ATHENS.
‘...the Boars are now up by five. Listen to that crowd! We haven’t had a … It’s collapsed! The left stands collapsed! It’s a calamity! The tanks were too much! Send help! Send help!’ The old arena’s new seating had catastrophically failed decades ago. Over two thousand dead. As he and Lagen approached the former Athens Arena, Non recalled Rumbler’s desperate voice describing everything to his young self over the airwaves. On the left, he saw cracked marble transitioning to concrete.
Ᵽ I SOUNDED LIKE THAT? YES, I WORKED HERE AS RUMBLER. THE ENTRANCE IS BEYOND THE TRAIN STATION.
Ñ̰ I SEE IT. INFORM FETLOCK THAT THE GNOLL HAD A TICKET FOR THE AEGEAN EXPRESS.
Following his familiar’s guidance, he trotted past the depot.
“Son, do you know what you’re doing?” asked Lagen.
“Tacitus suggests a Refuge in Audacity. What’s that estate near the hangar?”
“C.F. Kane owns it. He’ll host the First Flight Fête there for a few more hours while the service crew loads the zeppelin. They’ll shut it down once Fetlock proves the security compromised. Also, Roebling could cancel the flight, I’m sure he’s here somewhere. I’d suggest sagacity over audacity.”
A plaque over a black crystal slab in a twisted garden captured the rest of his attention.
WELCOME TO THE HOME OF TRAGEDY. SOPHOCLES (497–405 BC–103 AD) MADE HIS SECOND HOME HERE UNTIL THE DEATH OF SOPHOCLES, AS HIS FRIEND SENECA WROTE. HIS ONE HUNDRED TRAGEDIES, THE ΕΚΑΤΌ, ALL PREMIERED STAGE RIGHT. THE URANINITE CRYSTAL BELOW SERVED AS HIS BED AND LED TO HIS DEATH.
Non took a step back from the black rock. ‘So long as you don’t use it as a bed, it’s safe. Is stage right on the left?’ To his left, the amphitheater, arena and now zeppelin hangar filled his field of view. A picture of the Erymanthia Boar Zeppelin stood next to the entrance door.
“Are we sightseeing now?” said Lagen, putting an arm around Non to point him away from the deathrock and towards the hanger, gesturing boldly. “There are marvels of engineering to see!”
Ᵽ I’LL PEOPLE-WATCH AT THE PARTY.
“Next!” said a weasel at the check-in desk.
‘A weasel. Fetlock’s notes had a weasel. Ricki. Corrupt, according to Fetlock.’
As Lagen showed engineer credentials and stood on scales, Non looked at the weight log and saw the names and faces of Bearwarden and Yoke. ‘Yoke is huge!’ Non planned a rant.
“This is my son and assistant,” said Lagen as Non got on the scales. “See you inside.”
“No credentials, no entrance,” said the weasel, keeping his hand out suggestively.
Non presented his badge. “I’m Agent Ñ̰. I need to get a ticket.”
“I meant, no ticket, no entrance.” The weasel wrote, “AGENT N, 512kg, DENY,” then he stood on the table to poke Non’s chest. “I can’t stop your pop, N, but half a ton? No. No ticket, no further.”
Non recalled Alan Moore’s bravura oeuvre as roiling rage boiled behind his eyes, giving his contrived rant a rising crescendo of fury.
“Bad vibes and variance? Such temerity! You’ve given each voyager vis-a-vis vows and verity? To clarify, you’ll verify that vandals vying to terrify this very craft didn’t send subordinates to suborn and bribe you to circumscribe our safety measures? I won’t find promises of pleasures or lavish treasures on your person?” Non opened the vest of the weasel, exposing a wad of cash.
Even browbeaten, the weasel wasn’t cowed enough to kowtow. “You won’t get a ticket.”
”I’m head of security,” said a boar in a suit and no hat. “What’s going on?”
“Bribery,” said Non, gesturing to the weasel’s perfidy. “Agent Holmes asked me to investigate. I want to get a ticket as a security measure.”
The boar looked at Non’s weight and laughed.
♫ WORDPLAY FAILED. YOUR EQUIVOQUE IS A FLAW.
Ᵽ BEARWARDEN IS IN A SERVING TENT SHAKING A DRINK. HE OWNS THE TERRESTRIAL AXIS STRAIGHTENING COMPANY, TASC. YOKE THE CENTAUR IS AT THE TENT ENTRANCE.
Bearwarden [https://i.imgur.com/6KDuuFY.png]
“Secure this evidence. Tell my Dad I’ll be in soon.”
He galloped. ‘I can replace Yoke. What can I do as an Agent? Would the Grassleaf token work better?’ A clipboard guard asked for Non’s name at the mansion’s courtyard entrance. ‘Do I ask the gate guards to send a note? Would a mild ruckus work better?’
“Yoke. Bring him here,” Non said, gripping the bicep of a different guard and lifting him into the air.
“I think he’s–Put him down!”
Non dropped the bicep guard once past the clipboard guard. “Yoke! Come and face me!”
‘Use the staff, show the token. Yoke is right there.’
The huge centaur apologized to Bearwarden and handed his jacket to a lesser guard, rising to Non’s challenge. As Yoke galloped towards him, Non turned to face the charging full ton Yoke. Body tackle imminent. Bicep guard scrambled away. ‘Not my best plan.’
Non slammed his staff vertically into Yoke’s front, stopping the huge taur cold by affixing it in space. The fixed point allowed Non to use his own momentum to swing himself around to Yoke’s right. As he pressed his full weight to Yoke’s side, he reached under the centaur to grab a lifted left hoof, while releasing the staff’s immobility. After forcing Yoke to the ground on his side, Non planted a knee to the centaur’s torso.
‘Did I move the yoke token to my feedbag?’ As Non searched, the monster class centaur bodyguard pieced together how he’d ended up on his side, then planned the optimal way to murderize the pony without undue distress to his onlooking client. Yoke grabbed Non’s lower right front leg, about to crush it, but drew pause at the token held before his eyes.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
“Grassleaf calls in a favor,” Non whispered.
Yoke growled as he snatched the token. “What do you want?”
‘Good question. The ticket must be in the jacket.’
“Leave the area,” said Non. He raised his voice. “Now!”
“Off! Fine,” said Yoke loudly. “I’ll go.”
Yoke got to his hooves when allowed. He gave Non a bitter look, then trotted off the grounds.
Non leaned his staff on a table with fancy wine bottles as he checked his leg.
‘Now what should I say? I want to guard you? I’m an agent? Just look tough?’
Ᵽ I’M WATCHING THIS SPECTACLE FROM THE ROOF. THAT’S YOUR FOURTH ASSAULT THIS HOUR. MAYBE GIVE UP?
“Have you finished?” said a cerulean clad knockout blonde aiming a stun gun at him. Unprompted, his heavy staff rolled on the table edge, hitting her left shoulder. He caught her mid-fall, letting his staff and her gun continue to the ground as he set her back on her feet.
║ SORRY. I WAS SENDING FETLOCK HOLMES A SUMMARY OF LOCAL FINDINGS SO FAR.
“Are you okay? Should I get your gun?” A shadow cast over her as a giant of a man joined them.
“Let her get it,” said Bearwarden. With a bespoke suit, immense build, twirlable mustache and money to burn, the CEO of the Terrestrial Axis Straightening Company stood as a prototypical 1870’s action hero—a mix of John Astor from Titanic and the legendary giant Angus MacAskill. “Care to chat?”
Ᵽ TWO SNIPERS TRACKING YOU.
Non hadn’t expected Bearwarden to be so incredibly large. In pictures, he seemed normal.
As Non stood silent, Bearwarden gripped him by the bicep, the hand wrapping around entirely. “You’ve taken out my security detail. Should I be worried?”
“Ah, no sir.” Non suddenly felt high anxiety.
“Let’s meet our host.” Though not as tall as Non, Bearwarden had an unignorable power as he pulled Non along and put up a screen in the air. “I’ll play my cost manager, Malabar Squirrel, informing me of you.”
SQUIRREL: “THE PSIQUAD CUTS PORTAL COSTS! AN EQUITAUR FOUND A SEVEN-PERCENT SOLUTION. WOULD YOU CARE TO TRY IT?”
“I’ll save a lot from that, Noncy, starting with the Senate-demanded lunar fixes.” The man spoke with the ineffable overconfidence of a 7’6” multibillionaire. “Did you see my eclipse yesterday?”
“I saw that, sir. Yes. Sorry to disturb your party.”
“Kane’s party. He’s here by the statue,” said Bearwarden, stopping Non before the host, who wore a sharp gray suit and power tie. “C.F. Kane, meet Non Sequitur, our new celebrity.”
“Non, this is Sophocles, ten tons of marble,” said the irate magnate, shaking hands and snapping a manacle on Non’s wrist. “I do not condone warfare, terror, murder or bloodshed at my parties. Lois, what have we learned about our uninvited guest since he made our acquaintance?”
C F Kane, news magnate. [https://i.imgur.com/ZWupvj3.png]
A sharp reporter had a screen of photos. “Born Nonce Equitaur. Changed to Non Sequitur the Equitaur. A Lernaean Hydra worker. Taken to the crime scene. Earthself died yesterday. We used his She-Taurus pic this morning. Shot by Swee. Found the 7% solution for portals. Offered and used a GC favor. Twin brother Chyron memorialized Lernea at the Book Fair.”
‘Does he know this much about everyone? I should get a message to Chyron.’
“A favor from Sagittario itself? Starting right at the top! What did you ask for?”
“I saved a woodpecker,” said Non.
“The ivory-bill over there?” Kane found this fun. “Hamlet 4-7. Claude, a chalice for the Nonce.”
“Right away, Mr. Kane,” said a guard answering the name Claude.
“If I’m doing a Socrates for Sophocles, I prefer hemlock on ice,” said Non.
C.F. Kane warmly smiled. “Non, you’ve revealed yourself as an esthete intellectual vulgarian. Still, no need to fear the chalice as I call you Nonce without malice. A tragedy, the UK tabloids degrading a word Shakespeare invented for his greatest play. I assure you, my papers do not degrade the Bard. My condolences for both Lernea and your Earthself. I worked with her on upgrades for data transfers. I knew her well, albeit not as well as you. How might I be of service?”
‘He’s on my side. He likes my name. What a wonderful person.’
Ᵽ AFTER MANACLING YOU TO A STATUE?
Claude handed Non a chalice with dark beer, according to his eyes, nose and then tongue. Tasty.
“He peeled away my bodyguards but never got to a point,” said Bearwarden.
“Perchance the Erymanthia Boar is next to perish,” said Kane. “After so great a loss, an attempt to warn others becomes a sort of sentimental journey.”
“My friend Roebling built it! Maybe revenge for Lernea,” said Bearwarden. “Look into these big blue eyes. Do you see employee loyalty? Well, Noncy, did you plan to save our lives?”
As Bearwarden gazed into Non’s eyes, the larger equine eyes glowered back.
‘You moved the moon to wreak havoc. You’re a force majeure voyeur. Time to cue the violence.’
Within dark realizations, the taur found his voice. “Care to watch Lernea’s murder?”
“There’s footage? Footage? You buried the lead, Non. What do you want for it?” asked Kane, snapping his fingers to summon dealmakers.
“Yoke’s ticket,” said Non as a rattled Bearwarden broke the visual entanglement.
The ticket replaced the chalice before a guard un-manacled him and escorted him off the grounds. He looked back at the mingling millionaires, wondering what happened as other guards closed ranks.
Ᵽ I’VE BEEN TO HUNDREDS OF PARTIES AT THIS ESTATE. I WOULD HAVE WALKED YOU THROUGH THE ETIQUETTE. APPEAL TO TRADITION. ALERT! YOKE COMING UP ALONGSIDE. NO, THE OTHER–WATCH OUT!
A fist hit the side of Non’s taurjoin flexor like a sledgehammer. Tick. Within a moment of time, he turned enough to see Yoke’s smiling face. Bicep guard and clipboard guard gave thumbs up. Beyond them, Bearwarden raised a glass in salute. On the roof, Picoid pointed at Yoke with his wing. Tock. Pain exploded in his chest while nerves on the right side of his body stopped functioning. Air in his equine lungs stopped moving. Tick. If Yoke hadn’t held him up, he would have collapsed. He couldn’t move his arm or leg. He smelled toast. Tock. Nerve function returned as pain sensors on his right side activated explosively, everywhere, all at once.
By the time Non’s vision cleared, Non found his forehooves off the ground as Yoke dragged him to the park between the train station and hangar.
“Grassleaf says you overstepped. Got a reason?”
Ᵽ WHILE YOU GET BEAT UP, I’LL GO TO THE HANGAR AND FIND YOUR DAD.
“Something called the Herculean group compromised security for this flight with mind control.”
“That first hit, that’s for what you did to me. But this sounds serious. Why tell me?”
“You’re in security and don’t seem to be mind controlled.” Blood dripped from his horso nostrils.
Yoke body-slammed Non to the grass.
║ I’LL PROTECT YOU!
Icosian swung at Yoke’s head at a speed of 3 meters per second.
Yoke easily caught Icosian in one hand. “A vector staff won’t fool me twice. About 20 horsepower in bursts?” Yoke twisted the resisting staff. “A good workout. Ever been hit in the centaur plexus? It’s a jolly spot, ain’t it? I’m gonna do your other side now. It’s a balance thing. You’ll thank me later.”
Yoke held the staff down with a hoof, then pressed his fist to the other side of the taurjoin.
║ SORRY, BOSS. HE’S STRONGER THAN ME.
“This second punch is for what you did to your father. Three years in slavery, waiting on you. I watched his despair every single day.” The punch sent Non into another cacophonic synesthesia of pain. He struggled to stand up, tasting and smelling his own blood.
“Fun, huh? How’s the first day as an agent going so far?” Yoke pillaged Non’s feedbag. “I’d have punched you like that if we met on friendly terms. You tossed around my friends and coworkers? Then, in front of everyone, you pulled out a favor token? Are you trying to get me fired as you did with Rumbler? Did you think that no one would notice?”
Non coughed. Too much color. He struggled to breathe.
“Know your weak spots. A few minutes ago, Orson wallflowered you. I’ll take Swee’s silver bullet to mark the favor you owe me. Quid Pro Quo. Understand?”
Non finally saw the scratches on the bullet as Yoke held it in front of him. “Good luck – Swee.”
“Yes, Yoke. I understand.” It seemed like the right thing for Non to say.
Ᵽ ATTACKERS IN HANGAR! GUNS DRAWN. PEOPLE FIGHTING AT THE ROOF CONTROL!