Session 22C - Punishment

Talk and talk and talk. One would think that, now that I am no longer a nigh-mindless drone under the direction of my estate and imperator, I would welcome the respite, but the urges of my own private quest, forestalled, grow in me, and I'd lief as finish this business with Jotunheim and be about it.

Whilst the Graf journeyed ahead in its inimitable fashion to the people of Jotunheim, Guilt and I traveled the long course to that world's stem. And yet, even as we approached that absurd space, we realized that our initial plan would not work.

For among those Nobles we could trust and count upon, too few bore the power necessary to effect the stem's severing. Who else could we call on? Haley is too weak, in this at least, and Meon -- I'd sooner see him take the final plunge, were he not, with his imperator, bound on Earth.

Fungus had been to contact our brethren Electricity and Lust. I still sought to contact Reality, but she rejected my prayer. I'll leave to poets to interpret that event.

That meant speaking to the Imperators, and letting them, Amaciel and Cathetel, do this thing. That added to the danger, for such an attack would draw both their fellow Aaron Serpents in protest, and the Excrucians as well. Still, that seemed the most likely course to succeed.

To that end, Mariska returned to Earth, whilst I continued on to find Fungus. That meant descending the stem, a reverse Jack the Giant-Killer (I would give that the best interpretation I could), down to that forsaken world.

And, not surprisingly, there were those awaiting. I would never think of defending Earth at its ... stem. The Excrucians are far better at understanding the underside of the Mythic than I.

Something must be done about that.

A figure arose on a distant mountaintop as I descended through the atmosphere to ground level, and then I became aware of another figure, approaching form behind. I turned to that one, a woman of blond, stars in her eyes -- a Valkyrie, in appearance, and thus likely am Excrucian Shard.

"Creature of Earth, you are not wanted here," she said, slowing her approach. "My master and I bar the way. Return whence you came, and we need not fight."

I shook my head. "I've no desire to fight you. That is not my errand here."

She nodded. "Then begone." She gestured back to the stem. "That way."

"I have other business in this world, and seek only to pass."

"Then we have reached an impasse, and one of us need breach it."

We rushed each other, and she launched the first blow. I could sense her boosting her power to land the blow, but I parried it, thrusting with a riposte that she, too, dodged. She was good, no doubting it -- though not as good as I. And I worried about her "master."

I urged my speed and strength upwards, reversing my spear and driving its butt up into her chin. She flew backwards, the thin air of this world rumbling and cracking as the local sound barrier was breached. Her trajectory, nearly flat, drove her toward her master, and it would have been too much to hope that he'd be struck by her, nor would such a hope have been rewarded. Instead, he moved a handful of inches to one side, to allow his minion to pass, possibly headed for a low sub-orbit.

I was not there to see it, having let my blow and my own power of flight send me in the opposite direction at full speed. A glimpse back was enough to spot the master keeping even pace with me.

That wouldn't do. Could I defeat him? Possibly, but not certainly. And I could not take him to where the Graf was, in Utgard half the world away.

Fine. I'd take the short cut.

Summoning up the power of the Spear, I smote the ground below me, changing course to dive into the cloven planet below me. The ground rifted open before, closed in the shock wave behind. I maintained a straight path for a minute or two, before shifting, in case he estimated my direction and thought to be there to meet me where I emerge.

Were he not following me already. I hoped not.

Then I was in the open, slowing, long before I should have transited Jotunheim. The darkling city rose up about me, fetid and complex, a regular rats warren under a sunless sky.

"INTRUDER!" cried the first of the svartalven, catching me in his beady black eyes. And then, in their hundreds, they charged ...

Sian whips both their asses

Actually, this is a test to see if I can upload an image okay on Doyce's blog. Which, evidently, I can, which makes me think it's a config problem with his Firefox.

But Sian really could ...

Session 21C - Punishment

On the greensward by the cemetery of the Imperators, we discuss the death of a world.

Our goal is to keep the Excrucians from taking control of the Bifrost bridge in Jotunheim, which would let them attack any world they wished. We'd considered a straightforward attack -- holding off the hordes in Asgard City, whilst one of us destroyed the bridge.

But Fungus devised a far more cunning -- and, appropriately, inhuman plan. And I'll confess that it was not one I'd have thought of. My mind still shrinks from seeing worlds as fruit upon the World Tree, and so would never have dreamt of simply severing the stem, to let Jotunheim fall the nigh-infinite distance to Hell.

Let those denizens deal with the Excrucians, most appropriately. And, should they object, it would be no cause of tears for me.

It will take several of us Nobles to do this -- our brethren in Chancel Amaciel seem the most likely subjects (others that Guilt and Fungus suggest -- Desecration, Justice -- I'd lief as not consult with, and my own feelings about Imagination are conflicted enough I cannot judge whether she could, or would, help us).

Or, of course, we could bring Cathetel and Amaciel themselves to do it. I shrink from that course -- I suspect the price, were they even willing to so exert themselves, would be too high. And the complications ...

Of course, the others of their order, the Serpents of Aaron, may well object to this plan. Which complicates things still more.

The heavens wheel above us, as though our discussion, e'er setting out, takes months, not hours. But at length, having chit-chatted enough, Mariska and I go forth to the stem, whilst the Graf moves in its own ways to warn what few allies remain in Jotunheim ...

Session 20C - Punishment

Old patterns, old thoughts. Maybe this is why I avoided familia entanglements, to avoid dropping back into such patterns. It all passes by, almost painlessly and easily, and meaningless to me. It shouldn't -- I should care. But I almost welcome the Lethe of being a weapon, to be pointed here, and here, and not having to worry about the whys and wherefores.

No wonder I gave up what I did.

I listened to Christopher question Mariska sharply as to why she was making her daughter's life so unpleasant, by agreeing to torment Ofrah's fiancee, Noah. I'd wondered much the same.

Mariska made noises about merely making a holding action against Noah's master. I wondered if she believed that.

We arrived at the Chancel. Jerrai was there. The resurgence of the Cammorae after the -- that time, that was not a prime reason for my decision, but something that had weighed on me at the time. After watching selfless sacrifice and bold bravery, to see these -- slime taking precedence amongst humanity. Easier simply to kill them. Humanity, that is.

We bantered a bit. I wanted to do more, but speaking too much to the Serpent can only bring one to damnation. Besides, the less the contact, the less the chance of my acting -- rashly. Watching Jerrai's expression as a mere head atop my spear would be gratifying for a short time, but Cathetel would likely disapprove.

The Cammora did tell us that Cathetel was not readily available. We traveled to the Chancel's Heart -- a journey I felt uncomfortably impotent in. The magicks of the Chancel are not mine, and my disinterest has echoed my powerlessness.

Once there, within the labyrinth of a rest home's memorial garden, we found Cathetel in serpent form, reared straight upward, high above the atmosphere -- or where the atmosphere would be, were this truly the Earth.

My voice carried as a whisper, so Mariska, in my arms, must hail him. We brought him up to date, and he chided us regretfully for allowing the Excrucian to be recovered by his fellows. He warned us that they would be heading toward Jotunheim, too, and they were far less a known quantity than the enemy already there.

Cathetel advised us to get assistance from Chancel Amaciel. Some of them were on the Tree -- Lust and Electricity (as Mariska put it, "the most rambunctious" of them). Mariska, though, might be needed by Cathetel. As she was less powerful in combat, that was not too great a blow, but I would miss her company. Which seemed -- odd.

We received a prayer, echoing and awesome within the Chancel's Heart, from the Graf. We agreed to meet upon the Tree, on the outskirts of the Imperators' Graveyard, where once we interrupted a picnic. I found it vaguely alarming that I was considered to be a "guide" to the Tree. Ye gods.

The Graf spoke of what it had found in Jotunheim. That world, now torn and conquered by the Excrucians, had had its powers stripped from it over time, the Estates of its Nobles traded in to Earth. And -- I ought not to have been surprised -- those Estates had been gathered up by Amaciel and Cathetel.

I told the Graf and Mariska, then, of the First Apple, and the memory I had, of how the two Chancels had once been one. The Graf was peeved, but I attempted to explain how Cathetel had assured me it was done for the best of reasons, and the protection of us all.

Even as I spoke the words, though, I wondered ...

The Excrucian forces holding Asgard were not expecting an attack across the Bifrost Bridge. And that Bridge was why Jotunheim was of such value -- a gateway to any world, to any spot upon the Tree. It had to be destroyed. And to do so, we had to act from the Asgard side of the bridge, where the Excrucians -- far too many of them -- held sway.

Session 19C - Punishment

[Stream-of-note-taking ...]

Haley's shelter. She's happy to talk. Who does she work for -- and why haven't I thought of that before?

Never had a lot to hide.
Only from myself, it seems.
Or, that amnesia ...
No ... on another.
Never asked -- to whom do you owe allegiance?
an Angel. Not supposed to talk about him. Doesn't get along with others. Melek Taus -- "Peacock Angel" -- Unsavory. On Lucifer's side, but has rejected beauty and corruption.

Others: Memory, Envy.

Not the first time your memory has come back. Last time 50 yrs -- Gave me this (shows scar). -- Crushing dried flowers in my hand, sending them away (memories).

One of the reasons I'm still doing what I'm doing. Every time you started figuring out what was going on -- you stopped. Didn't have everything all planned out. Had to put off a lot of other projects when i heard about what happened. I went to the Luna base, thinking you'd go there. Worried about shooting. ... Like I lost my keys.

I haven't been happy for 89 years. Make it 104. 1915. The Divergence.

So ... why? Why would you do all of this?
532 years of good times? of fun?
What was it like then?
It's like she used to say -- "Ever forward!"
Who?
(Doesn't answer.)

You have a natural knack for agonizing. It's ... cute.

200 years.
Need to check with my familiar and Imperator.
You know, you never used to do that. The Legion ... the Fae Guard ... you just did it.

Anything else I should know? Don't want to know your memories ... but mine.
Peter Pan -- hmmmm ... I'll have to read that.

Oh, and don't go to Jotunheim. They don't like you there.

Man-hug/Patting back.
"I'll be back in touch -- contacting you."

Call Fungus. No response. Stupid tech.
Guilt: Fungus was going off to Jotunheim? WTF?
Have wrapped up Noah stuff -- might be interesting.

Noah anchored to her. He was driving when her sister died.
Responsibility. What a bitch.

Working with Guilt to cause Noah grief.
Sian makes a note to chat with Guilt about this.

Get through in a prayer to Fungus.
Excrucians. Need help? Lots of Excrucians at Bifrost

Session 17-18C - Punishment

Stray snippets of thought:

*   *   *

I confess my sins to my brethren.

That seems a bit melodramatic. Say, rather, I confess my suppressed memories of burying the chest of Excrucian weapons at the Chancel of the White Tiger, at Cathetel's behest.

They take it with relative calm. Guilt -- Mariska -- from whom I expect some ribbing, seems merely thoughtful. Fungus is phlegmatic, as usual, seeking to place this piece of the mystery into place.

If I was expecting immediate understanding of why Cathetel had me do this, or why the memory was suppressed, I am disappointed. As if I should be surprised by that.

If I am confessing, though, am I damned for confessing but one thing of three? That was the only item, though, germane to what we now do, so far as I know. The secret of the first apple remains a puzzlement, and something I will pass on when time permits. The secret of the third apple, though, is mine, and mine alone. It is not something I can share with the others.

It is tangled web I weave. I wonder if something -- other than I -- will be caught in it.

*   *   *

Dealing with an Excrucian.

It seems anathema, though my own role in the Valde Bellum has been more in support of my Estate than in the front lines. Indeed, to battle directly is to have lost, I am told, though that has rarely been my experience. Still, little have I battled with the Fair Foulness before -- at least that I can remember.

Still, one must, at times, deal with the Devil. I cannot directly attack him, without provocation, and fighting over his fellow, the one we call "Pretty Boy," seems absurd. So we reach a compromise -- we keep the dagger Pretty Boy has stolen, so that we can use it to determine where the other weapons have been cached. And we keep the Excrucian doppelganger for a time, so that we can remove from him the memories of those he has counterfeited -- Electricity, Guilt, Fungus. Both are returned to the hunter at sunrise.

And so we achieve all our goals -- guidance to the weapons (which the hunter also seeks), removal of memory and secrets from Pretty Boy, and removal from the playing field of Pretty Boy himself. While it will not be at my hands, I know the punishment he will incur from his fellows is at least as great as we could provide.

So, perhaps, we have gotten the better of this deal with the Devil. Perhaps.

*   *   *

Noah offered me "scones." Sweet Lord Jesus above, American scones. With frosting.

It is with bitter amusement that I consider how, in the Five Centuries Now Lost, the scone -- unfrosted, mind you -- became the great culinary masterpiece of the Immortal Empire. A master chef's scone would cost a small fortune, and be hailed across the galaxy as a triumph of British High Cuisine (a concept which, subsequent to the Rollback, was excruciated).

Now, of course, they still cost a small fortune, if purchased at Starbucks, but are a pale shadow of their former selves.

The irony is not lost on me.

*   *   *

Noah natters on and on about teaching, about helping children, about the importance of the future.

The future. Hah. As if that were something one could count upon, any more than one can count upon the past.

*   *   *

At the very least, he offers me decent tea, with milk. Not (as some have served me in the past), "Lipton's." With, or without, Coffeemate.

Some things are beyond punishing.

*   *   *

"We can go ride the faeries this afternoon."

What?

Ah. Ferries. Idiot.

Granted, I hate faeries. No, I do not hate them, they simply strike me as magical chaos, emblematic of the mythic, as nonsensical flibbertigibbets without discipline, all anathema to me, to my way of thinking, to all I stand for.

And then I think back on the Fae Guard, and what was lost, and I would weep. If I could.

*   *   *

I need to have a talk with Haley. She called earlier, and I put her off. But I need to let her know what I know -- and ask her why she has kept this secret from me. Mayhap she has a good reason. Certainly her interest in me has been inexplicable. Knowing what I now know provides a reason for that. Or maybe more.

How could she let me do that?

And what do I do about it now?

Session 16C - Punishment

After much dithering, Guilt -- Mariska -- and Electricity decided they needed neither myself nor Alanna in Washington. Just as well -- I felt distracted by far too much else.

And it wasn't just my personal issues. I sensed I had been abrupt with the Graf. Dealing with its needs, particularly as they applied to our Chancel, would be a good trumping distraction.

"Fungus?" I was using the new ear bud. Annoying, but, one hoped, effective. "Fungus?"

Was the damnable thing even working?

At length, the Graf replied. I hoped this wasn't indicative of usual delays in the ear buds. I could have offered up a prayer in this time ...

I've long had difficulty understanding the Graf, but it was not difficult to sense that it was peeved at me. "Punishment. Have you accomplished the Great Harvest yet?"

Damn. Thanks so much, my sibling. "No. I had been going to see if there was aught I could assist you with, since you seem to have so many duties and so little help, but, now that you mention it, no, I have not, and that is my ceremonial duty. Thank you for your reminder. I will contact you later."

Damn its eyes. If ... it had eyes.

I made my way slowly down to the catacombs beneath the courthouse. I had been too long away, and the harvest of Pen Lo's quintessence had not taken place when it was needful. The bowl beneath the torso was overfull, tarnishing the body above with its heat. And the atmosphere was heady, overwhelming -- metal and flowers and ozone, redolent, leaving me gasping and lightheaded after only a minute.

I could have held my breath for how long it took. But it was, in a sense, my penance for failing to do as I must in this duty. And, it seemed to me, it might let my thoughts drift, to consider what I'd learned.

I realized, after a time, that my vision was slipping in and out of the Mythic. And, perhaps it was because the fumes of Pen Lo, it was the images from the Second Apple that I dwelt upon.

I must speak to Cathetel of this. He knows what I've remembered. But -- why? So much of what we've done hinges on this, and to know that Cathetel -- it makes no sense. Our Imperator is subtle, and I am not, but a deception such as this ...

From the First Apple, knowing what I know -- could the division have had this effect? Is the other involved in this as well, or could something have gone wrong in that as well?

And, if I wish to draw closer to my brethren, how can I continue to mislead them in this way? Where does my duty lie?

And the Third Apple. What I've lost -- or given up, to be honest. What do I have to offer the others, then, really? Or would they merely think me sentimental? Guilt would only chuckle. Crime would laugh aloud. Fungus --

"Punishment."

-- Fungus would --

"Punishment." An image of a tree -- no, a spear.

"Fungus." In my mind, an image of the moors, a bit of song from a very old play, a bit of a modern novel ...

"So, what did you want?" it asks, peevishly. "I mean, I'm sorry, I can see you are not yet finished." No sympathy in that voice. "Call me later."

"Right." The contact goes. Was it real? It was hard to think.

Haley knew. She knew. Knew what had happened. Was that why she had approached me, why she had been watching for me? What else had I forgotten and not yet recovered, discarded with soul and time and ...

Why hadn't she told me? What other secrets was she hiding? I felt a sudden sense of betrayal -- but was that fair? I didn't know any more ...

"The rest are gone ... quitting ... Rebecca ... the next Justice ..." Words, with no life behind them. Had I made the right decision? How could I know? And if I were to break the pattern I'd been trapped in -- heh, just what Haley had suggested -- I needed to recover what I'd sent away.

I'd met James Barrie, once. A cutthroat had attacked him and his new bride, in London. I'd dispatched the man, and, strangely, we'd ended up talking. Was that before -- no, it must have been after. I thought of his creation, Peter Pan -- never growing up, never changing. Losing ...

He'd been an anchor for me, for a time. Strange. How had I forgotten that? Had I cast it off, too, or had someone else ...

"Every time a child says 'I don't believe in fairies' there is a little fairy somewhere that falls down dead." Barrie had said that. Or I'd told him that. I couldn't remember any more. "God gave us memories so that we might have roses in December." I'd laughed at that. "I don't want to care about the world that would do that," I'd told him, too. No, wait, that had been to Haley, not James.

But I do want to care. And that's the conundrum ...

*   *   *

"The apples I ate, my lord. The memories they returned. They raised ... questions."

"Yes. I imagine they would."

I hand him the bowl from the harvest. He nods, and takes it.

"I feel the need, my lord, to ... discuss certain events."

"Ah. You recall as well, though, that we discussed the matter at the time."

And, now, I do. He'd told me what to do. But -- "But ... why?"

"The answer will be available to you. Good will come of this, and then you will understand."

That is not enough. For once, it is not enough. I wonder -- does he realize that?

"There are those who have benefited as a result of our actions." A Royal We? "You will not be convinced by words."

"You are wise, my lord."

"I am a clever old beast who turns enemies and friends against each other, but usually for the greater good. Do you believe that?"

I nod. In agreement, or acknowledgment?

"Our Graf has enough clues. Talk with the Graf -- together you will find the truth."

Perhaps. "One last question, my lord. Why was my memory removed of this?"

"I thought that would be best. It is part of the protections we --" A different sense of we. "-- put around the memory of everyone."

And then he dismisses me, to decide what to do next ...

Session 15C - Punishment

1.

Haley is badly shaken by her service to the dying and injured of Miami, but she points me to where she hid the apples -- in a wall behind a piano above the shelter. Curious. We shoosh away a few kids playing there. She offers to stay, but -- no. Something for me alone.

2.

Dear, sweet Mother of God. What have I done? And why?

Haley is still next door. I can hear her. I could talk to her, ask her for help, for explanation.

No, no time. Too much to do, always too much to do. And too much time has been lost -- the bitter reality of that clear to me now, even if I dare not contemplate it.

I put it down, put it aside, put it behind. I have done that far too much, but at least it feels natural, as so little does any more.

I sort and sift the remaining apples, culling only the ones most personal. And, yes, I include some referring to mhy Anchors, though only the briefest of memories, the most formal, agreements of cooperation, cooperative attempts to mete out punishment against the guilty. Surface seemings only. (And how much deeper is the truth? Do I know any more?)

3.

To the chancel. There is a Coast Guard cutter there I can take to Lord Entropy's Chancel.

I enter Lord Entropy's court. Many murmers as my burden is seen, as if I cannot hear them. The consensus is that I've brought far more than most do, to the wonderment of all.

Entropy is pleased. How nice. He invites me to a hunt. I think not. "Duty calls," I tell him, without irony. "Have a nice day, Sian," he replies, a personal note that is also most unusual. Fine.

As I depart, I hear another comment. "Manipulation, then, or an attempt to climb at the court. Or else, of course, utter ignorance." I glance at the speaker. Penelope, Marquessa of Memory. If I let myself consider it, I'll scream. Instead, I let my mien show that I am not to be trifled with. Let her consider that.

Meon is there. I snub him. I am in no mood for any more, though I owe him thanks for his actions upon the Miami rooftops.

4.

It is only later I consider the message I conveyed with my large load of apples: that I have far less than they to hide, even from Entropy. I'm over the ocean, then, so nobody save a few fishermen can hear my cry, and they think it is merely seagulls.

I let my vision slip to the Mystic. Mother Ocean roils below. Sprites of sea and air play amidst the dolphins. Bitterly poignant, knowing what I know now. Isn't that annoying?

Yes, it is.

5.

I return to the Courthouse, and try to brief Cathetel on what I've been up to.

I tell him of the bribe, of my quest, my involvement in the battle, and my visit to Lord Entropy. In turn, he speaks of Tomas being still slow to heal, hampering the investigation. And Crime had lost an anchor, and withdrawn for a time, further weakning us.

I do not speak in detail of the second apple, nor at all of the third. I will -- some day. Perhaps soon. There is much I must understand, and much else I must accept understanding of, a subtle difference.

6.

I greet Fungus on the way out. I try to be more open, more friendly. I am glad to see her. In a strange way, I value her more for what has passed in the meantime. It comes out odd, jaunty, ringing false. Irony.

It tells me a bit of what has passed, of the assignments and duties she's taken on. I wonder that it is alone in this, and know I should help. I will, but there are still other things that demand my attention first, and there is naught that seems so urgent it cannot wait on a few hours.

At the very least, I need to talk with my Anchors.

Fungus seems irritated by this.

7.

I am contacted by Mariska, using one of the new, strange technologies that has been developed in the Chancel to tie us together. An interesting innovation, and of obvious advantage. I wonder why we have not done this before.

She, and Electricity, are involved in an Excrucian redoubt at the Watergate Hotel in Washington, DC. I remember that place, all too well. I hate politics. Even in my own time, the punishment for wrongdoing is much more subtle than I care for. Things are better now, but still maddening.

At any rate, there has been fighting, and injury, and a fugitive to locate. Discussion ensues over whether I should come through to assist, be held in reserve, or what. I feel vaguely unhappy about being dragged yet further from my course (especially after putting off Fungus).

We shall see.

Session 14C - Punishment

"So there we were, Lord Entropy, his nobles Desecration, Destruction, Scorn, a bunch of ogres, Death, Electricity, and, of course, me."

"And the Excrucian?"

"Spread out over about ten square meters and stapled firmly in place to the stone."

"Ouch."

"Indeed."

"You want some more of these chocolate-covered butterflies? I can't eat another bite."

"No, thanks. But you can pour me some more of that champagne. I've decided I really like champagne cocktails."

"We'll make a girl of you yet. Oh, okay, sorry, don't give me the fish-eye or anything. Sheesh. You want the Midori, or the Rum Raisin, or the Blue Stuff in there?"

"Whichever."

"I said don't get all huffy. So you were there, the Excrucian was there, whole bunch of people were there. Including Meon. Was he watching you?"

"How the hell should I know? I wasn't watching him."

"Not even a little?"

"Even if, through some cosmic fluke, my line of sight might happen to briefly rest upon him under ordinary circumstances, at this point, he was the least of my concerns. I'd dropped in, unannounced, to Lord Entropy's realm, to his very throne room, with an Excrucian, whom it had taken everyone dog-piling on to deal with. I was a bit more concerned with what L.E. was thinking about me right that moment."

"L.E. Limp Extrusion. Ladies Exfoliate. Lawful Evil. Lucky Engineer."

"I was thinking more about Legal Execution."

"Hey, that's good."

"Right. So he started asking for explanations of me, right off, given that I had not yet brought the fruit he'd tasked me to bring. So I had to give him the whole story about the Excrucian breakthrough and the call for help and all that. It was, of course, my duty to respond to that. He could hardly question the matter. Particularly since I have a reputation for being just, which most folks interpret as being honest."

"But it's not."

"Usually it is. But not always. Which means people assume honesty from me."

"Handy."

"Well, it keeps me out of court politics most of the time, for one thing. And it gives me a little necessary leeway now and again."

"Was Languid Emperor satisfied?"

"Well, he made a point to tell Desecration, who was the one in charge of the investigation of our chancel, that we were 'useful, dedicated, if somewhat impetuous Inquisitors,' and that should be taken into account in the inquiry. Plus, it should be given more weight that the bribe Meon had received."

"Ouch."

"Aye. Donner looked properly confused by all this talk about quests and fruit, and tried to hit me up about it afterward, but I made it clear it wasn't a topic I wanted to discuss."

"You're good at that."

"Stop it. Hand me some of those -- spongeballs."

"The toffee taffy, or the marinara mango?"

"Toffee taffy."

"Lord Entropy seemed positively sanguine and mellow. He told me to finish up my quest anon, and that if I could have the fruit brought there, I could keep the spear. If I left, I'd have to leave it behind."

"So, of course, you stayed there. You and your stick."

"A comment that was tiresome well before its two hundredth repetition from my brethren, I assure you."

"Sorry. But you do, um, wave it around a bit."

"Well, hellfire, the damn thing makes me twice the warrior I ordinarily am, it grants me flight, and it gives me the Look to cow offenders. Do you wonder, then?"

"No, it makes sense. But it's an easy target for double entendres. I know, I'm pretty good at them. For example --"

"So it was about then I tried to pray to you, but you were pretty busy."

"Miami was kind of a mess."

"And I wasn't sure I wanted you to try to get the apples to me anyway, or somehow travel to Entropy's chancel on your own with them. What?"

"Oh. I just don't like him very much. He makes me feel all -- ooky."

"I'd think he was a very imaginative sort."

"Yeah, but the thinks he imagine. Icky."

"Well, I got interrupted anyway. Lord Entropy wanted my professional opinion on something."

"Uh-oh."

"Right. He wanted to know whether it was just that -- how did he put it? -- those who had seen 'fit to leave with the run of my demesne' the Excrucian they'd been pursuing -- Meon and Terminus -- whether it was just for them to be the ones to track the guy down."

"Ouch. Sounds like Large Exomorph to me."

"So I had to tell him that I had faced that same Excrucian --"

"You didn't."

"-- and that I'd let him get away from me, or that I'd let Meon take over the fight with him, so I could respond to the call for help from my brethren."

"And he said --"

"Well, I wasn't done talking yet."

"Oh, Sian."

"I know, but I had to. And, to be sure, I did feel some guilt over it. And Terminus had a big slash across his chest, and Meon was not looking all that hot, either."

"Oh, so you did look at him. And sometimes you think he looks hot?"

"Please. Let's just say that if there were any dashing qualities to him ordinarily that might make him attractive to someone, he was not displaying them at that moment."

"But you'd been in battle, too."

"I always look sharp."

"Ah. So you kept talking."

"I noted to him that justice was not necessarily the best way to determine who should track the Excrucian down, and that the success of that mission might be more important than that it mete out some just punishment."

"You, of all people."

"Well, hell, Haley, it's the truth. Poetic justice is fine in poetry and if you can make it fit into real life, but sometimes you need unpoetic justice and a dash of pragmatism. Getting the Excrucian was more vital than that Meon or Death or even I got nailed for not stopping him in the first place."

"I'm sure Lugubrious Ectoplasm loved that."

"No, he did not. He advised me that I should have a care to note that he was asking for the justice of his decision, not its wisdom."

"Ouch. Again."

"But he also agreed with me --"

"Which probably didn't improve his temper."

"So he assigned Death and myself to the hunt, but he told me I could join Death at my convenience."

"Great googly-moogly, he was mellow."

"Well, either that, or hungry."

"Ah. The apples. Right."

"So since Donner and Terminus were on their way back to Miami through the gate Death had made -- and Entropy was a lot snarkier about that than about what I'd done -- I decided to go along to."

"Without the spear."

"Well, I wouldn't have dreamt of trying to take it after Entropy's command, and it let me establish my faithfulness by leaving it there. 'We anticipate your imminent return,' was all he said."

"Which was when you got back here."

"Right. After all, I had to track you down, and then there was that third apple, and I knew I could find a boat to get back to Entropy's chancel."

"But what you didn't know was that --"

"Right. Urg. Pass the champagne again ..."

Session 14A - Punishment

[Special guest star role, 5-Jan-04]

Damage to the city is more like a couple of miles in radius.

Jump into combat. Justice, Knives, Crime, Fungus, Reality, Death vs. an Excrucian (summoned horse) and three Shards. All except Excrucian look rocky and wounded.

Hear a gun/rifle being readied. On my side. Coordinate attack on the horse (burn AMP):
Run as though to attack E., then slide down under horse's belly, raking with needles.
Gunshot takes out horse's leg.
Horse down, fungus envelopes.

Macy (gunner) wracked with E's whip.

Move to attack him -- disarm whip with needles instead (lots of fancy twirling of them, rip whip away, sai-like).

Sudden attack on E. by rebar out of the ground. Power of Cities has arrived.

Simultaneously, blast of water from buried main, striking E. -- and me -- pushing through portal opened behind by Death --

Land in Lord Entropy's chamber. Think fast. "A gift for you, Lord Entropy."
Summon Spear to me. Oh, yeah!

(Others come through?)

Joktan, Entropy, Meon, all make short work of E. Can't kill -- immortal -- but can immobilize him ...

LE suggests our chancel take possession of the whip. Wrap around Penn Lo -- make him sweat a bit more ...

[Gift of Apples? Can call Imagination, have her bring the right ones, right, (wink-wink). Next time.]

Session 13C - Punishment

I finished the first apple. Cathetel -- Amaciel -- had told me of the splitting of the chancels, splitting of our family, our memories, even our Imperator. And that there was something he wanted me to do. I wasn't sure why he was telling me this, unless it was because of the task. But ...

I bit into the second apple ...

Pieces clicked into place, even though none of them made sense. I had seen things, done things, part and parcel of the troubles that had faced us for some time -- and I didn't know why, or how. All I knew ...

Perhaps the third apple. I considered telling Haley, but decided I'd try the third. It might explain things, even though they defied explanation.

Then I heard the prayer -- and I knew it was from my brethren. An Excrucian incursion. In Miami

Even then, Haley looked at me, and she'd been told the same tale. I had to go -- and I besought her to watch the apples, even as I gathered she might be following. "I'll hide 'em," she said, and I was too preoccupied by the imminent threat -- and what I'd remembered -- to be disturbed by this.

Across the rooftops of Miami I danced. I was without my Spear, but -- well, I still had my knitting needles (it sounded ridiculous, but, then, there was sufficient whimsy left from my drinking with Haley to realize it didn't matter. What I looked like attacking Excrucians meant little. It was what I could do with the weapon that mattered, and though the needles were not (so far as I knew) so puissant in enchantment as the Spear, they would still do the job.

I leapt and skidded in shallow arcs from building to building. It was faster than ground level, not so obvious as high jumps. In the distance, I heard a mother scream, and a child die, and knew, somehow it was connected, but it was not where my brethren prayed my presence.

He landed upon the tin tenement rooftop ahead of me, upon a pale horse, garbed in horror, beautiful beyond words, an Excrucian of high state. He did not see me, as I raised the needles, and I called upon my powers of Aspect to speed my way, target my blow, faster than the wind --

-- a blow that never landed, as his Auctoritas slowed me beyond words, and he easily dodged the blow. I rolled past, came up at the ready.

"You would be well not to threaten me, little Noble," he said to me. "I wish only to pass. I am not the enemy you seek. There need not be conflict in this."

"Forgive me if I pay attention to my brothers before I take your word for it."

"I forgive very little. You would do well to remember that."

"That will not be necessary," I said.

It had been a long day or days. Humiliation before Lord Entropy. A long and pointless quest, confronting too many uncomfortable truths about myself. Worry about what I delivered back to Entropy, then still further self-examination and torment, then -- what I had learned. And, just as I was screwing myself to the sticking place in facing that -- then this interruption.

I screamed at him, with all the power I could muster, damaging myself even as I directed a tightly focused sound at him, a scream that could drill through stone, steel, and --

-- it tore the ear off the horse, and blasted a hole in the Excrucian's chest.

Even as, behind me, a terrible roar and rumble, like the world's end. I turned -- I couldn't not turn -- to see a shock wave demolishing blocks of warehouses and buildings behind me, like something out of London in the Blitz, or Berlin in '44, or Hanoi in '68 ...

Behind me, then, an echoing roar, and then I saw Meon, Desecration's Regal, collapsing the roof beneath the Excrucian.

"Go!" Meon said. "I will handle this. Go!"

I had to. My brethren were in the center of that destruction. And -- I saw the wound on the Excrucian healing, even as he tumbled, and knew I would be hard-pressed to stop him. And if my brothers were in trouble, they needed my help now.

As for Meon -- I knew not why he was here, save for word of the Excrucian incursion. He could handle himself -- I hoped.

I let my actions answer him, as I leapt toward the devastation.

Session 12C - Punishment

[Yeesh. Never wait a month (6-Dec-03), including a major holiday season, and then expect to be able to figure out your rather cryptic notes in the hour before the game. I'm just going to transcribe what I have scribbled, though I'll add italics to lines I think were spoken by others ...]

Enter freely and of your own will ...
- Frolicking fairies ...

Reenacting scenes of my life.
Drawn into scene.
Victorian imagery.
On patrol, warning a lady off the street. Looks like Lust? Makes no sense.
No Dickens.
Sian, you have a most interesting life.
Hardly.
Studied your life. Had the opportunity since you gave me your name. The tree at the center of the garden. Name carved in side.
Garden fades.

Only torqued off crone.
I liked that part. That was great. The spiders were good, too. Not original, but ...
The garden was inspired.
An internal journey.

Garden particularly inspired.
Barry - Peter Pan.
Of course it would be.
Predictable. -- Humans. [Am I human?]
Hedge maze. Rose garden. Herbs.
You expected matters to be like this.

Basket by my bole. Gather up fruit, as those sent by Lord Entropy, & others.
Do others come here?
Others come for the fruit -- journeys of discovery.

Humans are good at this.
You made of things from material. Some plain & unadorned, like the me ...
Made a few fine dresses.

Fruit -- apple, but like fish eggs -- bits of my life inside.
Complete.
A collection of you. Experiences, memories.
Does not steal them [would that be bad?]
Why he cannot send his servants. Only once.

Why called the Tree of Triumph?
Entropy's appellation.

Need to pick ... all of them.
Having your memory fall and ferment and grow -- would have some interesting consequences. You've led a very ... bloody life.
Judicious culling expected.
[Eat something. Eat Anchoring [?]]

Well, thank you for ...
... My difficult, mystic, and irritating nature?
... an entertaining hike.
That's great. It's been very interesting. What could compare to the first time?
I've heard that.
Yes, I imagine you have. [Sounds like me. Projecting?]

Row back out the whirlpool.

Imagination. Need help vetting my life.
I can't trust my grethren.
- Fungus wouldn't understand.
- Guilt ... would understand all too well.
- Crime ... sh'yeah, right.

Haley, you have been ... friendly to me. I appreciate it.

Haley,

Oh, I'm in your neighborhood.
In Miami. Imagination stuff.
I would appreciate some advice.
You would?
About ...
What? I could think of a lot of things.
...
Couple of hours. (Row, row, row)
...
Miami. Contact. Get together at earliest convenience.
Bar at dock. Froofy drink.

Nice ... basket.
From the Tree of Triumph.
Oh, he is so cool.
(I've talked with him.)

Visiting my town.

Consume my past.
Could get around it. Refuse. Get another task. Hand lopped off.

[[ Insert previous journal entry here. ]]]

So I'm reluctant to turn over.
You ...
Various servants of Lord Entropy would appreciate.
Joktan.
You need my help?

Crime. Oh boy. Crime.

Nothing there I really need to dwell on.
I won't argue with you -- I don't have time.
...
Vulnerability if not eaten.
Plant them. What would happen if they grew?
Pruning.

Lord Entropy or me. I don't want either to engage with that.
Know what you're saying but ... tough. You need to decide who.

I offer her one.
[Sifts through memories.] Here. An unfortunate instance from the Crimea.
I await her reaction, impatiently. What will she think? WELL?!!
She ate it all, even the core, save the stem, which she tied into a knot with her tongue.
There's ... stuff there. We'll talk about it later.
Lord Entropy
All the more reason I don't give myself to him.
Things bothered by.
Need to avoid giving info on Anchors.

Sort info. Stuff with Entropy.
He may not want you. He may want something you know.
Sort it.
- Anchors - a few
- Entropy - Pile (cannot tell)
- Stuff not for Entropy. Squirmy. ("I try not to dwell in ...

? Three apples - Things I don't know.
Well, can keep as they are, put somewhere safe.
No. Need to face it.
Should I stay?

Eat first. Amaciel - Cathetel. Explaining plan to separate things -- 2 chancels, 2 families. My reaction to it.

Eat second. AAAAHHHHHHH

Session 11C - Punishment

Okay, so what happened next?

Well, I could see, in the tapestries we were weaving, images -- the past, the present, the future, combined and mixed all up.

What did you see of your future?

I couldna tell. I knew they were pictures of what was yet to come, but only because -- I didna recognize them. Perfect memory, y'know? So I knew what hadn't yet happened -- poses, places -- but it's not like I could say, "Ah, well, when a tall man with a bright blue beard confronts me, I'll have to chop off his head because he's going to try and shoot me." Because that would have been too useful, too straightforward.

And you prefer things that are spelled out clearly.

Of course. But, like I said, it was all mixed up. So I tried to see if there was a pattern -- things from the past or the present that matched up, and maybe then how they related to the future.

Makes sense.

I thought so. The crone, though, she didna much care for that.

She wanted you to just go with the flow.

Right. I know I'm too analytical sometimes. It's hard to avoid when you have perceptions like mine. And I was trained to correlate facts, figure out clues.

Heh. Yes, well, we've talked about that before. More tea?

Ah, sure.

What flavor? Hyacinth? Granite? Little pink beetle?

Um ...

Remember what we talked about. Open your horizons.

Riiight. How about some Earl Grey?

Sheesh. Oooookay. But decaf. You have got to unwind.

I thought I was unwinding. Unwound.

You're a twenty-year grandfather clock who's been ticking for five minutes. Unwind more. What happened next? The crone had a fit.

Well, not a fit, exactly, but she told me to stop, and that we needed to take a walk. And then she started talking about eyes.

Eyes?

I didna quite follow. See, she had one eye -- at least in front. And the matron in the river had none. And the maiden doing the drying had two. But they all seemed to see equally well, to the degree they needed to.

I went about with my eyes closed for three weeks. Didn't faze me.

No doubt. But we're talking about me, right?

Right.

I mean, this was your idea, right? Just a chat between the two of us, someplace cozy and comfortable, a spot of tea and you hear about what I've been up to.

Girls' night out.

Um --

Right. I always find the stuff on the World Tree to be fascinating.

I'm glad that makes one of us. So we went for a walk, and chitchatted about the Tree of Triumph Fruit, and this reed boat that I was going to be sailing in.

Were there an owl and a pussycat involved?

No.

Um ... okay. So, let me guess -- she said something else cryptic.

That hardly takes any imagination. She said that I was going to succeed in my quest.

That's not very cryptic. 'Cause you did succeed.

Right. After a fashion, as she said. And then she said that I'd succeed frequently.

Good, good. More frogs?

No thanks. She said I should be wary of that.

Wary of frogs? Damned straight -- some of them will creep up behind you --

No, wary of success.

You strike me as a very wary person.

Always. I figured she was going on about being overconfident, but she said that success was not always best for me.

Mm-hmm.

I mean, that's rather cryptic, don't you think?

No.

Fine. Well, I think it's cryptic. I mean, when is success not success?

You want examples?

I know, I know -- "What shall it profiteth a man if he gain the entire world and lose his immortal soul?" That sort of thing.

Right! Good! Mundane example, and kind of silly, but nice thinking outside the box.

But that's all she said. That's the cryptic part. No specific warnings as to times when I should not succeed, or what sort of warning signs I should be aware of, or the consequences, or anything like that. Just this vague metaphorical warning. Am I supposed to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder?

Don't you already?

Right, but it's usually for failure. Now I need to be watching out for success, too?

Or maybe you should just take things as they come. Go with the flow. Or make up your own flow. Be the flow.

Twaddle.

Of course. That's what makes it fun.

Right. Anyway, I traded her the walking stick I'd crafted for a pair of the knitting needles. They were well-crafted, very pointy, very strong. Much better weapons.

You hadn't been attacked yet.

I was using my imagination.

Heh. Touché. But that's hardly a stretch for you. What did the crone say?

"Charming. Weave well." I think she was being sarcastic.

Probably.

So we went back and I got in the boat -- a coracle, really -- and sailed off. And when I looked back --

-- They were gone.

No --

-- They were all staring at you with their limited eyes.

No --

-- They were all laughing and pointing.

No --

They were climbing into a puce flying saucer, driven by Elvis, and propelled by several large five-winged swans.

No! They were all shadowy shapes of spiders.

Oh, well, that, too, I suppose.

Riiight. I wasn't quite sure what to do at that point --

Couldn't kill 'em, I guess.

No, of course not.

Well, that's good. It would probably have annoyed them.

I wouldna killed them just because --

You know, you have the cutest accent when you let your hair down.

I haven't let my hair down. It gets in my eyes.

I was speaking meta -- never mind. What happened next?

Well, that was three women who were no women. I'd told the crone next I was supposed to run into three men who were not men. She was surprised by the descriptions, seemed to guess it was the tree, and suggested I didn't mention it to the menfolk.

Ooooh. Mystical female secrets! Cool!

Oh. I thought she was admonishing me to be polite.

Nah, I like the mystical female secrets thing. Maiden, mother, crone and -- um -- you. The, ah, avatar of Nemesis, the goddess of --

I dinna think so. I'm not exactly, well, qualified.

Well, qualified enough for the Spear. Besides, you have to use your --

-- Don't. I'd rather not talk about it.

You never talk about it.

I don't want to talk about not talking about it, either.

Maybe that's what this was all about. Experiencing it, talking about it, coming to grips --

It was all about my being a stupid idjit and forgetting to bring a host gift. And someone having a yen for fruit in their diet.

If you think that's all this was about, you're just not seeing it.

Well -- no, I'm not.

Oh, well. It'll come to you. So, there you were, bobbing down the Mysterley River ...

Is that what it's called?

Well, it is now. to me, at least.

Okay. Well, whatever it was, I went floating along, until I heard weeping in the distance.

A maiden in distress?

Not exactly. The coracle came ashore where a path came to the river. I walked along, and found this -- man. He was sitting there, along this cart path, weeping. Just bawling his eyes out. He saw me, and then kept crying.

Some terrible tragedy?

No, he'd broken some big ceramic urn of milk, and he was just -- well, devastated.

You're saying -- wait, you're saying he was crying over --

Exactly. It was the stupidest thing I'd ever seen.

Maybe he really liked milk. Maybe it was the last milk in the land, and he needed to take it to his starving children. Maybe some horrible dragon was going to kill his mother if he didn't return from a quest for milk. Maybe --

Maybe so, maybe all of those things, but, y'know, come on. Get a grip, man. You spilled the milk and broke the urn. Get over it. Figure out an alternative. Suck it up, take your lashes, whatever, but don't just sit there and whimper and wail. It was -- well --

Annoying?

Womanly.

Reeealy?

Not like that. I mean, well, yes, it was unmanly. A man faces adversity, deals with the blows it sets him, and moves on. He takes responsibility. He takes action.

Like you.

Like me. Exactly.

You set such an example for men.

Right. I mean, except for the --

What?

The -- you know --

What, your boobs?

Yes. My -- bosom. Right? I mean, I can't exactly tell some bloke, "Be just like me," because he doesn't have the -- and I don't have the --

Sian, you've been a woman for years and years. Are you that uncomfortable with your body, still? That you can't even point to it and call it for what it is?

A gentleman never --

Exactly. Women are much more sensible about such things. Comes from changing diapers, I think.

Easy enough for you to say. You've never had your gender changed.

Who says?

What?

Well, I am the Power of Imagination. I can be whatever I can conceive.

So you've --

We're talking about you, right?

Um --

Right?

Right.

So this guy was acting like a weepy woman --

I have a great deal of respect for womanhood, I'll have you know. I've dedicated much of my life to the protection of --

Interesting you can respect them, and protect them, but not accept them.

Accept them?

Well, you're a woman, have been for centuries, but you don't accept that.

It's not that I don't accept it, I just don't dwell --

And you see some guy sobbing uncontrollably, and you say he's acting like a woman, which doesn't sound very respectful to them.

Well, it's not so much a matter of respecting them, as, ah ...

Never mind. So you left him there.

Well, I figured, if he was meant to be a guide, he wasn't much use as one. I could always come back to him, if need be. And, besides, it wasn't certain that the ones I met were all meant to be guides, as opposed to simply milestones.

You didn't kill him or anything.

I don't just kill everyone I meet!

Of course not.

Or even everyone who annoys me.

Good thing that.

For some folks, yes.

Am I annoying you?

You -- have your moments.

Good! And you're not killing me, and that's good, too! Right?

Asking me in a bit.

More tea? Chamomile?

Thanks. So, I said something like, "No use wasting time on regret," and moved on. I walked along the path, and suddenly realized I was being watched.

Some terrible, horrible, utterly awful enemy? A spotted snake with purple tongue? Thorny hedgehogs?

No --

Success? Failure? Did you look over your shoulder?

No. After a while, I did the last thing anyone ever does.

Looked up?

Right.

I always look up first. Or other directions, sometimes.

Riiiiight. Anyway, a planet and a moon were watching me. They didn't want me to know it, though, so they looked away, quickly. And whistled, as though admiring the stars or going about on an errand.

I love the World Tree.

That makes one of us.

No, really. Where else could something like that happen?

Nowhere else. Mercifully.

No, everywhere else. That's what makes it so special. You just have to be willing to see it. You're doing that thing again.

What?

Sighing. Rolling your eyes.

So anyway, I soon came on another crossroad.

Another one?

Well, the guy with the broken urn was at a crossroad. Though it was interesting.

The crossroad? What was interesting about it?

It wasn't one when I turned to leave. It was just one path, leading away.

Oooh. Very symbolic.

Right. I just like my symbolism a bit less -- well, real.

Like your boobs.

What?!

They're real. But they're symbolic.

They're symbolic?

Everything's symbolic. You just have to decide what they symbolize.

Could we not talk about ...

Say it!

Say it?

Say it. Boobs. Or I'll keep talking about them.

Could we not talk about -- my -- boobs. Breast. Bosom.

Want to talk about your cock instead?

Anyway, next I came to another crossroad, and there was this little run-down cottage there, and a well in front of it. And these two kids were playing on the well, standing on either side of it, tossing a ball back and forth.

How fun! What were the rules they were using?

I thought you didn't like rules.

No, I don't mind rules, as long as they change.

Then they're not rules, are they?

No, then they're not eternal, rigid, perpetual, cosmic laws -- which never are, anyway, except that people pretend they are, so they get to be.

As you say. So the kids were -- well, it was dangerous.

Oh.

So I got a bit put out by that.

Maybe they liked it that way. Danger they could control.

It's all fun, till one of them falls in the well.

So it would be better if they didn't have any fun at all?

Well, so long as they're safe, yes.

Mm-hmmm.

So I was put out, as I was saying, and I asked them about their parents. My Ma would have had my hide if she'd spotted me doing that, and my Da, too. The kids point to the house, where their father is having a nap. A "siesta." Well, that's just too much. I go in, and there he is, passed out on the table, a jug of some foul brew by his side.

Haven't you ever gotten drunk?

Well -- yes. Once. No, twice. But I paid for it, in body certainly, and when Father David found me the first time, in penance, too. And I didn't have any kids to look after.

Didn't you ever pretend you did? Have kids, that is?

No! I mean, that wasn't the sort of game boys played, and it would have been silly as a man. And then, well --

Ever want to have one? A kid, I mean. Or a man, I guess, too.

I -- I --

You sputter very colorfully.

I thought we were talking about me.

I am. Or a woman, if your taste still runs that way. Or runs that way now. Or if you're just curious, I mean, nothing wrong with that, might as well be flexible and creative, broaden the old horizons, nudge-nudge. That's what I keep telling you, at least.

So I went over and emptied the pitcher of water over his head. Now, he doesn't care for that, nor for my telling him his kids are in danger and he's a drunken sot.

Imagine that.

He grabs the jug, swings at me --

-- and you kill him.

No! Stop that! I dinna need to kill him. I simply punched the jug, so that it shattered. A show of strength, and striking at something that he values. And, can you believe it, the useless piece of garbage drops to his knees, horrified, sopping up the booze from the dirty floor --

That reminds me of a joke. This drunk staggers out of a bar and starts to cross the street --

It's not that I'm one of those temperance fanatics, you know. A small glass of brandy, now and again, never did any harm. And the Lord served his disciples wine, not that horrid grape juice some of the more radical Protestant sects fob off on their people. Did you know that --

Actually, I have something of a fondness for drink. Or of drunks. You know, the whole pink elephant thing? It's kind of nasty, but, well, that's part of the package.

Well, this drunk I had no fondness for. Again -- and, yes, before you say it, I understood the symbolism even then -- I'd encountered a man who was no man.

Are you saying he had no --

I'm sure I dinna know that. But being a man means more than the physical. A true man watches after his children. He deals with the world on his own terms, not fleeing from it into a bottle. He faces reality, plays the hand he's dealt, and lives it. That's what a real man does.

Like you.

Like me.

Mm -hmmmm.

You know, you keep saying that. It's damned annoying.

More tea? Or something stronger? I've some distilled dreamstuff in a bottle around here. It's a bit potent straight up, but with grapefruit juice it's divine.

... Maybe not right now. At any rate, when I went out, I made sure the children were all right. They said their mother would be home soon, and they could stay with their parents if need be. So I went on from there.

Which way?

Again, the only way. The crossroads was now just a path.

You'd made a decision --

--- And had to live with the consequences.

Like a real man! I get it!

Right. That's what I try to do.

Mm -hmmmm.

Anyway, as I passed on, the trees about me started changing shapes, eventually becoming a village, a world of organic, living houses, inhabited by a bird-like people. Though others dwelt there as well -- plant creatures, human types. It was dusk, and people were clearly concerned being out after dark. A large church sat in the middle of the town, but I saw a pub there, under the sign of a purple pine cone, and I went in there instead.

I think it's great you can be so tolerant of different forms and shapes of people. That shows a lot of flexibility.

My brother -- er, sibling, in my Chancel, is a mass of Fungus. My Imperator is one of the great Worms. One learns to deal with it.

And with your own form and shape.

One -- learns to deal with it. At any rate, I had no coin with me, but I knew there were those within who were transgressors, and the fines they ought to have paid found their way to my pocket. As I sat there, nursing something that ought to have been ale, I overheard rumors of murders that were taking place in the village. Working women, that caught my first attention, but menfolk as well. Shopkeepers. Everyone seemed vulnerable. Much speculation was about as to who was responsible, but all that was for certain was that the town protectors had been unable to capture the killer.

I'll be that got your dander up.

I'm not much for grand symbolic quests and living in a world of metaphors. But a murderer and predator upon defenseless women, and upon the others in this town -- that was simple, clean, and straightforward.

An odd way to describe it.

You know what I mean. It was something I knew, something I was trained for. Something that felt right.

So things can only be right if there are things going wrong?

No, not at all. Well, not in any way that's important. It just feels that way, perhaps.

And the feelings aren't important.

... Maybe we should talk about my bosom again.

What?

Just a joke. 'Twas a simple matter, then, to divine he who needed punishment for these crimes. A house stood atop a hill, overlooking the village. It was haunted, they said.

That's not very creative. Now, if it had been the church -- no, maybe the little girl who was picking up the empties in the bar, and with each empty she flipped a three-sided coin she carried to see if that person would be the next --

Do you mind? At any rate, I journeyed there, straightaway, and found him. And, again, not to belabor the point, he was a man in form, but not a man, but a monster, a gibbering lunatic. He came at me with a butchers knife, though I disarmed him with ease. Then I forced him to confess his crimes.

And the protectors of the village, they put him in jail, then?

No, him I killed.

Ah.

He well deserved it.

For being unmanly?

For being a ruthless killer.

Being a ruthless killer makes one deserving of death?

Of course.

You don't see the irony here.

What irony?

Mm-hmmmm.

I wish you would stop that. Here, pour me a bit more of that.

Only if you let your hair down. Literally, I mean. And you stop with the sighing and eye-rolling. Come on, nothing's going to attack you here, if a bit of hair gets in your eyes you'll only be ninety-eight percent as lethal as you usually are, but I think you can manage.

Fine.

There. That's better. Here.

Mmm. That's -- very tasty.

Don't drink it too quickly, it'll make your head spin. Literally. Ah. Your hair is like spun silver. I like it. You should do something more interesting with it, though. Here, let me --

Don't. Touch. The hair.

Oooooookay.

As I was saying, I left town after that. The madman's head I left on a spike at the gate of the haunted mansion, so that the people would know they were safe.

Wouldn't that make the people think the killer had struck again?

Not when people stopped dying after that.

Unless a copy-cat killer started picking up where the crazy guy left off. I saw this movie once --

They knew they were safe. I saw the ghost of the killer dragged into the ground by the ghosts of those who had lived in the house. And I felt -- saw -- the spirit of the village become clearer, less dark. Indeed, dusk had fled, and it was morning again.

Very symbolic. Though I like the copy-cat thing.

There was, of course, but one road out of town now, and that is what I took. At length, I came to a fork in the road. I'd run out of men-not-men, so --

Hey, that was funny.

I do have a sense of humor. Rather dry one, I was told, though Father David said it would get me in trouble some day.

Humor is very important. It shows a different way of looking at something. I like it a lot. Hey, here's one: a Noble, an Imperator, and an Excrucian walk into a Chancel --

The fork in the road, as I said, had a sign. Down one path, "Pandemonium Garden." Down the other, "Everything else." Now, Pandemonium was the capital of Hell, the city of "all demons" in Greek, in Milton's Paradise Lost. I assumed this was somewhat less ominous.

Besides, Hell isn't anywhere near that spot on the World Tree.

Right. Still, a Garden is what I was looking for, so that's the path I took. The road took me up into the wooded hills, climbing and descending in the rills and chasms in the bark of the Tree.

Very poetic.

Thank you. I heard, at length, a giggle, and a rustle in the undergrowth. I was ready for an attack --

You had your knitting needles in quatre?

I had the butchers knife now, remember? No, naught drawn, but I was ready for it. And then the attack came. It was --

Yes? Yes? Black arrows? Poisoned black arrows? Black poisoned arrow frogs?

Acorns.

Acorns? What, giant squirrels? I've heard of giant squirrels that inhabit the World Tree. No, really, they're a mile tall, with big, bushy --

I parried the first acorn, then the second, then parried and dodged a barrage. I heard bare feet upon the leaves and wood, and waited a moment. Then I decided to move on.

You didn't kill him!

Y'know, I don't kill everyone I meet.

The day is still young.

Indeed. At any rate -- yes, please, just a bit more -- as I turned to leave, he was standing in the path. "You canna do that," he said.

Did he have a cute accent like yours?

I dinna have a cute accent. I worked very hard to speak the Queen's English in my time in London. Too many folks were willing to consider us Welsh half-barbarians anyway.

Well you have a cute accent now.

So that's what he said. He was a young boy, maybe fifteen years old. A face of mischief, and eyes as old as the hills around us.

Peter Pan. Huckleberry Finn. Robin Goodfellow. Pan. Tom Bombadil as a teenager.

Whoever. That's how he appeared to me. He made faces at me. "Is there aught wrong with your face?" I asked, and he said there was not, and questioned me as to what I was doing there. I told him of the Triumph Fruit. "That'll be pretty difficult. It's in the garden."

See, he did have a cute Welsh accent!

He did not.

Then you do.

I dinna have a cute Welsh accent!

Well, it sounds like what I think a cute Welsh accent would sound like.

Have you ever been to Wales?

Yup. And to the dolphins as well. Hey, here's one -- a dolphin, a porpoise, and an orca go over a sand bar --

So ... I ask him, wasn't I on the path to the garden? And he ventured as the garden was along the path. Then he stepped closer, and said it was on the path, then danced away and said it wasn't on the path any further, and I'd have to catch him.

Ah. So he --

Yes, I realized he was the garden himself, somehow personified.

That was very good, imaginative thinking.

I was on the World Tree. It was the strangest thing I could think of, so I knew it must be true. Then he started chanting poetry at me as we ran through the wood.

Love poetry?

Of course not. Taunting poetry, like, "Sian, Sian, spank and yawn, / Came questing for the Garden / On a search for Entropy / Who for fruit had a hard-on."

Oh. Not very good poetry.

I tried to register my complaint personally, but -- well, he was pretty fast. Nimble, too.

He knew your name.

You noticed that.

So, he was faster than you?

As fast. Had I the Spear, I'd've caught him easily.

But you were without your pointed stick. Hey, you're doing the sighing/rolling thing.

Never mind. Yes, I was without it. So I performed a miracle, and outstripped him in speed and power. And, no, I didn't kill him. I realized I needed something from him, and that the best way to get it was with charm, not harm.

Hey, you can do bad poetry, too.

You should read my haiku.

Oh, I love haiku.

You obviously haven't read mine.

I'm sure it's charming. You know, there are certain Japanese poetic forms that are used just by women, and others used just by men --

Huh. I wouldn't know. Anyway, so I realized the best thing to do was to make this all a game. I mean, I could just tackle him and put him into a wrestling grip or something, but that wouldn't help all that much. But if I made it a game of tag, and won, then maybe --

Oh, that's good.

Thanks. So we're running, jumping, climbing, swinging, leaping from hilltop to hilltop, but now I'm going faster, further. I'm cutting him off, making him turn, taking the initiative back. And he keeps pushing, and eventually tries to jump something, a chasm, he can't. And I bound down, catch him in mid-air, and land him safely.

How heroic! Did he swoon?

Ah ... no.

Aw. Did you swoon?

No! He bowed to me, and I bowed back.

How ... moving. Here, take a bit more of this, the bottle's almost empty.

Fine. That's good. Stop. Anyhow, he bows, grins, and asks, "What can I be doing for you, after owing you for a fine tumble?"

A fine tumble! That's funny. So, did you wish you had? Taken a tumble with him?

What do you -- no. I did not. He was -- a garden, for God's sake. It wouldna be proper.

Oooooh -- "It wouldna be proper." Well, we can't have that.

Are you going to let me finish?

Sure, it's the only "proper" thing to do.

So I tell him again about being tasked by Lord Entropy with bringing back some of the Fruit of Triumph. And he says, "Ah, well, you'll need to enter the garden, then." And next thing I know, I'm at the entrance of this garden, and his voice is saying, "Enter freely, and of your own will."

That sounds very sexual.

You know, Haley, if I may be frank with you, you have far too much of an obsession with -- carnality.

Sian, 90% of the humanity spend 90% of their fantasy life focused on "carnality." What do you expect from the Power of Imagination?

Well, I don't spend that much time considering such mattes.

No kidding.

What?

Nothing. So, what happened next ...?

Session 10C - Punishment

I. "Fly Me to Meon"

I soar over the Atlantic, seeking the desolate islands of Lord Entropy's chancel. I fear I ought to have told the others -- but who? I would rather not tell Crime anything save what is absolutely necessary. Similarly Guilt -- I ought to feel closer to Mariska, but she seems to scheme too deeply for my taste. Fungus is too difficult to talk to, save when I must; I'm never quite sure it understands what I'm saying, or why I say it.

Others I know? Not of my Chancel, and this is Chancel business. And Cathetel must not know; if something goes wrong, he must be able to deny truthfully knowledge of my actions.

I grip the Nemesis Spear tightly, but as I approach, no threats rise to meet me. Instead, I descend to where I see Meon approaching to greet me.

He is silent, disturbingly so. Even when we exchange greetings, he is curtly quiet.

"I come first with a question, then with a warning on your behalf," I say. He nods within his hood for me to continue. "First, then, Michel Tomas --" I eschew the use of his title. "-- has identified the Excrucian trident he saw as one that had been in the possession of Pen Lo. I know that Lord Entropy's chancel participated in the division of those spoils. Do you know of such weapons, and what might have happened to them."

He shakes his head. "We were given charge of a portion of Pen Lo's possessions. We did not receive any weapons. Nephys was in charge of that."

Justice' own Chancel. Interesting.

"You said you had a second message for me. A warning?"

"Yes. I warn you of an attempt to bribe you. Those who oppose my Imperator's position in this dispute with Arnaud seek to influence your opinion with a great desecration. While I know you could not be so swayed, that such an attempt would be so openly attempted and widely known to others gives me some concern for your reputation."

I sensed ... surprise. At length, though, he merely bowed again. "Thank you for your warning. Now ... there is the matter of your gift."

Oh my. I had forgotten my last visit, and Meon's warning, though it was only a day or so past. A busy day, to be sure, but, still ...

"I had thought -- since I was here to consult with you, not with Lord Entropy." That sounded slightly insulting. "That is, as he is lord of the Chancel."

He might have been smiling. I am getting an odd sense from him, a tempering of the hostility of before. Still, my discomfiture clearly pleases him. "The gift for visiting the Chancel." He gestures around. It seems hardly inviting or worth paying a gift for, but I understand that it reflects on the Imperator himself. "You must follow me to Lord Entropy, then."

I seek something to say. This is not a time I can afford to be away from my own Chancel or my Lord. "Is my purpose in coming to you with this warning not sufficient a favor to the Chancel?"

A sense of amusement again. "I am not in such high standing these days."

I sigh inwardly. An open suggestion such as I am about to make is very dangerous, but I cannot think of how to place bound on it that will not be themselves insulting. "Is there then a service I can provide the Chancel, as my gift to it."

"I believe that's usually the idea of what Lord Entropy will ask of you."

Wonderful.

I am kept waiting some time in an antechamber. An insult, a reminder of my status, either as a mere Noble, or as one who has given offense? Or simply a reflection of Lord Entropy's limited time or limited interest in the matter.

At length, I am brought in. I genuflect before him, doing due obeisance.

"We understand that there was some confusion in your obligations as a visitor to this Chancel."

"The fault was mine, Milord. I take full responsibility." And I do. I am at fault, and it is only fitting that I be punished. My only regrets and concerns are how this may redound to my Chancel and Imperator.

(Though it raises a thought as to whether we could, in turn, impose such a duty upon visitors. Is it that it is Lord Entropy, or a tradition we could begin. Something to consider in the future.)

He summons his majordomo, who speaks with him in an unintelligible tongue. Finally, the other turns to me. "There is a particular fruit which grows on a particular tree that the Chancel has difficulty in gathering. A small basket of that fruit is desired by Lord Entropy." The creature tells me of the tree's location, upon the World Tree, and how to take the first step upon my journey, after which I will receive further guidance.

I bow, in acknowledgment of the obligation upon me.

The instructions, however, are not finished. "As recognition of your lapse," the creature says to me, "your token of office will remain here in this Chancel." It gestures over at a rack of weaponry, both strange and mundane in appearance.

My spear. Hellfire.

I consider an objection. Lacking it will make me more vulnerable to the inevitable barriers I will face. Further, only the spear gives me the power of flight, without which the trip will take far longer.

But surely this is already know to Lord Entropy. Arguing of the difficulty of the quest given seems unlikely to sway him, and will only lose me face. And even reduced, I am still well able to handle much of what I might encounter.

I arise and step to the case, placing the spear upon two pegs that are conveniently vacant. I feel suddenly empty without it, for it has been by my side for over a century.

"The journey will take but a small period of time," the majordomo is nattering on. "Not long enough for you to be inconvenienced by its lack." Easy for it to say.

I bow to Lord Entropy, dismissed, and am escorted by Meon back to my point of arrival. Now there is a large, sturdy row boat tied there, bobbing in the water. I know that my journey will take me to the Old Sow, a great whirlpool in the North Atlantic. I still retain prodigious strength and speed; it will not take long, even in such a craft.

Still, I am diminished. There is flight of course, and physical prowess that the spear granted me. The terrible mien I could present to my targets, too, came from the spear. Not that I expect to need that on this journey.

Meon stands by as I step into the boat. I look at him, and, politely, say, "I hope that my lapse will not adversely impact on your station."

He shakes his head within its dark hood. "It has been dealt with appropriately."

Well, at least I've not made more of an enemy of him than he already was. Cold comfort indeed.

---

II. "The Countess of Punishment went to sea // In a rickety old row-boat"

I cross the sea with mighty pulls upon the oars, each of which sends me far into the air, then, as I land, acts as a hydrofoil to let me skim further. I have time enough for contemplation of my sins, never the most comfortable of pastimes.

I can, I suppose, contact the Cammorae, and get them to take on this burden. The thought of treating with Jurai, though, makes me almost physically ill. There would not be just the cost he would impose on such an errand -- and it would be high, as the Cammorae are Earthbound, and would themselves need to call in favors -- but the degradation of having to actually ask something of him, and the joy he would take at it ...

Well, Desecration's Regal would probably be thrilled by the prospect. I'm surprised he did not suggest it.

Knowing I will be kept away for a lengthy time, I realize I must report back in to the Chancel. I decide upon Fungus, who will ask the fewest questions, and revel least in my embarrassment. I find some of the remaining mushroom soup mix in a pocket and begin to pray to it, feeling faintly ridiculous (despite knowing that others could do the same with my own coltsfoot). Why, I wonder, have the new communications devices not yet been produced by the Chancel?

"I am occupied," I tell Fungus, once it answers my prayer to it, "by an errand I am told will be short. Let our Lord know, if you will."

It agrees, then adds. "If you need to return quickly from somewhere, let me know, and I can gate you here."

An interesting thought to bear in mind. "I will be in touch," I tell it, and end my prayer.

I hear the whirlpool before I reach it. Diminished, I can still navigate from its true south, as instructed. The boat spirals downward, inward, narrowing, then, abruptly, widening again, as I rise again, inverted, upon a broad, placid lake or sea.

Upon the World Tree.

The current from the reversed whirlpool slowly deposits me upon the nearby pebbly shore. I keep my eyes open, watching for any threats -- and letting my vision slip into the Mythic, as much as I find it unsettling.

A great tree by the shoreline watches me, an amused yet equally disdainful expression on its -- well, on it.

"Are you my guide?" I ask.

"I am a guide," it replies. "What is your name?"

"Sian, Viscountess Punishment."

"Carve your destination upon me, and I will tell you where you must go next."

I do so, and it gives me the route to take. "That is not," it says, "the full path, but it will take you to the next guide."

I nod.

It hesitates, then asks, "Out of curiosity -- and you may deny me if you wish -- is this a personal quest? Or are you sent for another."

"For another," I say, cautiously, not spelling out whom.

The tree nods. "Lord Entropy?"

"Why do you ask?"

"He manages to get so few to pursue this, since he is forbidden to do so."

I consider. "What will I encounter along the way."

The tree nods again, as though expecting the question. "First, three women who are not women. then, three men who are not men. Then you will meet the Guardian of the Tree, the Tree itself, and, finally, most difficult of all, the Fruit."

"Why is the fruit so difficult?"

It leans toward me slightly. "You do know you will have to find a different way back? Did they tell you that?"

Of course they did not. Though they said nothing about it one way or another. "Why is Lord Entropy forbidden to obtain this fruit?" It occurred to me that if this was some crime, I would rather know of it now than later. Not that there was much I could do about it at this point.

"He is, it is said, only allowed to be on Earth, save for those Chancels elsewhere which can be reached from there -- the Locust Court, for example. Further, he and his weaken when they are off of that world. Thus, they must find others to do them such services as they cannot themselves perform."

Before I depart, I consider. There seems no value in not leaving behind someone favorably disposed toward me. "While I am here, is there any small favor or service I might perform you?" I think, being a tree, it might need something that its immobility prevents it from obtaining.

"You have given me your name. That is enough."

Hmmmmm.

---

III. "Witchy Women"

I walk along the path indicated, through woods, over hills, a river dancing and chattering a short distance away. Above me, heavenly bodies argue over who to invite to a party.

Along the way, I find the deadfall I need to craft a staff. There are times when it is better to have a weapon than not. I could have taken one of the oars, but I might return to the boat after all, and rowing with one oar is quite a bit more difficult.

I just feel better with having a stick. What can I say?

At length, I begin to hear music. Three women's voices in close harmony, singing some sort of rhythmic work song. I advance cautiously (realizing these must be the three women -- not women?).

I come upon them, beside the river. A matronly woman, blind, draws threads from the water, passing them on to an old crone with but one eye, who weaves them into sheets of cloth, handing them on to a two-eyed young maiden, who sets those sheets to dry upon the tree branches.

I do not read as much as once I did, but my memory is not so dim as to not recognize an incarnation of the Three Fates, the Wyrds, the Three Sisters, the Moirae, whatever they may be named here. What else might one expect from a sojourn to the World Tree. Which is one reason why I try to avoid same.

They greet me in unison, in song. "Hello, Sian. How is your adventure going?"

I am expected. Still, if they are the Fates, how could I not be? "So far without difficulty."

They wait for me to say something, so sure I must. "You sing beautifully."

"So do you."

Recollections of choirs and church flit past my mind's eye. "Not for a while."

"Are you sure?"

Now what the hell did that mean?

"Will you weave with us?"

I shake my head. "I have never woven before -- though I am sure I would be a quick study."

"Oh, we can teach you ..."

And so they do. The maiden takes me into her tutelage first, where she is hanging cloth upon gossamer threads. These reflect and are transparent at the same time -- but upon a second glance, contain images. Of me. Memories I hold, some locked away for a long time, many with reason. It is not a pleasant review, though rarely do I catch more than a glimpse before a ripple of breeze, a flicker of light, or my teacher's insistence upon further work take my attention from a scene.

As I see more, there are other places, other areas that are dwelt with. They are not sheets, but pieces of a tapestry, all but transparent, telling a story, giving a warning, showing a place. I look about and see hundreds of them.

I take one and examine it in closer detail. I am both astonished and not, in seeing that it shows me looking at a tapestry of myself looking at a tapestry. I set it aside, quickly.

The tapestry is not complete (I hope). Before I can read more, the maiden interposes. "Now you must study at the river."

There, the matron, blind, draws threads out of the water. "You must draw these," she says, "because they are needed for your tapestry."

"Who creates the threads?" I ask. They merely gesture, in unison, at the river, unhelpfully.

I learn, shortly, how to find the right thread, the one that feels right. It is intuitive work, not analytical. I cannot simply look and see what qualities are the correct ones, but must somehow feel it nonetheless.

And I can, which is a disquieting surprise. I assume that some lesson is being taught me, beyond the ostensible. I both resent it and find it intriguing. I, someone who knows I care to know the measure of things, must learn to know the unmeasured. As I said, disquieting.

(I am that much more introspective than once I was -- I blame Imagination, to be honest, though I also realize it's a gift. It's confusing. And, again, disquieting. I suspect it is for the better, but so is an overland journey without food or water across a burning desert to get to some desired goal. At any rate, I am more introspective, but not as much, perhaps, as I ought to be. I may have a blind spot there, but I'm not stupid. No matter what some folks may joke about without recalling my preternatural hearing.)

As I begin to get into the -- rhythm of drawing out the threads, I realize I've been singing. For a while. What in hell?

Before I can contemplate this, I am called to weave with the one-eyed crone, learning to craft the tapestries. I go to her, where the fabric is bundled up on her lap. I can see, once more, imagery there, disturbing pictures, unhappy ones -- but there is no time to study them more closely, for she is speaking.

"The pictures -- they will not be visible until they are done. And until they are hung. But then it will be ... too late."

Session 9C - Punishment

Scene 1, between Punishment, Justice, and Cathetel

[Within the Imperator's Court]

"It would be best if all were gathered."

"You wish me to contact the others?"

"Yes. I have the Ritual Defense against Arnaud's forces --"

"The Ritual must be placed on hold, until the truth is discovered, Lord. After all, you are not qualified to lead armies while charges such as these are outstanding."

"Since we know he is being framed by someone, to prevent Milord from defending himself, perhaps against the very party that has sought to so false accuse him, is hardly just, Justice."

A smile. "I am here to judge. My job is to investigate regarding the conflict between Cathetel and Arnaud."

"And you will therefore, of course, Justice, assure that Arnaud does not take advantage of your investigation."

"If you will assure that your brethren will be here when I return, then I will seek all legal means to restrain Arnaud." The smile again, baiting. "You could request intervention directly of Meon, you know. He -- speaks very highly of you."

A frown. "Milord, do you wish to contact them, or shall I?"

"I will refrain from exercising any untoward power over my Realm. You may summon them."

---

Scene 2, between Punishment and Justice

[Upon the building's roof]

A cry to the winds. "My brethren, our Imperator summons us to the courthouse." Consideration, then a kick at a ventilation pipe, aborted.

Unexpected appearing. "That was very subtle."

"When legally blocked from overt action, Justice, subtlety is all that is possible."

"Ah -- yes. When will they be here?"

"As soon as they can be, Justice."

"I will be waiting. I'll assume you, too, will be there, since you seem to have so much to say."

A polite smile. "If it is Milord's wish, then certainly I'll accede to his desires, Justice.

"You have placed guards on the Excrucian ship, of course, to prevent any further ... unfortunate stumblings-upon?"

"I really could not say. I have been busy reporting to Milord -- and to you, as well, Justice."

"I will leave you to it, then." Departure.

A kick sends the vent pipe sailing far into the evernight sky, to land somewhere in the ocean.

---

Scene 3, between Punishment, Cathetel, and the Cammora Jurai

[Justice has gone to Arnaud. Punishment has completed her report on the Excrucian weapons.]

A sound from the door. "Hello? Oh, I don't mean to intrude --"

"And that, Milord, is the truth." Turns. "Ah. Jurai." A small step, interposing between Jurai and Cathetel.

"Yes, Lord Cathetel, and, of course, the fair Sian. Heh. I had the honor of speaking with Mariska and Mr. Devereaux, and I have news for them. Would you know where they are? Or would you like to hear about it?

A glance at the Imperator. "You may tell us."

"Heh. Yes. Well, you already know that Arnaud's chancel has sent some very fine gifts to our Lord Entropy. Well, they're also trying to influence Meon, Desecration's Regal. We've learned what the bribe is." Pauses, waits. "It is something of a time-sensitive nature." Pauses, waits.

A sigh. "Tell us, then."

"Yes. Well, they are making a fine gift to Desecration's Estate. A grand desecration, as it were, in the middle of Miami. A fabulous artifact from a burial site elsewhere. Very old. Very significant." Eyebrows waggle.

Silence.

"Well, they plan to do something to desecrate it, involving a house of prostitution there." Pause. "Heh. Yes, well, it's Eve."

Raised eyebrows. "Eve -- as in, 'Adam and ...'?"

"The very one. Heh. She's to be found, dead, burned beyond recognition in a whorehouse, the unfortunate victim of arson. She'll be labeled a 'Jane Doe' by the authorities. Truly, a fine desecration. Meon will love it." Pause, awaiting reaction. "This information, I'll note, was not easy to obtain. Very costly."

Coldly. "You will have to arrange with Guilt for repayment."

"Of course. Of course. Heh. I could, you know, find out more. Arrange for further 'intel' --" Gestures quotation marks. "-- on the plan. Or perhaps find a way to redirect the sacrifice in ... your favor? Heh. Of course, there would be a price, but that can easily be -- negotiated."

"Again, you would need to talk with Guilt or Crime about that. Your bargain is with them."

"Of course. Of course. Well, I'll just leave the two of you to your tete-a-tete." A smile, a raised and suggestive eyebrow.

The door closes. A look over at Cathetel.

"They are a necessary evil."

A bow. "You are at least half right, Milord."

"It is better to keep one's friends close, and one's enemies closer. As I am sure you are well aware. Go now. Do what needs doing. The others will gather here soon."

A bow, and departure.

---

Monologue I

Eve. Mother of humanity. Second-born of us all.

But betrayer of all humanity as well. Weak-minded dupe of Satan, violator of God's command, temptress and betrayer of Adam. She who first sinned.

An irony, perhaps, given our Chancel. Hers was the first Crime of humanity, leading to its first Guilt, and thus its first Punishment.

I'm uncertain how Fungus fits in. Perhaps the Garden. And Cathetel is a serpent, though -- well, obviously not that serpent.

But for Eve I hold no pity, no compassion, no sense of outrage. That she has not turned to dust, as all mortals must, means little to me. That her body would be desecrated means even less. None could desecrate it more than she did herself. Still, I suppose some would consider it a desecration, a way to influence foul Meon. I'll have to consider this.

And it's not as though it's the Blessed Virgin. That I could not stand by for, and such a desecration would be -- unthinkable. Of course, tradition has it she was taken directly up to Heaven at the end of her days.

Hrm. Best not to dwell overmuch on this, lest the conflict between the faith of my mortal life and what I see and hear and touch about me now becomes too great. I must seek out what my course today is, not speculate idly on matters I cannot control or understand. That is the better course.

---

Scene 4, between Punishment, Fungus and Guilt, and, later, Justice.

[In Cathetel's court, as the Imperator looks on. Fungus and Guilt arrive.]

"You've come. Where's Crime?"

"Distracted. It's a body part issue. Lust says that a piece of Pen Lo is missing."

"What?!"

"Not one of our pieces. Nor theirs. Someone else's. Lust has been letting folks know."

"So where is Crime now?"

"With Lust."

"Great. We need to get him back here, as soon as possible. The reason he's away doesn't matter. Tomas expects us all to testify before him when he returns."

"Do we know when he'll get back?"

In the room. "As soon as possible."

Turning to Justice. "I'll send someone to Storyville to see if he's there with Lust."

"Fine, Fungus. I have secured some time with Arnaud's people, a pause if you will, before the conflict must resume."

"I'm sure we'll have this all cleared up quickly, Justice."

"That is my hope as well, Sian. Now, speak to me of the trident. Have you any information of interest regarding it?"

"I know that it came from a crate in a cave on the shore. I know the crate was not from the shipwreck, but was planted there on the last day of the Chancel's creation. I know that a mundane was convinced to plant the weapons in the lighthouse, in exchange for money."

"I will want to speak with him, Fungus." A glance at Punishment. "Is he still alive? And in possession of all his digits?"

"Yes."

"Then send for him." A sigh, a smile. "So, not treason perhaps -- but surely incompetency in defense of a Chancel."

"I note that this took place before the Chancel was created, and at a time when my Imperator was already complaining of interference by others."

A frown at Fungus. "Do you have anything further to add, Sian?"

"Just that I trust that justice will be done. By one agency -- or another."

"The trident itself, from what little I saw of it, appears to be a weapon described in Inquisitorial investigations from several centuries ago. It was captured from the Excrucians then."

"By whom, Justice?"

"Pen Lo's Chancel, of course. Now, other weapons were captured at the time as well --"

"Who inherited the artifacts from Pen Lo, Justice?"

A hard glance at the interruption by Punishment. "We did. And, of course, Avralam. Lord Entropy. Representatives of the Valde Bellum. The Cammorae might have as well -- they were involved in debriefing the mortal inhabitants of the Chancel before it was returned to reality, and in the destruction of the castle. Lord Entropy, or a representative of him, would have been in charge of disposing of the weapons."

Consideration. "Under the circumstances -- well, Lord Meon will be here in the next day or two, and I will continue investigating on his behalf. In the meantime, Cathetel is within his rights to Ritual Defense of his Chancel. The trident will be taken to Chancel Nephys. The investigation will continue. This has been -- most informative."

A glance at Punishment. "One more question, Sian. Your reaction to the individual who was wielding the weapon. You could have just as easily disarmed him."

A blank mask without expression. "I did."

---

Monologue II

There are times I wish I were more useful.

My service to my Estate is of great value, of course. And I'm fast, powerful, and can strike down our Chancel's foes if given half a chance.

But when it comes to the magicks of this place, I am barely tolerated by the land or its people.

So when it strikes me that a good course of action would be to follow up on Tomas' comment, and seek to protect the Excrucian ship from further intrusions, my options are limited. I can simply swim out there and pick up every piece of wood, flotsam and jetsam, and bring it to shore, and then carve out huge blocks of stone and build a wall about the ship. Or I can (if they will listen to me) order the Coast Guard to plant men around it to protect it. But the latter would be feeble in effect, and the former faintly ridiculous and grossly inefficient.

I mention the problem to Fungus. It shrugs, and entombs ship and fragments alike in its namesake, both anchoring them and shielding them from most harm.

That sort of thing. Useful.

Then it occurs that there is one way I might be useful. One of the planned blows against us, according to that vile little man, is the bribing of Desecration's Regal. Lord Entropy, one would assume, is above such things, but Meon might not be. But pride is certainly one flaw he carries, as do we all.

I knew, in my days, of police who would take bribes. Foul creatures, to trade authority for personal gain, but with such are my days taken up. To give a bribe, though, is a difficult thing, for the one bribed must consider himself in control of the transaction -- not control as in responsibility, but control as in being the one truckled to. If the manipulation is too overt, the expectations in return too blatant, the inference that one can be bought too visible, a bribe becomes an insult. One becomes too obviously a commodity, to be bought or sold. Nobody cares to be a commodity, a sack of flour, a servant. Not, that is, if they hold to the pride of position. Pride that lets one take a bribe, then, is a fragile thing, and can be pierced by light of day or by subtle word.

I am not subtle, but I know of pride. I will go to Meon, then, in that desolate realm of islands, and warn him of how Arnaud seeks to manipulate him -- and, through implication, let him know that such an attempt at manipulation is known by others. Perhaps in that way I can prick his pride, such that the bribe will not be accepted, but shunned, and not redound to Arnaud's advantage, but to his sorrow.

And that, in turn, will be useful indeed.

Session 8C - Punishment

I approached the ship. Only its stern -- formed like a giant nautilus, its planks all engraved with Excrucian runes -- was relatively intact, tilted at an angle backwards as it lay upon the beach. The moans were coming from the captain's cabin, from the gallery at the stern. I landed, peered in through the windows, but could see little, even though my eyes could take in every fragment of moonlight within.

I opened the door, stepped in, alert and ready. The moan again, coming from a back portion of the cabin. A young man lay there, coiffed, beautifully dressed, gorgeously --

I paused. He was ... so ...

I shook my head. He was battered and wounded, opalescent blood staining his tunic, his pretty locks, his --

Dammit. What's the matter with me? Excrucians are beautiful. I knew that already. Get over it, man.

"I need to move you," I said to him. "It's too dangerous here."

He spoke a word in his tongue, a black and twisted language yet, from his mouth, like the chiming of bells.

I grunted, then reached down, gently picked him up, trying to keep his broken ribs and limbs immobile. It helped that I could gently fly across the room, back out the door.

In the moonlight, I could see his clothes were as from some court, where fine craft was reflected in minimalistic simplicity. Such style had never appealed to me -- a product of my time. Haley -- Imagination would probably be disappointed in me.

"Hey, what you got there, girl?" Crime's voice called up to me, where he and Fungus stood upon the sand. "Bring 'im down."

Wonderful. I was loathe to entrust even an Excrucian to Crime's tender mercies. But I wanted to check the rest of the wreck out, and didn't want to be delayed securing the prisoner, or taking him to medical care.

In the light, he looked 17 or 18 years old. I hoped he didn't have anything of value in his pockets.

Crime nodded as I landed. "I'm a doctor, girlie. Don't worry -- I won't hurt him. Let's see -- better splint that ..."

I nodded, glared at him sternly. "If you do hurt him, Guilt will know." And likely do nothing about it, but that's another matter.

He gave me a big grin. "But he's Excrucian. He deserves punishment for invading us, no?"

"Yes -- once we know what's going on." I couldn't stand his presence any longer. "I'm checking out the ship."

There was not much left. A few papers in the captain's cabin, at first glance, but I wanted to check for bodies before I gave it a thorough searching.

But there were no bodies to be found. The migo, the ogroids in the water, were maybe a score in number, but were also clearly not commanders of ships. The pretty boy (Keep calling him that) was only one -- the craft was too large for so few officers.

Of course, there was only part of a ship here. The rest was scattered across the reef. Yet, that wasn't how it looked. This was not a shipwreck, torn by impact. Instead, the ship had been -- rent. Torn apart, as though by giant hands, not a crash. Curious.

A further search below decks found no cargo (washed to sea), nor were there guns where one might expect them on a gun deck.

I heard noises above me, alarming for a moment until I recognized the breathing and movements as that of Crime. "What are you doing?" I asked coldly as I came back to the captain's quarters where he was rifling drawers.

"I'm picking up evidence, girl. Look -- the log book."

That would tell us where they had been, and where they were planning to travel. All right, that had been clever of him, though it was more likely he was out to sell it to a museum or some such thing. "Good job. I'll carry it."

We descended to the beach. Fungus looked at the log, nodded, then said, "I am speaking with my brethren aboard. They talk about five like our prisoner, along with one in a hood. They are making a contract, which they sign and seal. The hooded one is pointing at an image of the Earth. The hooded one promises a large chest as payment. Their leader looks within, and it glows. Our prisoner bears the chest below decks. The hooded one leaves. The ship heads to Earth, but the chest -- it is not clear, but a rupture occurs where the chest is, killing many, and the ship sinks here."

Excellent. "And the contract?"

"Look in the log book," Crime suggested and we found it there, tucked in the pages. The language it was scribed in was part Excrucian and part Angelic. The Angelic script promised services to be rendered, in exchange for (in Excrucian) good, or perhaps weapons. Since the rest of the log was in Excrucian, presumably the hooded one promising favors was the one writing in Angelic. Ostensibly one of the Light, or Heaven, but clearly a traitor.

An Excrucian rune was burn into the paper at the bottom. Beside it was a seal.

Cathetel.

But that trick never works.

---

After the attempt to frame Amaciel, which led to the battle which necessitated refounding our Chancel, it would have been a bizarre coincidence for Cathetel to have turned out traitor. Yet I was ready to leave, even then, to speak to him, and demand the truth. What I would do about it, were the implications true, was another matter, but I had to know where matters stood.

"This doesn't seem like the Big Boss," Crime suggested. "Let me try something."

He spoke, then, to the Spirit of the Contract, using his Domain to determine what crimes might be involved with its crafting. Betrayal and treachery, certainly, but also -- yes, forgery. Thank God. The contract was a forgery, to implicate Cathetel. It was almost certainly meant to be found, though the contract's spirit could not tell us why it had been done.

I joined in the questioning, if only to see if the contract had any punishment clauses for noncompliance or nonperformance. After all, what would motivate or frighten these Excrucians (the survivor of whom was watching us with expressionless intensity)?

Nothing, it seemed. The contract only promised what each would do, not what would be done if they did not. Interesting.

Of course, if the contract were meant to be found, the hooded one would not have worried -- since the destruction of the chest and wrecking of the ship were almost certainly intentional, and thus the contract was itself a sham.

"I must tell Cathetel of this," I told them. "You can secure and take care of him?" I added, pointing at the Excrucian.

Crime only smiled and nodded. Fungus -- well, I'd known it for over a century, and still its body language eluded me. But I trusted it would make sure Crime didn't simply slit his throat and dump the body into the ocean. I hoped.

---

The courtyard before the City Hall was packed with chupacabras, as were the streets beyond. They were gathering -- or being gathered -- and that was worrisome. I trusted it was at Cathetel's order.

I entered the building. Cathetel held court in, appropriately, one of the main courtrooms. Before it was a guard, the Bailiff, as well as a man dressed ornately. I moved past them to enter, having no time for ceremony, but the guard held his ground before the door. "His Lordship -- is, uh, busy."

I fixed him with a cold stare. "Indeed. But that does not remove my need to see him. Now."

"He asked not to be disturbed until the visit was over."

I hesitated. It was an order, but this news was urgent. "That is between His Lordship and me," I said, reaching for the door handle.

Amazingly, the Bailiff interposed himself, though he was sweating heavily. "His Lordship asked not to be disturbed." He added, in a less firm voice, "Please don't kill me."

The matter was rendered moot by footsteps approaching the door from the inside. It opened, and out stepped Michel Tomas, Saint of Justice, and investigator sent to settle the dispute between Cathetel and Arnaud.

It seems strange that a Noble of Justice would be so ill-favored by me, who am both just as a personal rule and in my execution of duties as Punishment. But Tomas was no friend of mine. He worshiped the law, to my mind, to the exclusion of justice. Mercy, and the fit of punishment to crime, both meant little to him. And worse, he dressed up his worship of codes and codicils with a piety that grated, as though he were divinely tasked to carry out his self-appointed duties, smiling only when the path to doing so was short and clear.

I knew I was not popular, even among my brethren, but I took cold comfort that Tomas was even less so. I, at least, had been known to go out for a drink. It had been some decades, but it had happened.

Nobody drank with Tomas.

Immaculate and haughty, he strode from the courtroom as though it were his chamber, not our Imperator. "Siân. How delightful."

"Tomas," I said, intentionally choosing his surname, not his given one, nor his Estate. Nor did I comment on my reaction to his presence here.

I was several paces past him when he asked, "And how is the boat?"

Obviously Cathetel had told him, but it was still irksome that he played games like that to throw me off-balance. I glanced over my shoulder at him. "In poor shape," I replied, as much about him as to him.

Cathetel sat in what had been the judge's seat, evidently lost in thought. I went to him and bowed. "My Lord."

He was silent, chin resting in his right hand.

"My Lord."

No reply. He did not even glance at me.

I would have withdrawn, but my news was urgent -- and a mission upon which he had sent me. "My Lord."

That drew his attention. He turned his gaze at me. "SIÂN. YES. REPORT ON WHAT YOU HAVE SEEN."

I told him of the boat, the prisoner, the contract, and what we had found out about it.

He nodded, slowly. "I HAVE BEGUN MASSING THE CHUPACABRA. IT MAY BE NECESSARY TO -- PROVE MY COMMITMENT TO THIS MATTER WITH ARNAUD. VERY GOOD. IS THERE ANYTHING ELSE?"

I hesitated, but the truth must out. "My Lord, I am -- disturbed by -- the new member you have brought to our family."

"CRIME."

"Yes."

He gazed at me for a long moment, though whether choosing his words, seeking greater meaning from my soul, or simply seeing if I would change the subject, I knew not. At least he said, "HE IS A MANIFESTATION OF A DOMAIN WITHIN MYSELF. BUT IT IS NOT THE DOMAIN WHICH BOTHERS YOU, SO MUCH AS HE WHO ENNOBLES IT."

I considered. "Yes. My Lord."

"IT IS A RECENT ADDITION, AND SO I NEED SOMEONE RECEPTIVE TO ITS NEW DUTIES. YOUR OWN STRENGTHS WORK MUCH THE SAME WAY IN THAT REGARD."

Nodding, I pondered his words. I must be just, so I added. "I must confess, he did spot the forgery. But ... even as he aids our cause, my Lord, he corrupts it."

"IT IS NOT THE ROLE, BUT HE WHO PLAYS IT. HE IS THE FIRST. THUS, HE MUST BE SOMEONE WHO EMBRACES THE DOMAIN, NOT SOMEONE WHO SIMPLY SEES IT AS A TOOL."

Even as I did, I thought. I did not punish for the sake of punishment, but punished as a means toward achieving justice (a far truer justice than that which that Domain's Noble, Tomas, achieved). And if he were the first -- his place in our Court was not forever. Though I realized now I had no hope of changing Cathetel's mind. Yet.

"IT IS NATURAL FOR YOUR ESTATE TO BE REPULSED BY THE NATURE OF HIS ESTATE. I WOULD ENCOURAGE YOU TO SEPARATE THE REACTION OF YOUR ESTATE FROM YOUR OWN."

I nodded, though I did not think that would help. Crime -- whatever his actual name was -- clearly was as reprehensible as the Domain he had taken on. "I will try, my Lord."

"UNDERSTAND THIS, ALSO: I AM A PROPONENT OF THE CHAMOMILE LAW. ADVERSITY BREEDS STRENGTH. BY HAVING TWO OPPOSED DOMAINS, I MAKE EACH ONE STRONGER. YOU ARE STRONGER FOR HIS PRESENCE."

And he for mine? I wasn't sure that was a bargain.

Cathetel was continuing. "IT IS FOR ME A PLEASING BYPRODUCT THAT THESE TWO ESTATES EXIST WITHIN MYSELF AND MY FAMILY ..." Suddenly his gaze was like a burning weight upon me, driving other thoughts away. "... SINCE IT IS IMPOSSIBLE THAT IT WO