to steal my work!? Of the last fifty years!?”
Loyd seethed with anger at the affront.
Those decrepit old fools couldn’t steal the attunement he had been working on.
‘It was too far along to be disrupted without the whole region and everything south of the lake from being destroyed.’
Loyd quickly calmed himself at the thought.
“Jimothy, stop cowering. You’re too useful to be destroyed in a fit of pique.”
The chupacabra straightened from the corner he had scurried to in a vain attempt not to be destroyed. Unfortunately, his master was not always so rational regarding the research being put in danger of being delayed.
“Just Jim, Sir. Thank you for your leniency today.”
“I am heading to the nine o’clock early. Notify the ape tribe of the change. They had better be there when I arrive. Move all of the appointments forward by an hour as well, except the council. I’ll need the extra time to prepare my… talking points.”
The chupacabra bobbed his head and scurried from the room to see the notifications completed while Loyd strode to the shelves and retrieved a bottle of whiskey. Taking it to the circle, he attuned to the circle’s new destination within a few minutes and performed the spell.
With a soft pop of displaced air, he appeared in an outhouse behind his desired destination. The startled man sitting in that outhouse experienced wrathful indignation at his beard getting blown back and the stranger who looked more skin and bones with clothes draped around it than human. It didn’t help his mood that the sudden appearance had startled his leisurely business into being abruptly finished. His voiced complaint was abrupt,
“What in tarn-“
Loyd cut him off with a pointed finger to the chest that emitted a green beam of light. It struck the man’s chest, consuming him, clothes and all, turning them to a fine gray dust that drifted to the outhouse floor.
Loyd sighed and thought,
‘The door to this one should have been locked. Is Jericho slacking again, or is it that busy at the saloon at eight in the morning?’
A query from the next outhouse over answered his unvoiced question,
“Jim-bob? Everything coming out okay over there?”
Another muffled voice sounded,
“Damn it, Steve! Don’t talk to a man doin’ his private business! That’s uncivilized!”
Loyd ignored the now quarrelsome shouting occurring in the other outhouses and opened the door to the outhouse. Placing the whiskey bottle in his hand in his bag, he snagged a broom leaning nearby and swept the ash off the seat of the outhouse into its hole. He went quick with his work, clearing the dust off the engraving in the floor in front of the hole to be sure it would be clear when needed next.
Loyd put the broom back in its place, closed the outhouse door, and retrieved a new lock from his bag. Then, locking the outhouse door, he strode away from the still-shouting outhouses towards the saloon's back door.
Entering the saloon, the place was indeed bustling, unusual for so early in the day. The cause for this became apparent as Loyd spotted the aspiring mayor-to-be on the short stage near the saloon's entrance. He was expounding about some nonsense Loyd couldn’t be bothered to listen to as he scanned the rest of the room for the bartender, Jericho.
Loyd spotted the man serving beers to a group of men at a table, then heading back to the bar. He had spotted Loyd as he turned from his duties. Paling visibly in the light streaming from the front windows, he made a beeline for Loyd.
Loyd missed being able to get drunk. The vampire that had passed through in the last decade had made an excellent blood wine for taste, but it did nothing else than taste suitable for himself. On the other hand, the vampire getting plastered enough to table dance that quaint song after the third bottle had been at least entertaining.
‘What was that song called? Have a Gila monster? That’s not quite right. Bah.’
Slightly panting, Jericho spoke in a breathy voice that interrupted Loyd’s thoughts,
“Marshall Loyd, what an un’spected pleasure to have you grace my fine-“
“Jericho, why was my outhouse unlocked?”
Jericho paled further,
“Well, Marshall. Mr. Boul had set up an event to gather more support for us becoming a rat’eefied city. We’re big enough, he says. Folks flocked down here when he put about he’d pay the first two rounds while he talked. A powerful thirst that early can get yer bowels movin’, an customers were yawin’ bout the outhouses backing up, so I figured with you bein’ out and about, you wouldn’t-”
Loyd held up a hand, to which Jericho flinched.
“Jericho, you’ll not suffer for it. A fellow named Jim-bob already has.”
Jericho started to shake,
“Jim-bob? My brother, Jim-bob?”
Loyd shrugged,
“Maybe. That’s who the other hu-gentlemen partaking of the facilities seemed to think his name was. In the future, do…not…unlock…that…door.”
Jericho, now sweating with his shakes, jerked his head in what Loyd saw was a terrified agreement. The quaking bartender hesitantly spoke,
“Forgive, Marshall. You asked me to remind you my name was Barley. Jericho was my great uncle.”
Loyd’s smile stretched the thin skin of his face into sharper angles as it creased his high cheekbones,
“Why thank you…Barley. Back to your business, I have my own to attend to.”
Loyd turned away from the scurrying sounds the bartender left behind in his flight. The marshal headed to a corner of the room where three hulking figures were clustered around a table, drinking from pitchers. A pungent odor reached his nose as he approached.
“Big chief Stinkums?”
The hulking, putrescent figure grunted in what could be agreement and pushed one of the chairs out from the table with a long leg. Loyd took the seat offered and looked at the sasquatch.
His disguise wasn’t great, but it didn’t need to be with the minor illusion the sizeable hairy creature was working. In Loyd’s experience, any effort to supplement magical skill with physical aid was sometimes necessary, if distasteful.
Underneath it, Loyd could see a being well over eight feet tall, covered with hair and a robust jutting brow. He spoke in an unexpectedly high squeaky voice,
“Greetings, dead man. Our shaman said not to anger you when we moved into your territory. He read the stars, said you had words to share that could mean the destruction or saving of our tribe. We have come to hear your words, speak.”
The voice was unexpected, but Loyd was pleased the astral portents he had placed, like umbral posted signs, were being seen. It meant fewer examples had to be made ahead of time. Then, glancing over his shoulder at the crowd of humans near the stage and surrounding tables, he withdrew a piece of copper from the smaller pouch at his belt and pointed at the chief.
It was a more straightforward spell, he did need to conserve for later, but this was needed.
“This will let us talk without humans hearing anything. Whisper your replies, and only I will hear them. You may address me as Marshal Loyd or Marshal,”
The chief frowned but whispered back,
“Do you fear them then, Marshal?”
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Loyd let out a belly laugh that echoed as a chill wind slapping a long string of cans,
“No, it is simpler to keep them ignorant. I have no desire to rule over this group of humans, but their labor will be needed in a short few years. If they knew they were being managed, they might struggle to live more…vigorously.”
The chief chewed this over before replying,
“Managed? You do not wish them harm, then. This is easy enough. My tribe can commit to not killing any that trespass into our home.”
“You misunderstand. I do not care if you kill them or how. How many you kill is far more important to me. Here.”
Loyd passed him a booklet he drew from his bag.
The chief picked up the booklet and started leafing through it as Loyd continued,
“You will find guidelines on how many you may kill, the application process for more tags if necessary, and a simple guide to the prices for my services to curtail human activity near your residence while you are within my domain.”
“Also listed are the consequences for breaking harvest limits. I encourage you to educate your people as to the courtesy of following my laws while residing nearby. Oh, and that includes the entire region around Lake Mead. Any questions?”
The chief held a finger up to indicate patience was needed as he paged through the booklet swiftly. Pausing on a later page, he asked,
“Eversion?”
Loyd smiled and started tapping a happy rhythm on the table with his hands,
“I turn someone inside out, usually the offender. It is not the most vicious punishment available to me, but it is an effective deterrent. There is no appeal process. My word is law in this region. Think of me as an enthusiastic game warden.”
The chief’s voice seemed a few pitches higher,
“I…see. And may we leave this region without breaking the law, Marshal?”
“If no harvesting laws are broken, and you have not inconvenienced me, I have no reason to speak with you outside of services needed to keep the humans docile. So make sure not to require them often. I am very busy with my research.”
The chief looked to his companions, then back to Loyd,
“Yes… we will not concern you, Marshal. We have no need to hunt men. We will remain unobserved. We will cause you little trouble.”
Loyd’s hands stilled as the smile dropped from his face,
“You will cause me…no trouble.”
The chief laid a hand on one of his companion’s shoulders, who had started growling in fear,
“Yes, Marshal.”
Loyd slapped the table with his smile returning,
“Now, details. Where is your tribe, and how many are there? What is your purpose in my domain?”
The chief quietly shared the requested information with the marshal respectfully. Then, the ape-man relayed why the tribe had migrated to the area. A pestilence of flesh-eating cow beetles had rousted them from their home range. Loyd then questioned how many ape men were in the area and how long they planned to be there.
Loyd listened patiently, asking a few clarifying questions here and there. Finally, after some time in the conversation, Loyd nodded at the three beings and stood. He had ended the cantrip against eavesdropping much earlier in the conversation.
“We’re done here. See that you do not become a problem.”
This was said loudly so the humans could be assured the local law had talked to the strangers. The three sasquatches-
‘Sasquatch? Sasquatches? Sasquatchies? Squatchies, that seems right.’
They quietly exited the building by the front doors, careful not to bump into anyone with their bulk.
Loyd pulled out his pocket watch, checking the time. He snapped it shut and approached the bartender, who was silently weeping as he rubbed down the bar with a mostly dirty cloth,
“Jarlicho, I have an appointment with Dr…Jerky, I believe his name was. Has he arrived?”
There was a sobbing hitch to his voice as the bartender replied,
“It-t-t’s Barley, s-s-sir. He said his name was Jerkyl, and he’s waiting in the private card room for y-y-you.”
Loyd wondered what was bothering the man. He had been fine when he arrived. Ignoring the mercurial mood of the bartender, Loyd headed across the room and into the more ludicrously expensive area reserved for only the most discerning of patrons. Loyd nodded amicably to the inhumanely attractive succubus standing against one wall, Lillian, as he entered, then addressed the undersized man sitting nervously at the luxurious card table.
“Dr. Jerky, I presume? I am Marshall Loyd. My secretary informs me you wish to have a consultation. I assume you have the expected fee?”
The small man, in a tweed jacket with brass-rimmed spectacles and a mismatched black top hat, spoke in a soft and trembling British accent,
“Indubitably, Marshall Loyd. I am addressed as Dr. Jerkyl.”
He placed a small but ornately decorated pouch on the table before him. Loyd sat across from the man and snagged the pouch, opening the pouch and spilling a surprising number of precious stones on the felt of the table. After a quick examination, Loyd scooped them back into his bag, then handed the empty bag back to the man, who appreciatively eyed the succubus.
“Shiny and useful, Dr. Jerky. What is this consult regarding? Here is a bit of free advice to start. Lilian’s dance card has been filled for the month, and you won’t want to pay her prices anyway.”
Lillian huffed at Loyd with an annoyed expression but said nothing.
The small man coughed, politely covering his nervous laugh before speaking,
“Yes…Well…Marshal Loyd, I believe you may be able to help me with my research. You see, it’s rather unstably…trans-formative. Let me be frank, my dear Marshal. I know what you are.”
Loyd raised a hand to his face and leaned that elbow on the table, propping his head up with a tight smile that could make hatred seem comforting,
“Lillian, how would you like a freebie? Frank is asking for it, after all.”
The succubus advanced to the table in a blur and sat beside the small man. She inhaled deeply, expanding the impressive display of her wiles, then started sneezing repeatedly. Scrambling away from the doctor, she gasped in between sneezes and said,
“Somethings…infected…him…not to my…appetites.”
She fled the room while sneezing, gasping, and turning an unhealthy shade of blue.
Loyd’s smile deepened into genuine delight, and he laughed,
“Well now, Dr. Jerkyl, wasn’t that interesting? You have my time for consultation. You’ve paid for that already. Payment for your continued breathing will depend on if you share what caused Lillian’s distress.”
“I have met some of her clients. She has a strong constitution, normally.”
Dr. Jerkyl appreciating the proper pronunciation of his name replied with far more confidence than he had been showing earlier,
“I am no longer human…without my medication. I do not wish to go into the details, but I will give a summary as a professional courtesy to a fellow researcher. I wanted immortality. I had looked into and followed the path of improving the human body to endure through the careful application of alchemy. But, alas, I was not careful…or patient enough.”
Dr. Jerkyl sighed at the folly-filled arrogance of his younger self.
“After foolish application of a concoction that I failed to use on an appropriate test subject other than myself, I was overcome, at increasing frequency, with episodes of irrationality and… discourtesy most unbecoming. It has extended my life impressively, but the negative side effects are becoming more pronounced. They are decreasing my quality of life as I must relocate my place of residence every few weeks.”
“This is what I wish to consult with you about. A mutual acquaintance of ours, one Marquis De Sade, gave me your location and nature. I believe it was out of pity, hoping you could aid me in fixing my formula to attain more consistent…stability.”
The unfortunately afflicted physician smiled at the memory of a dear friend.
“He is a very caring man, despite being French. I had hoped you would be willing to share your own…methods.”
Loyd had leaned back in his chair as the doctor had summarized his tale, a thoughtful expression gradually smoothing his face to polite interest.
“Well, now. Alchemy was an avenue I abandoned after a few decades, but if Alphonse recommended you, he would owe me a favor moving forward. My methods will not help you. I’m afraid it is a rather long-view approach and will clash with your own. You would definitely hate the self-kill switch required in the final moments of success.”
The doctor spoke after paling at the casual suicide implication,
“Yes…well. That is unfortunate. I had desperately hoped to study your methods. Would you be willing to share even small pieces of your own studies? No?”
Loyd shook his head in a firm negation at the suggestion.
“Well, then. To set your mind at ease, the Marque said to mention the favor would be you repaying him, something about the Australian outback and an aboriginal garratji?”
Loyd smiled in amusement,
“Ah, a misspent youth comes back to haunt me. Very well. His debt is clear, and you have paid for my time. Oh, one more thing before we get into the details of your issue, I have some educational material for you if you will be in the area for an extended period.”
Loyd withdrew another copy of his booklet from his bag and reviewed the rules and regulations of how Dr. Jerkyl could avoid an abrupt, permanent termination of his problem. Finally, after the niceties had been dealt with, Dr. Jerkyl shared a notebook with Loyd detailing his alchemical experiments and the data he had collected over the decades.
They discussed possible avenues of correcting the issue, with Loyd offering lodging at a very reasonable rate to a fellow seeker of life. The recently abrupt vacancy even had an attached laboratory. Loyd would need to get rid of that junk young Thomas had been working on, but it would be ready by Tuesday, he assured Dr. Jerkyl.
“I’ll have Lillian take care of that. She'd be happy to do so if I followed through with that offer of a freebie. She is very good at adhering to the rules and quite skilled at a surprising variety of mundane tasks. She’s been here with us for almost…two years now, I think? Longest we’ve had someone, last I remember. I’d have to check with…Jimothy? Tim-bob? What was that blasted lizard-faced goat sucker’s name? No matter.”
It was a true pleasure to consult with you, Dr. Jerkyl. It’s so lovely to speak with a fellow and not have to consume his soul.”
Dr. Jerkyl’s composure slipped a bit at this casual mention of someone being consumed. Murder and mayhem were unpleasant necessary expedients sometimes, but consumption was… ghastly.
“Yes, erm, well…A pleasure on my end as well, truly. Shall we speak more next Tuesday, then?”
“Yes, that will be fine. I’ll have the chupacabra swing by once you’re settled in to take the next payment.”
“Payment? Marshal?”
“Of course, every time we consult, I must be compensated, or what’s the point in using up my valuable time?”
Loyd shook the man’s hand and exited the luxurious card room, whistling jauntily for a dead man. As he was leaving the card room, he heard the doctor mutter,
“What’s a chupacabra?”
Entering back into the main room of the saloon, Loyd took out his pocket watch to check the time. Then, snapping it closed, he strode to the small stage near the door. The ambitious Mr. Boul was still expounding on his glories, emphasizing how much Nevada needed Las Vegas to become a new center of attraction for the state.
The fellow sitting on a stool next to the stage was well dressed in the latest fashion, Loyd guessed. His idea of fashion was a century or two outdated, after all. He didn't even have a ruffled shirt. The fellow had a somewhat dejected face with a slumped posture.
Ignoring the sad sack next to the stage, Loyd personally thought the railroad built a few decades ago was plenty of reason, but he didn’t begrudge the man his goals even if they were pointless.
‘Having a goal is sometimes more important than what the goal is.’
Finishing his brief journey to the stage, he opened his mouth to address the man when Mr. Boul interrupted the pontification process,
“And I see our good resident Marshal has arrived to discuss a matter of import in our glorious rise to cityhood. Enjoy the drinks, gents. We can continue this afternoon. Marshal Loyd? Shall we take a walk to discuss our business?”
Loyd hid his fury at a human dictating how a discussion should start, rooted in the fact that the man had requested assistance with something but nodded his agreement for expedience. All these meetings were taking too much time.
A screaming panic from the other humans present would be a pain to deal with.
Loyd headed for the swinging doors with haste as Boul waved for the long-faced, richly dressed man to accompany them.
Exiting the boardwalk, the trio walked down the dirt street, avoiding the occasional pile of road apples. Waiting until they had at least the appearance of privacy with no one too nearby, Loyd spoke sharply to the man,
“Boul, you are treading a line with your presumption. You are one of the few humans that know of my role here. Remember that I do not need tags if I am the one harvesting. You asked for this meeting as a request, as a supplicant. Remember your place.”
Boul stumbled at the rebuke, with his companion barely reacting.
“Marshal, I meant no offense. Please believe that I only want-“
“Your needs, wants, and continued existence depends on how long they are convenient to me. I have other issues to attend to today that are far more important than the minor expediency of your breath repeating for the duration of this conversation. What…do..you…want?”
Boul collected himself, scratching at a breast pocket with visible nerves before speaking,
“As I discussed with your…assistant yesterday. My client Mr.-“
Loyd stared at the breast pocket Boul was still scratching at as he interrupted again,
“Don’t care who he is. Why are you bothering me?”
Loyd brushed his long coat aside to ease getting to the seldom-used six-shooter on his hip. Boul started to panic as he responded,
“He’s possessed! A ghost is forcing him to acts he finds unseemly!”
Loyd paused, now interested.
“True possession is rare. Why was he chosen as a target?”
Loyd caressed his holstered gun thoughtfully. Boul pressed his fingers into his breast pocket.
“His name is-“
Loyd gripped the handle of the pistol,
“Next detail, more succinct.”
Boul attempted to withdraw an object, but it fell from his grasp and glittered in the dirt at the trio’s feet.
“Oil Baron! One of his workers died in his parlor! Family got the ghost to possess him in revenge! Forcing him to do acts of charity that are bankrupting him!”
Loyd looked at the holy symbol in the dirt between them with amusement,
“Mr. Boul, to be clear, your trinket would not have protected you. You are far from a holy man. Second-“
Loyd released his pistol grip and cast a spell of illusion, diverting the attention of any observers away from the trio. He reached out to the hopeful soul, acting to correct the world’s wrongs committed by the oil baron and ripped it from within his body. Placing the now audibly keening and visibly struggling soul into a gem he withdrew from the pouch tied at his belt, Loyd continued,
“Our business is concluded. Go away.”
Boul collected his companion from the ground without a word. The man was sobbing as he shakily got helped to his feet, clutching the seat of his pants,
“I shat myself, Pete! You said he would help! Not make me into a laughingstock!”
“Shut the fuck up, Francis. We are done here.”
The two men stumbled from Loyd at a hobbling pace to accommodate the extra heavy pants. Loyd pocketed the screaming gem, whistling jauntily again, then headed back towards his office the conventional way.
He descended the stairs behind the town jail into the basement and waved to Timothy to remain seated as he passed through the front office. Then, moving into his marbled room, he approached the shelves behind his desk. Replacing the bottle of whiskey, he had used earlier, he snagged a piece of quarried stone and approached the teleportation circle.
He was transporting to his next bit unexpected of business, the abandoned silver mine several tens of miles outside of Vegas. Moving deep into the mine, he ignored the previously living miners scattered and moaning throughout the area. In one of the deepest caverns, he dragged some rotted wooden walls and crates out of the way of an elaborately carved door obscured by the debris.
Placing a key in the lock, he opened the door, and a blast of ethereal magic resounded throughout the room as a group of poltergeists materialized around him. The largest of the group spotted him and said,
“Oh, it’s just you, Marshal. See you later.”
The group vanished as Loyd waved at them. He moved inside the hidden room and disabled the physical traps before approaching the shrine. He carefully removed the lid to the rune-covered stone box on the altar. Tendrils of shadow snaked out of the box as he removed the still-screaming gem from his pouch.
He tossed it into the air over the tendrils, and they snatched it greedily, withdrawing into the box. Then, carefully replacing the box lid, he sighed contentedly at the garbled ethereal screams and crunching noises within the container.
Resetting the traps in the room, he withdrew from the area after untidying the rotted wood obscuring the room’s entrance. He exited the mine, casually slapping one of the miner zombies out of his way. He transported himself back to the office once he was outside the mine again.
Exiting his office of doom and despair, he spoke in a raised voice to his secretary, who was making a noisy lunch with his girlfriend,
“Damn it, Timothy! I don’t care if it’s romantic. Take it outside! You two are making a mess! I’m off to Lake Mead to prepare for the council meeting in a few hours. Have this cleaned up by the time I get back.”
Timothy and his girlfriend,
‘Glinda, was it? Doesn’t matter.”
Looked up with entrails from the still screaming goat trailing between their mouths. Timothy slurped up the morsel and gave a quick lick to his mate’s face as he replied with respect in his voice,
“Jim, sir. Yes, Sir. Won’t happen again, sir. Come on, Linda, let’s finish our meal by the stables. That’ll teach that uppity stage hand to yell at us last time. See you soon, sir.”
Linda said nothing in return, grabbing one end of the still screaming goat and helping her beau up the stairs with it. As the pair struggle up the stairs with the burden of struggling takeout, Loyd smiled with cynicism,
“Ah, young love. What can you do? They’ll learn.”
Dropping the matter from his mind, he grabbed a new object from his shelves in the marbled room to transfer himself. Next, he grabbed some other objects from his desk before performing another teleport. Finally, arriving at the shores of Lake Mead, he traveled a few miles down the coast to an old shack about a hundred yards from the shore.
The shack was surrounded on one side by large boulders Loyd had put in place years ago to cut down on the wind. He had tried trees at first but was horrible at keeping things alive for more than a few months in his regular presence if they could not care for themselves.
He started prepping the area with counter-curse formations, hidden entrapment circles, and other nasty surprises for his meeting.
After a few hours of casting and physical labor preparing the site, he laid a fire in a circle of stones just outside the shack. He took a seat on a bench near the doors, idling while whittling a random piece of wood.
A time of the quiet, cackling fire passed before a pair of raggedly dressed humanoid shapes appeared without warning across the fire from Loyd. Their bodies were as gaunt as Loyd’s slender frame. A sense of great age came from both of them.
They took seats across from Loyd on similar wooden benches as his own. The more prominent figure spoke,
“Young caster, we are disappointed you are still seeking your destruction through insubordination against the council’s will. This site’s ley lines are not to be meddled with by the likes of you. The consequences of your actions are dire.”
The smaller figure hissed in a high-pitched, whining tone,
“We know you stole Graxid’s research! You will stop this at once!”
Loyd spat back,
“That old fool is not entitled to the research I conducted just because I was his apprentice! He and your council failed at stopping my ascension, and you all will fail again! I am so close. The humans have no clue their proposed dam was my idea, and Graxid will not steal my triumph. Take that back to your council.”
The larger figure sighed heavily to itself and gestured at a line of disturbed earth leading from the shack to the line of boulders to one side of the shack nearby,
“Why do the young always monologue instead of just acting when needed? This is why you upstarts always fail when attempting rebellion. You did a poor job hiding the traps you set before this meeting. None of them will work. Look at that shoddy burial of a line in your entrapment circle. We could see it immediately.”
Loyd looked down at the line of disturbed earth the larger Lich had gestured to. His eyes followed it away from the shack to the boulders to the side of the site. He spied a familiar ratty, black top hat poking over one of the smaller boulders. It was moving up and down in short motions jerkily. Loyd stood swiftly,
“That wasn’t mi-“
His bark of anger was drowned out by a swelling explosion of fire that erupted from the side of the shack facing the fire. The shack's roof and other walls disintegrated under the explosion's force. Thick metal plates, stubby rusted nails, horseshoes, and railroad spikes ripped through the three figures just before they were engulfed in a billow of flame and fury.
The explosion over, with debris still raining down, a form with a tweed jacket bursting at the seams and a ratty top hat danced around the outside of the boulders with a sing-song chant on his lips,
“Millions of pieces, pieces for me! Millions of pieces, pieces for free!”
The hulking brute of a man shuffled gaily along, singing his song as he scurried around the devastated shack, picking up what pieces of the three figures he could find with difficulty. A piece of a finger here, chunks of burnt flesh or bone there.
Slowly filling a sack he carried with as many pieces of the three figures as he could find, he muttered to himself,
“I don’t know why I do this for you, Jerkyl. If it would stop me, I just wouldn’t, you fop. Oh, quiet down. You knew what I would do when we came here….”
He paused to listen for a moment before hefting the now-filled sack over one shoulder easily,
“Why would I care for that trash of a ‘book’ that skinny git gave us? Eh? He’s been dealt with, and the lab has more dynamite…no, it was his lab. Now it’s ours. You worry too much. My ‘spearment was a complete success. Aren’t you proud of my profession-or-ism? If you have a problem with my medicalology, you can do this next time.”
The hunched while hulking figure of Mr. Hiding shuffled away from the site of his experiment, satisfied his theory of ‘more fire’ being an effective collection method. Dr. Jerkyl, trapped in the back of his mind, could only think to himself,
‘Why couldn’t we try my way for once?”
Mr. Hiding did not Deign to answer. They had new frontiers of science to explore.