Uncle Finneus pulled out two tickets from his pocket, and without any more fuss, we boarded the train. The seats were comfortable, there was at least that. I spotted an old newspaper across from me, left behind by the previous occupant, and picked it up to read. Flipping it over to the front page, I read the headlines of the day before. ‘Terrorism on the Eastern Front: An in-depth Analysis on the War with Brasgard.’
It was most likely a propaganda piece written by some overzealous human, but given I had nothing else to do, I decided to read it. The Elven library, back at home, had quite a few books on the journalism used in the human world. Even my aunt had written a treatise on the use of propaganda within the younger races. The whole idea of it was to use fear and hope to excite their fellow compatriots into a zealous frenzy. One elven philosopher likened it to a horde of bison charging forward. For once the frenzy began, there was little to be done to stop it.
Nations collapsed because some particular writer impassioned his readers to kill and destroy everything in their wake. There was an example, I’ve forgotten the details, where a particular philosopher wrote a treatise against the royal family. It was posted all over the city. By the end of the next week, the castle had been torn down, and the King had been staked to the city gates.
The elven author that had used such an example, went on to say that one must always beware of large human groups. For as the number of humans grows, the intelligence of the creatures decreases inversely. Unless properly disciplined, a group of 5,000 humans becomes like rabid beasts. Sometimes even killing their own. If my readers ever find themselves with the elven library in Tirth, please look up some of the books written on the subject. It is a topic well worth your time.
After reading the article, I had to agree with the books I had read. The article was a clear piece of propaganda. The first thing the article claimed was that the men of Brasgard had sworn an oath to a dark god, and due to that evil promise, they all became impotent. This led them down a dark path, performing unspeakable evils. What kinds of evils are unspeakable? Only the unspeakable ones. The men of Brasgard were so horrific, according to the article. That killing them down to the last man was the best mercy one could provide them. If they weren’t killed, there was a chance they could spread their evil, and civilized people would turn into savages.
Mind you, Brasgard is one of the few countries on the continent that has an entirely human population. For the writer to say such things about his own race was mind-boggling to me. There was no community, or love in his words. It was as if the author was looking at creatures less than him. Almost like how I saw humans themselves.
I looked over to my uncle so I could point out the hypocrisy of the human race and found a glassy-eyed Uncle Finneus. He must have taken one of his mushrooms. He said it allowed him to block out the noise of the rest of the world and focus on a single thing. I argued that he was addicted to the stuff and used it as a crutch instead of figuring out a way of doing it without drugs. But that is an argument for another day.
Instead, I sighed and pulled on the cord in an attempt to attract an attendant. A few moments later, a cheery man with a well-groomed mustache appeared in front of me. “Welcome to One Ore Railway, how can I assist you this fine evening?”
His happy-go-lucky demeanor annoyed me for I was not in the mood for such ridiculous things, “Would you mind fetching me a blanket and a bucket in case my uncle here gets sick? He hasn’t been feeling well for the last few minutes and I believe it could lead to a mess.”
The man nodded, “Of course, sir. I will be back in a second to give you both things.”
He was true to his word and returned with a blanket and a large six-gallon bucket. “Here you are, sir. Let me know if you need anything at all,” said the man.
He tweaked his mustache and offered a bow. It was disgusting. An hour later, Uncle Finneus's body was trying to free itself from the artificial cage he had put himself in. I was thankful for the bucket as it caught more than a few liquids. He started shivering, so I wrapped him in the blanket and waited. As we pulled into the station at Renfield, Uncle Finneus yawned and stretched, looking no worse for taking more than enough drugs to kill any normal elf. I know it had to do with his ability to heal wounds and morph his body, but I am still unaware of the exact details of how that magic works.
Once the train had stopped, Uncle Finneus stood up, “Come along Bartholomew, we have much to do this evening.”
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Off he went at a brisk pace, making me half believe that the hour I had spent catching his puke had all been a bad dream. Following behind Uncle Finneus, we went down from the station into the city proper. There were too many turns to remember them all, I know we took a few flights of stairs and went under a tunnel, but when we stopped, we were standing before a small green door built inside a mountain of marble rubble.
Uncle Finneus walked forward and knocked on the door. At some point, he had changed his appearance. His cane was still the same, but other than that, everything was different. Instead of the porcelain skin of our race, the dermal tissue had become far darker. His face lost his angles, filling out. His eyes changed from silver to purple, and his hair turned curly fiery red. It was so bright, it looked like a fire was burning above his brow.
With the ensemble together, he had turned from the elf I knew into a noble from the island of Pirth. As I’m sure you are all aware, it is quite a famous society.
“What do you want?” came a gruff voice from inside the pile of marble.
Uncle Finneus turned, winked at me, then began to slowly chant, “T’was once a boy in Pirth who promised to never refuse his betters when they came knocking. For if he were to dare, he knew a fate worse than death would befall him. For who dares to question the authority of nobility? Who dares to question god.”
I noticed that the tone of my uncle’s voice had changed. It had turned lighter and sharper. With each syllable being pronounced just a little off-key. Think of someone trying to spit out a dagger with every word uttered.
There was a loud bang from inside, and an old dwarf with a beard that grew in every direction opened the door. Seeing Uncle Finneus, he knelt on the ground and kissed the dirt, “Ahh, hello good sir. Why has such a prestigious person come to my door today? In what manner might I help you?”
“Hello, Androll,” said Uncle Finneus in his odd timbre. “I am in need of some answers. It appears that a secret of Pirth has been released into the world. I hope you have a good enough answer for why it has not been dealt with.”
The dwarf got lower to the ground. Though, I do not know how that was possible. “My Lord, I have failed. Before you punish me, please let me try to fix my wrongs. Who dared to steal a secret from the great island of Pirth?”
Uncle Finneus let out a long, drawn-out sigh. “Androll, Androll. If we gave everyone a second chance, our name and reputation would fall into the mire. Am I to believe that you are unaware of what Mashda of the Narjee has been doing here in the last months? Combining creatures with sentient people is not the realm mere mortals should dare travel. Why has this not been taken care of? Pure-blooded mortals have no right to touch such things above their station. Such things belong only to us.”
As Uncle Finneus talked, the dwarf visibly relaxed, still kneeling on the ground. “Sir, our spies learned about this a few months ago, and I have kept a keen eye on the situation since then. I also thought that this creature Mashda was using stolen Pirthean spells. But after seeing the spell formations with my own eyes, I can conclude that it is just a barbaric, pathetic attempt when compared to the far better spell that You and the great clan use. I am confident when I say that the spell has not been stolen from us in this situation."
Uncle Finneus raised an eyebrow. "Do you have proof of these statements? Are you so confident you are willing to bet your life on this, Androll? I have had to travel without my usual comforts because a rumor had begun to spread about this. I will be very frustrated if I have to return here again."
The dwarf leaped to his feet. "My Lord, if you wouldn't mind waiting here but a moment, I'll go and fetch the documents and memory crystals. I'm sure after reading them, you will be more than satisfied with the information. I triple-checked, my Lord. You shall have no reason to return. I'll bet my life on that."
The dwarf ran into his home. There was banging and a few curses, but after only a short while he reappeared, carrying a stack of files and a case of memory crystals all wrapped up in black canvas. He handed it to Uncle Finneus, who in return, tossed the bundle to me. The dwarf bowed for the umpteenth time, "As I said, my Lord, you should find all the information you want to know in these documents. I've already wrapped them in a travel cover as I see you are in a hurry to leave. Please let me know if you need anything else, perhaps a carriage?"
Uncle Finneus shook his head, then pulled up the hood of his cloak, and grabbed a white porcelain-looking mask from his pocket. He held it up to his face, where it morphed, latching onto him. The dwarf lowered his head again and kept it lowered as we walked away. I had the presence of mind to walk half a step behind Uncle Finneus, keeping quiet as we took turn after turn.
We stopped in a particular back alley, and when Uncle Finneus turned back around, he had already morphed into his original elven appearance. "So, what was that all about?" I asked. "How does Pirth have a spy network this far west?"
Uncle Finneus waved a hand, "The Pirtheans are very resourceful little shits. They have eyes and ears everywhere when it comes to anyone using dark arts. But let us discuss that once we're on the train. For now, we need to head back to the city. I need to read through the files and compare them to the Pirth spies gathered and compare it to what Garnachi and my beggar friends were able to collect. Let's go, shall we?"
It was frustrating not being told what was happening in full. But such was the life of being a nephew of Uncle Finneus. When we arrived at the station, we didn’t have to wait long. And then we were once again traveling on the train back to Glueburn.