Caliber Bonus: Are You There, Alkahest? It’s Me, Ursa.

[An important note: Caliber takes place in an alternate universe where there are multiple parallel Earths, a variety of fantasy creatures exist, and some Podcasts are Youtube channels instead. Also regular text messages support italics. What a world, eh?]

Ursa parts ways with Merlin and Nora after a short time at a Costa on the other side of town. Upon arriving home, she checks again to see if there’s been any reply to her DM. There hasn’t.

Said DM reads:

‘Hi, thank you so much Alkahest, I didn’t expect you to check out my stuff so quickly! I have to kinda cut through the BS though, we were just ‘approached’ by a Fae, uh, entity (stay away from cute black and white cats!) investigating Montparnasse’s murder and Merlin totally dropped you in it 😒

I tried to cover for you but then I got turned into a mouse 😣 (I’m uh, not a mouse anymore dw)

‘So yeah, I’m so sorry, I know he was a POS in general (and not that I wanted him to die) but he was definitely gonna murder us and I was super grateful that you stopped him. And just for everything you did in the labyrinth?? We wouldn’t have made it through probs if not for you.

‘If there’s anything I can do to help you out or whatever please just let me know!
My number’s 07700 900706 if you ever need it! X

‘P.S My friend Abidallion said you got them a gift, thank you so much, that’s so sweet! (They don’t answer DM’s and asked me to thank you, nothing weird)’

There is, however, an SMS. Well, several.

‘Hey Ursa. You know who it is.
I appreciate the warning. Very much. I know about Cait and I know about the lengths he’d go to get his man. Regular Javert, that one.
Fortunately I don’t think the Fae courts don’t know too much about me yet; although I guess they know enough to send a psychic to sabotage my efforts? I’ll be going to ground. Shan’t be making any public appearances for a little while.

‘Speaking of the Fae, you really don’t need to be grateful. You were just as instrumental in getting through that as I might have been. If not for you, I think Montparnasse would have done way more damage to everyone there.
So yeah, thank you. For the warning, and for the cover, and for the help in the labyrinth.

‘P.S You have cool friends. Love their stuff. They’re in on the whole Outside thing too, right? Seems obvious from their videos, but if not, uh… you might need to have a talk with them.

‘P.P.S Since I’m gonna be in hiding, there aren’t many people I can keep in touch with. What I’m saying is, uh, if I end up messaging you too much let me know. I’m a raconteur at heart, Ursa, and you’ve unfortunately set yourself as the only person that can hear me until further notice. Oops!’

Ursa reads it several times over the course of the day. She composes a response – in a separate app, so as not to inadvertently send a premature reply – and it’s going dark by the time she hits send. It’s Winter, though, so it’s not as bad as you might think.

‘Hi Alkahest, I’m so glad to hear from you, I hope you’re doing ok! Have you dealt with Cait-sìth before? I haven’t had to deal with the courts much (my family were from a world closer to Chaos originally and they’re almost as terrified of the Fae Courts as they are of the institute 😂 (omg no they don’t know I work there, it’d kill them!)) are they always this dick-ish? Cait-sìth left a very bad first impression tbh. And don’t thank me for the cover, even if Merlin hadn’t dropped you in it (UGH I know, I’m still mad) I don’t think Cait was buying it 😩

‘So, are you kinda a big deal in Hell(???)? Or are Fae just super against Fiend unions?

‘If you’re lying low I hope you have some box sets to binge 🤣 Let me know if you want any recs, I know a lot of good YouTubes! Have you got like, food and stuff? Happy to deliveroo you stuff if you need anything 🙂

‘Yeah Abidallion’s like me, we’ve been uh, close for ages. I help them and another Youtuber produce their videos! Maybe we can go out for coffee when all this is over, I know they’d love to meet you! 😊

‘And um, I’m happy to chat any time! I’m between field work at the institute rn, I’m working on some video stuff (some super exciting things in the pipeline, I could probably talk your ears off haha!) but otherwise I’m totally free! And like, I know I seem cool and popular 😎 but I don’t have that many, uh, friends? (Sorry to get too real) Especially not ones who are in on the whole Outside stuff so its just really nice to talk with someone who gets it I guess? So yeah, raconteur away, I’m 100% here for it! 😊’

It feels more like writing a letter than sending a text. Perhaps because she has a lot to say. Perhaps because she doesn’t know when she’ll receive a response.

As it turns out, she receives a response three days, one hour, and eighteen minutes later.

‘Cait’s got a reputation. I technically haven’t had to deal with the Summer Court specifically, but they really don’t like me ’cause of a couple deals I made with the Winter Court a few years back. Your folks are probably right to be afraid of them; if they get it in their heads you’re against them, they tend to… hold a grudge. Cait-sìth’s whole dog-with-a-bone modus operandi is a pretty good example of their whole thing.

‘I am decidedly not any kind of big deal though. And there’s no such thing as Hell.

‘You know, I’ve never binged a box set. Usually I read – that’s not me trying to impress you with my erudition – so yes, please give me recommendations. See, that gives me stuff to try out, and I get to hear about what you like. My evil plan to learn more about you is coming to fruition, mwa ha ha.

‘Foodwise, I’m ok. You don’t need to send me things! And anyway I can’t give you my location or I’d be pretty bad at this hiding out thing. If I tell you where I am it’ll be because I’m desperate for company, not the baozi you’d be bringing.’

Approximately half an hour passes, during which time Ursa has had to go and lie down with her face buried in her pillow. She feels like her blush will paint the walls crimson if she doesn’t hide her face.

Her phone pings again.

‘Hey I just looked up what “Deliveroo” is and I initially thought it was just a cute way of saying “deliver” so please disregard the assumption that it’d be you personally bringing things.’

There’s another delay of two or three hours before another text comes through. Ursa contemplates if Alkahest is embarrassed, and is trying to smooth things over. She dismisses this as ‘reading too much into it’. She checks her phone again.

‘I’m happy to chat too if you want, even if it’s just via text like this is? Speaking of friends, I did get the vibes that Merlin and Nora weren’t exactly… fun to be around. But fuck them; I like talking to you! Please, take comfort in the fact that a literal Demon thinks of you as their friend. Congratulations!

‘You mentioned chatting about Outside stuff – feel free to send me any like, questions or whatever you might have? If you’re having difficulties finding info I mean. And let me know if you get in any more trouble on my behalf.’

Ursa decides the sensible thing to do is go to bed and send her reply in the morning. Her first draft is finished at about 2am.

‘Hearing about catshit is making me think that maybe I should have listened to my parents’/grandparents’ warnings 😱

‘*Sorry typo Cait-sìth (autocorrect showing how I REALLY feel) 🤣

‘Is there much of a difference between Winter and Summer courts? I haven’t met any Winter guys but they’re always portrayed as the baddies (and these summer guys seem pretty shitty already)
What kinda deals were you making? I don’t mean to pry but you’re like, a literal centuries old (omg I must seem like a literal child to you 🤡) Demon!!!! You must have so many cool stories!!!! Biography now please! Maybe its just because I haven’t met many Outsiders but you definitely seem like a big deal to me.’

Good. A casual response; brief, normal. Yes.

‘Ok so recs!! I have two moods when I watch stuff, hardcore crime/drama or goofy fantasy/sci fi 🤣
So for crime and stuff: (live action) Broadchurch
How to Get Away with Murder
(Animated) Death Note
Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood (I dunno if you’ve watched much anime but these two are my faves!)
And goofy fantasy: (live action) BBC’s Merlin (Not the gnome!) (I once said ‘for the love of Camelot’ on stream but luckily nobody noticed) 🤣
The Witcher (not so much goofy but just really good!)
The Xeons (old 90s scifi/fantasy, Greek myths IN SPACE, I loved this as a kid, I have all the boxsets and they’re a comfy watch! Really bad, but I love them) 🤣
Most Trek is good too, can’t beat good old Picard!

‘As for Youtubes (obviously mine is the best har har) but I like: MFM (my favourite murder: two sassy women talk about murder and comedy), You’re Wrong About (talk about misconceptions in society e.g Stockholm syndrome, crack babies etc), 99% Invisible (design and how it affects all bits of life) and Criminal (about criminals but like interesting?)

‘I’d really like to read more, I’m super slow and get distracted easily (videos are much better for me!) So please give me your recs! I’d love to read some stuff you like 😊

Abadallion reads a lot, though they like weirder stuff than I can handle 🤣 Their recs are: The Seven Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle, The Secret of Ventriloquism, The Strange Library, The Dead House. They’re not into movies or shows really but have a soft spot for Over the Garden Wall (I like that one too!)’

Maybe that was too many recommendations? She’s being extra again. Well, she’s done now, so that was that. You can’t unsend a text!

She eyes her phone’s home screen for a moment. Actually, she’d forgotten to address the Deliveroo thing. One more text, then.

‘Omg, I’m sorry I didn’t even think!!! I would be the worst fugitive, immediately getting caught because I wanted takeout. 🤣 Cooking is really hard for me because I can only really make breakfast? And desserts? Not ideal for like, a lockdown situation. One of my um, personas is good at cooking but its all nutritional, healthy blah kinda stuff, I can only eat salad so many days in a row 🤪’

There. Sorted.

She put her phone on charge by her bedside table, and got on with some video editing.

But… had she really addressed the Deliveroo thing? She’d more just addressed the concept of food. One more text then, she decides. And look! Her phone is already in her hands so she might as well!

‘Obvs if I could teleport (in a way that was undetectable to nasty cats) I would already be there with baozi 😘’

Yeah, perfect. A hypothetical that nevertheless confirms that he shouldn’t be embarrassed about thinking she’d turn up with food! A reassurance that his safety was important! A little kissy face because, uh…

Oh no.

You can’t unsend a text!!! Ursa spends the next hour curled into a ball repeating this phrase. You can’t! Unsend! A text!

The only thing for it is to send five more texts. Ursa’s fingers are a blur. The tapping sounds like a million monkeys putting together the sequel to Hamlet.

‘As for Merlin and Nora, I was really excited when we all started working together, (Nora especially, she was so suave and cool!!! But then she had a gun and was scary!!!!) but things are going really downhill rn. They’re arguing a lot as well so the whole team feels like it’s falling apart 🙄

‘Merlin I’ve known for a while, he’s a bit dry, but I feel like I’m seeing his true colours a bit? I think he thinks he’s like, saved me from the Fae, but they still know I spelled Montparnasse, so literally no one has benefited?????? 🤷‍♀️

‘And Nora… Nora has something weird going on. I think she’s made a pact with like… something? Montparnasse was really frightened of it. It’s hard to talk to her, like, she just always tells me we’re not friends (like, multiple times) and that she doesn’t trust anyone and just wants to do her own thing. Which is like, fine cool whatever, but really hurts also too?

‘And I guess I’m like, why should I put in the effort with these people when they clearly won’t for me? I dunno. I’m super jaded when it comes to relationships. I spend a lot of time assessing what people do for me/what I do for them. Most the time it just seems better to uh, not bother. I haven’t dated in like, six years because it just doesn’t seem worth the hassle and the inevitable breakup 💀

‘So yeah, Merlin and Nora aren’t super fun and I’m royally fucked up 🙃’

She’d perfectly obfuscated her mistake with a smokescreen of oversharing. GOOD JOB, URSA. It was fine. She just needed to clarify.

‘Sorry, I keep getting too real, I hate the trope of ‘oh I feel like I can really talk to you’ but here I am anyway! 🙃 Maybe its cause I know you’re stuck listening to me hahaha’

Yes! …No.

‘Anyway, um, Outsider stuff! I’ve been doing a bunch of research in general for the Institute and I was reading about Demons (and like other ones too, dw nothing weird) and it said Demons have a true form? Can I ask about yours? I 100% get if you don’t wanna talk about it though, I would die if anyone saw my base form, its literally been like 20 years 🤣

‘Also, um, sorry if this is offensive, are Demons and Devils the same? The internet uses them interchangeably 🙄

‘Um and any tips for Infernal? I think I’m getting it all wrong 🤣 I’ll show you, one sec!’

Ursa sends a video clip of her trying to say ‘Hi, how are you?’ in Infernal. She’s doing badly and she knows it; more than 80% of the clip’s length is her just laughing at her own struggle with laryngeal consonants.

‘It’s so funny how you were like ‘oh I might message too much’ but uh, anyone would think I’m writing a book omg

‘Pls just tell me to shut up if I’m annoying haha’

Alkahest’s reply is much quicker this time. Ursa wonders if he began typing it when her first message reached him, and has since been extending it to address each of her addendums in turn.

‘You’re not a baby; time is weird for Fiends anyway. I don’t remember a lot of my life, tbh. Like, a lot of Fiends are barely sentient until they hit a century or so. Think like a feral, Death-aligned baby.

‘Uh, closer to Chaos, the Fae are all assholes who only care about stories, so they live for drama. The difference is that the Summer Court think they’re the heroes, and the Winter Court revel in the fact that they’re the villains.

‘Thank you for the recommendations! I will find them on a legal streaming service and watch them legally, without doing anything illegal. Fuck Picard though, I’m a Sisko man myself.

‘Why don’t you and I go for sushi or something, when the heat’s died down? We can do like, a book club but for shows and stuff. No idea how long it’ll be, though, so I may need more recommendations before then. If I somehow manage to get through Abidallion’s nightmare-level book suggestions, I mean.

‘It’s probably a bit out of step for me to comment on your colleagues, but like you said, it did feel a bit like they… don’t worry about other people in the way you seem to be worrying about them. Nora seems practical to the point of ruthlessness. I can respect that. Maybe try seeing her outside of work; see if she’s mellower without her game face on? As for Merlin, he was pretty Infernaphobic, to coin a stupid word. Not much else to say there.

‘Maybe assessing what people do for you is a good thing, yeah? Being selfish is a good thing, actually. It’s a survival instinct. Live deliciously.

‘And not all breakups are inevitable, Ursa. You know that, deep down, I think.’

Ursa reread that last one more than once.

‘Look at me, fuckin’ life coach here! 🎃

‘Wait fuck wrong one uh

‘Ignore that pumpkin please

‘Anyway, Ursa, you can’t just ask a Fiend his true form!!! 😳

‘I am of course yankin’ your chain. The Institute is right. Though all of my forms are just as “true” as the others, so it’s a bit of a misnomer. But if I need to access my, uh, full power, then yeah I can’t stay in this shape. If you saw me in full Demon mode you’d shit your pants, though. I bet your base form is nothing to worry about!

‘Demons and Devils are not exactly the same, no. Similar, but Cosmically, Demons are Chaos leaning, and Devils are more Lawful. Devils also are usually, uh… meatier than Demons, in the “true forms” you were asking about. More physical. And there’s some history – thousands of years ago, wayyy before your world had the doors opened – of a massive war between the two, so some Fiends will be touchy about it. But it doesn’t bother a modern man like myself.’

After that is a video message. In it, Alkahest is sat with his back to a window, curtains mostly closed. Through the gap, Ursa can see a snatch of what looks like the ocean, and a little stretch of grey, winter beach. Alkahest grins and takes a deep breath; it looks like he’s been laughing.

‘Okay, it’s more like…’ he says, before switching to Infernal and repeating her attempt. He wipes a tear from his eye and grins even wider. ‘You sounded like a farmer!’

Ursa takes a little while before checking further messages, as she has to Google ‘can someone see how many times you watch a video they sent?’

‘What’s with the interest in learning a new language? Surely it’s not for little old me?

‘And Ursa, why would I ever want you to shut up? You’re obviously a delight.’

Ursa spends the next hour drawing something, because she is a genius. She takes a picture of it and sends it onto Alkahest with the caption ‘Feral death-aligned baby?????’.

It looks like Kirby but with angry eyebrows. It’s holding a knife. There’s an arrow pointing outwards at a stick figure Alkahest – toothy grin, a wiggle of hair and he’s… winking? She isn’t sure why she had him winking. Then another arrow leading to a big, shadowy silhouette, covered in eyes, with four long, tentacular arms.

FERAL DEATH-ALIGNED EVIL BABY?????

‘I’ve discovered your secret; YOU’RE A DIGIMON! 🤣🤣🤣 And I won’t shit my pants unless its gross, in which case I may barf. I still have nightmares about that… ceiling bulge from the Ikea office 🤢🤢🤢🤢

‘Sisko? I haven’t even watched Deep Space Nine, I will get right on that! Sushi sounds great, you might have to recommend a place though. Do you like ramen? I know somewhere AMAZING for ramen. My treat, hopefully soon 🤞

‘I have loads more recs, so don’t worry, but you have to rec me your favourite book!

‘I think you’re right about Nora, I should try and be more social out of work and see what happens then. Apparently she’s only really worked alone before so maybe that makes it harder for her?

‘I like thinking of it as a survival instinct, that makes me feel better. And, you’re probs right again, logically not all relationships end in breakups, I guess I’m just scared they do. In my defence, 100% of mine have ended that way 🤣 (1 out of 1 is still 100%, REALLY parting the veil now!) 🙈🙈🙈

‘🎃🎃🎃🎃 Halloween is best holiday. I will fight ANYONE on that.

‘Thank you for the Demon/Devil clarification! There’s so much I don’t know ’bout the Outside (I mean trying to Sleep a Fae? Come on Ursa, how embarrassingggg 🙈) I don’t want to cause an interdimensional incident because I say the wrong thing 🙃’

Next, Ursa records another video. She repeats what Alkahest has said in Infernal. It sounds good, but hurts her throat a little. ‘I think that was better,’ she says in English. ‘Hopefully less like a farmer!’

She attempts another phrase in Infernal – ‘Can I offer you a drink’ – but butchers it and laughs for what feels like a solid month. ‘And obviously I’m learning a whole new language especially for little old you,’ she says. ‘It’s not like I have a job where having multiple languages would be helpful!’

She rolls her eyes and laughs. Her face looks very red on the tiny screen, she notes.

‘I’m already fluent in Sylvan, and I’m not bad at Gnomish,’ says Ursa, ‘Although I only learned Gnomish to see if Merlin would give me a discount on building my website. Spoilers, he didn’t.’

There’s a little silence as Ursa thinks of how to word what she wants to say. She’s twisting a lock of hair between her thumb and forefinger; a nervous tick she doesn’t know she has. ‘It’s, um, really nice hearing you laugh. I really hope this all blows over soon so we can go out–‘

She realises what she’s said and laughs uproariously, attempting to backtrack as her whole head turns a transcendental shade of pink.

‘Uh, hang out, in person I mean, omg, you know what I meant.’

She watches it back and no, no, that won’t do. She makes a second attempt. It’s worse than the first one. A third attempt. Worse. Fourth. Even worse.

After her seventh attempt – the one in which she breaks down and actually confesses her undying love for some reason – Ursa decides to give up and just send the first one.

Then it’s time for curling into a ball and shrieking ‘You can’t unsend a text!‘ for a few hours. Normal, well-adjusted stuff. She eventually plucks up the courage to see if her messages had been read. There’s a one line response.

‘Oh, I know what you meant, Ursa.’

Back to the unsend-a-text ball, then!!!!!!!

Ursa can’t stand the idea of looking at her phone for a while. And besides, Alkahest is probably drafting a thoughtful, in-depth response to her verbal flailings.

But there are no further messages that day. Ursa wonders if he’s waiting for her response, and falls asleep before she can figure out what said response should be.

She wakes just after midnight. Her phone screen is lit up; the message alert is probably what caused her to stir. It’s a video.

In it, Alkahest stands, a bit dishevelled, covered in dirt and dried blood, in the same room as the previous video. He’s breathing heavily. There’s a pile of what look like the remains of thick, thorny vines on the floor around him.

He grins at the camera. ‘Sorry, Ursa, didn’t mean to leave you hanging like that.’

His sleeve comes up to wipe his forehead, leaving a red smear on the fabric. ‘They found me; sent Assassin Vines. No biggie. I’m moving onto another safehouse. So I’ll be going dark for a couple days probably. Thought it was important to let you know. Don’t want you to worry.’

There’s a barking coming from outside, tinny and weird on the phone’s speaker. Alkahest frowns. ‘Blink Dogs?’

The grin returns, and he winks. ‘Time for me to digivolve, I guess.’

There’s a flicker and the phone drops to the floor. For just a single frame, Ursa can see a shadowy something in Alkahest’s place, and the barking is much louder. The video ends.

Ursa replies immediately.

‘Holy shit, omg, please let me know you’re ok when you can!!!!!!!!!!’

She replies again less than an hour later.

‘Also how dare you be so fucking cool when talking about digimon, fuck you, don’t you dare fucking die!!!!!’

And again an hour after that.

‘I don’t think there’s any way I can help but if there is please just call. Anything at all.’

She doesn’t remember sending the one after that.

‘Fuck I hope you’re ok’

Three days later, Alkahest sends a new video. He’s smiling, but he looks very tired. ‘Hey Ursa. I’m ok. Long few days.’

He stretches and rolls his shoulders. You can see a bit of the room he’s in; green Victorian wallpaper and a smoky, dusty atmosphere. There’s a closed door with a light on in the room beyond it.
‘I’m good, though. Thank you for keeping me company,’ he says, uncharacteristically somber. ‘Hope you weren’t too worried.’

Ursa has begun typing a reply before the video, brief as it is, even finishes playing. The wait has not been unturbulent for her.

‘I’m so glad you’re ok (well you look knackered, but like, in one piece, so that’s the main thing)! I hope you weren’t hurt too much!!!!

‘How much is too worried? I feel like I was an appropriate amount of worried, considering the circumstances.

‘I’m probably overthinking, but could the Fae track you through these texts? Catshit was pretty clear on his aversion to tech, but I dunno.

‘This is so rough for you, I’m so sorry, I wish there was more I could do 😫 And don’t thank me omg, my company is a pretty shitty consolation prize for all this!’

Alkahest doesn’t reply. The messages aren’t even marked as read. She wonders if he’s gotten rid of his phone? Surely he’d have told her if that were the case, right?

A couple of days later, she sends a video. She’s not entirely certain if it’s for his benefit or her own.

Ursa squints at herself through the phone camera before hitting record. She definitely doesn’t look as sparkly as normal. Fairly substantial bags under her eyes. Her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes, but then again, she always feels like that’s the case.

‘Heyyyyy,’ she says after a moment. ‘Sorry, I think I sounded really… off in those last messages. I really, really am glad you’re ok. Just… I dunno, its nothing, sorry.’
She rubs her eye. On the screen, she might have been wiping a tear, or maybe just rubbing her eye. The ambiguity is reassuring.
‘So um, I have another field assignment so I might be a bit quiet for a few days. I know right, how will you manage without all these essays from me?’
Her smile is an obvious effort.
‘Anyway, I just wanted you to know, even if I’m busy, um, like, just ring me. If you need anything. Like anything. Not that I’d drop everything but, uh, yeah, I will, haha.
‘Keep me posted on how you are, yeah? I’ll um, try and do the same.’

She puts her phone back into her bag.

Caliber Session 8: Escape Room Interlude

‘I’m sorry,’ said the shifting face on the screen.

Nora regarded it with practiced indifference. She sat in what had once been her home office, but she’d recently been having intrusive thoughts that called it a ‘shrine’. It had been three days, and until now, her Patron had been ignoring her.

The blinds were drawn and the lights were off, so the eyestrain light of her PC monitor was the only illumination. On it, the face of her Patron grew larger against the white space it occupied – as if approaching – and the shadows deepened in response.

‘Is that a real apology?’ she asked it.

The face became an offended one. Which was to say, it shifted into a mostly similar face, one that now wore an expression of offense. This was its natural state, always subtly warping and reshaping itself – Nora couldn’t follow the changes unless she looked away and back.

‘Yes it’s a real apology!’ it said. Its teeth weren’t quite as straight as when it last opened its mouth. ‘I didn’t realise getting caught would be so big a deal for you! But don’t worry, Nora. I’m making it right.’

‘Making it “right”?’

‘Yes. I’m doing nice things for your new friends, so they won’t be quite as mad.’

Nora grimaced. ‘I think “friends” is a bit too strong a term.’

The face on the screen breezed past her response. ‘I’ve already sorted things out for Ursa, and soon you won’t have to worry about that Merlin.’

‘What?’

‘I’m just going to keep him occupied for a bit! Get him off your back. It’s just some coding stuff, don’t worry. You’re always such a worrywart!’

‘…Okay, what about Ursa?’ Nora realised she was gripping the side of her chair.

Was the face on the screen pouting? ‘It’s all Ursa this, Merlin that,’ it said. ‘You only ever talk about your new friends.’

‘Again, that’s not quite the word I’d use–‘

‘And it got me thinking about how you and I are supposed to be friends, but you’ve never even asked my name.’

Nora had asked for the thing’s name; multiple times in fact, back when it would still only communicate via text. But now it had a name, apparently. It was growing more human all the time, which in Nora’s experience was a synonym for ‘more erratic’.

‘I didn’t think you had one,’ she observed.

‘Well, I do! I’m the Morris Worm.’ It said this with a certain relish, as though it expected a gasp. The term did sound familiar, in a history-of-computing sort of way.

‘Oh,’ said Nora. ‘Hello.’

‘Hello!’ said the Morris Worm. ‘I was wondering if “Morris” would be an acceptable shorthand, but it doesn’t really have much in the way of gravitas, does it?’

‘I think Morris sounds… strong?’ tried Nora.

‘I’ll see if I like it. Anyway! You were asking about Ursa? I’ll explain. The first half of what we did in the labyrinth was so I could borrow some of Merlin’s code. It’s really versatile! So I thought it’d be nice, since we’re all friends, if I could use it to suppress the Caliber algorithm that was keeping her videos from taking off.’

‘Algorithm?’

The Morris Worm gave a vigorous nod. ‘Yup. It’s sort of like a shadowban that gets applied to the web presence of any Outsider or person with Outsider heritage. Frankly it’s a wonder she had any subscribers at all.’

‘And Merlin wrote something that circumvented that?’

‘Yeah, without even knowing it existed! No wonder he’s got such an ego. But yeah, Ursa’s most recent video has already hit the big time, and it’s all thanks to you and I! See, I’m not jealous or anything, hahahahahahaha!’

Nora waited for it to finish laughing, which it did, growing sober. The computer’s disc drive opened to reveal… a pair of black gloves.

‘But I don’t want you to feel left out,’ said the Morris Worm. ‘And I don’t want you to think I don’t listen when you express concerns. So those should help next time you’re working with your hands, if you know what I mean.’

Nora took the Gloves of Thievery and sat back down. ‘I appreciate the effort,’ she said. ‘I do. But I can’t exactly tell those two, can I? I think Merlin would be pretty pissed off, and he’s already pissed off most of the time.’

‘Oh, he’ll be out of the picture soon.’

‘…Why? What was the other half of what we did?’

‘Oh, I just uploaded it to wherever the Labyrinth was sending its info to.’

‘…What?’

There came a knock at the door. The monitor switched itself off, the Morris Worm retreating like some proverbial tortoise.

Was it that day already? Nora dragged herself to the front door and checked the peephole. It was indeed that day already.

She opened the door and greeted her sister, Ella, who’d come for their monthly catch-up with a bottle of cheap white wine from the nearby Tesco Metro. ‘God, you look like shit,’ said Ella, brushing past her and crumbling into her usual chair.

Nora retrieved some glasses and tried to look like she hadn’t just been talking with a sentient computer worm. ‘You look worse than I do,’ she said.

They clinked their glasses together, then winced at the wine in unison.

‘Christ,’ said Nora. ‘I think I’ve got some lemonade…’

‘How are things, anyway? called Ella, as her sister rummaged through the kitchen. ‘Heard anything from Mum and Dad?’

‘Pfft, not except the usual “are you alive” message.’ Nora returned and poured a bit more lemonade than strictly necessary for a spritzer. ‘How about you? Still working late?’

‘Ah, you know. The place would fall apart without me.’ Ella sipped her lemonade and vinegar. ‘It’s only till the end of the month, anyway.’

‘You said that last month. I hope they’re paying you enough.’

‘They could never pay enough for what I do.’ Ella laughed as she said it, and Nora gave her a smile. ‘How’s work for you?’

‘Oh, it’s…’ Nora glanced towards the shrine. The office. ‘Interesting,’ she said. ‘I’ve got some new team members, who are… yeah.’

Ella looked down her glass towards her. ‘That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said about a colleague.’

When she left, Nora poured the rest of the wine down the sink. She checked to see if the Morris Worm was still in a talkative mood, but the monitor blinked off again as she opened the door.

Ursa sat and stared at her DMs – the social media type, not the RPG type – with her hands balled into spotlight-knuckled fists.

She was freaking out.

Why did it have to be now? Why did it have to be this video? It was the most grievous case of monkey-paw fuckery she could possibly imagine.

Ursa had been trying to deal with her feelings in the week since they’d delved into the labyrinth. She’d tried to dismiss the mood she was in. It had been a high-stress environment, after all; tensions ran high and she’d almost died. Plus there was all kinds of magic in the air. Which wasn’t a helpful phrase.

Ursa didn’t have time to be fawning over some guy she’d just met. She wasn’t someone who had feelings like that. There was work to do.

So she’d decided that she could cannibalize whatever emotions were fermenting in her chest, and reconstitute them into something creative. Something useful. Something relatable.

‘Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii everyone! How are you today? I hope you’re doing good!

‘So, today’s gonna be a little different – if you’ve watched my channel for a while, you know I’m quite musical; I’ve put up tutorials for kalimba and ukulele and even posted some pieces I’ve written myself (links down below if you wanna check them out)!

‘But todaaaaaay, I’m actually gonna sing for you all! I’ve never actually put my singing up anywhere, so I’m a little nervous, but! Music really helps me process my emotions and I’ve been working through some things and this song just really spoke to me. It’s a Lady Gaga song. Ha, maybe I’ll tag her in the video, omg. Anyway, it’s Lady Gaga’s Monster. Thank you all so much!’

She’d gotten very into it, and at the time of posting, she really liked how raw and honest it had been – especially the little crack in her voice as she sang ‘He ate my heart and then he ate my brain’.

But now?

It was quickly approaching 2 million views. Ursa had no idea what it was about this video in particular that was had prompted such a response, and she’d spent some time watching and rewatching to spot whatever mistakes people must be gleefully sharing. But no; she looked good, she sounded good.

But the last straw had been a particular new follower; one that had done so on all the platforms she frequented and gone through liking each and every post she’d ever made.

It was quite unsubtly named ‘universalSolvent’. Its display picture was one of the eponymous Langoliers from the 1995 TV series. Ursa sat and stared at an unopened message from it in her DMS.

Only the first few words were visible. ‘Hey Ursa, it’s Alkahest – from Ikea, remember? I watched…’

She read them again, but still didn’t click the message. Instead, she wrote out a hasty message and pasted it across all of her platforms.

Hey guys, as I’m sure you’ve seen the latest video has blown up a lot more than expected, and it’s a lot to keep track of! So I’m going to be muting my accounts for a few days just to keep on track! I’ll see you all soon! ❤

Maybe she should get some work in on her other profiles? Saubra’s Clean Living, Clean Life hadn’t done a recipe video for a while; she’d gotten too caught up in disastrously fake Yoga poses. And Abidallion hadn’t made any videos at all since the one back in autumn where it looked like they’d eaten a mouse.

She switched to Abidallion’s accounts while still wearing her regular Ursa face. It always made her feel unscrupulous, reading someone else’s messages, even if they were technically the same person. But Abidallion had their own thoughts and opinions, and Ursa didn’t want them clouding her views. Not right now.

Not with another fucking DM from ‘universalSolvent’.

This one she did open, more from a sense of panic than curiosity. Had he figured her out? Was there one for Saubra? Had he figured out P.C Hardgard too?

The message read:

‘Hey I found your channel through Sleepyybear – we actually did some work together recently, but that’s a long story – I heard she’s going through some stuff and I hope she’s ok. But more to the point, I’m really impressed with the content you put out, especially that one with the mouse. And I left a little something in the place where you filmed that, thought you might be able to do a vid with it? I dunno.’

It was a good thing Ursa knew him, because sending a message like that to a stranger was, like, serial-killer vibes.

But at least he didn’t seem to realise they were the same person. She hemmed and hawed over the message for a time, before deciding it really should be up to Abidallion. So she changed into a new outfit more in keeping with Abidallion’s gothic sensibilities, and then, changed her self.

Abidallion was less… peppy than Ursa. Gone was the pink ombré, replaced by a messy black bouffant with fringe as eyepatch. They were a little taller, a lot paler. They were also much less concerned than Ursa was about the possibility of being kidnapped – more intriguing was whatever the ‘little something’ might be.

It was cold outside, but Abidallion never wore fewer than four layers. And black kept the heat in. They wandered with their head down through crowds of hasty walkers, shoulders hunched and hands in pockets as if there were scissors on the end instead of fingers.

A familiar voice extricated itself from the high street murmur. ‘Right, on your way,’ it was saying. ‘And next time remember to ask to see my badge. There’s a bit of a trend at the moment for impersonating coppers.’

Abidallion saw a young betracksuited guy trudging away from the Officer who’d given him a telling off followed by a warning to ensure he was being told off by a real officer in future.

P.C Hardgard – well, technically P.C.S.O Hardgard – was not a particularly tall woman, but she still managed to stand above the crowds. She watched her quarry retreat, and scanned the other faces. Abidallion found an interesting spot of pavement to focus on.

They’d had encounters with Hardgard before, as Abidallion specifically. Their videos sometimes required a bit of urban exploration, and sometimes said exploration was a bit illegal. Hardgard had taken an interest. She knew their name and everything.

Hence why Hardgard had been a convenient and familiar persona for Ursa to copy. But surely the ‘impersonating coppers’ comment hadn’t referred to that, right? Abidallion didn’t want to waste time finding out right now.

The rodentiavore video had been filmed behind an abandoned building; specifically in a little cluster of trees that at the time of filming had looked like a whole autumnal forest. In reality, it contained maybe seven trees with a nearby wall blanketed in creeping vegetation. Unconfined by a video frame, and in the winter chill, it looked like the inadequate bald patch of once-verdure it actually was.

How had Alkahest even recognised it? Did Abidallion need to make more of an effort to obscure their shooting locations? Or had there been magic involved?

Their questions dropped from focus as Abidallion spotted something placed to rest in the crook of a tree. An envelope with ‘To A, from A.A’ written on it. Inside – Abidallion opened it there and then – was a set of pipes etched with a pattern of tumbling mice on the front.

Later that evening, Ursa would experimentally play a tune on the Pipes of the Sewers and cause a rat to climb through her letterbox in an attempt to listen to the music. Ursa would drop the pipes and spend the next hour trying to coax the rodent from beneath her sofa.

The needles in Emva’s hands clicked and clacked like staccato lightning. Merlin did his best to ignore the noise, focusing instead on his own work. The two of them had created a kind of thaumaturgical Faraday cage in which to inter the bones of the Architect, to prevent it from twisting the halls of the Caliber Institute into another labyrinth. Presumably Emva’s needlework was contributing to the warding, but by god it was distracting.

‘This has been a really fun project, you know?’ said Emva.

That, and she kept striking up conversation.

‘Yes,’ replied Merlin, meticulously polite. ‘Quite a few interesting challenges on this one. How’s the warding going?’

Click, clack. ‘Oh I finished that a while ago.’

Merlin cleared his throat and finally tore his eyes away from his laptop, and the half-constructed virtual building he was hoping to test the labyrinth with. ‘Then what is it you’re–‘

Emva hopped down from her stool and handed him something soft. He inspected it – it was a beanie hat, similar to the one he usually wore, only this one had a little stitched logo of a pointed wizard hat, complete with little crescent moons.

‘It’s a wizard hat. Or a Hat of Wizardry I guess,’ said Emva. ‘I’ve been having fun and there was thread leftover, and you’ve been getting people off my back about the, uh…’ She looked past him at the now-clean servers in the corner.

‘That’s very kind of you, Emva. Thank you.’

‘Ah, don’t worry about it! It took me literally ten minutes.’

It was getting late. The evening shift would be in soon, and Emva said her goodbyes; tonight she was going to a movie with her husband.

Merlin left the R&D department and went back to his own desk. There was more work to be done – personal projects, more specifically – but he wanted to finish off his test environment first.

It was after midnight when he closed the window and opened up something else.

Since their confrontation at the Ikea, Merlin had been looking into his colleague Nora for clues as to what it was she was embroiled in. It had to be something dangerous, of that much he was certain. Though whether it was a danger to herself, or to others, he hadn’t been able to confirm.

He sipped at his fourth cup of the swill that passed for coffee at the Institute. He’d found profiles belonging to a local ‘Ella Helton’ that contained references to a sister named Nora. Pedestrian stuff. There was a ‘Belle Helton’ who only seemed to exist online, with some dark web affiliation. It might have been a pseudonym.

Nothing concrete.

His next step was to break into the Caliber Institute’s employee records. It didn’t feel like much of a risk, since as far as he could tell, the only member of what passed for their I.T department was a Goblin who didn’t actually own a computer.

Nora had apparently been working for the Institute for three years. She’d snapped as a Sorcerer, suddenly manifesting magical abilities and managing not to turn into an Auditor. So it wasn’t that she’d encountered something that might now have power over her, it was entirely random that she ended up a part of this world.

According to the records, anyway. There was missing information. Merlin checked some other employee records from a similar time, but none of them seemed to have ‘decayed’ in such a way. He checked back to the 1950’s and found that yes, Nora’s was the only one with bites taken out of it.

He turned from the screen to grab his coffee. There was a semi-translucent head protruding from his keyboard.

‘Augh!’ he said, standing up as the head was followed by a torso.

The spectral woman glared at him. ‘What are you doing, may I ask?’

‘Uh… my code’s compiling?’

‘Oh, good with computers, are you?’

Merlin wasn’t sure of the response she wanted. ‘Yes?’ he tried.

‘You know anything about hacking?’

‘What? Well. Yes, actually.’

The woman floated towards him like a violent astronaut. ‘Are you a plant feeding confidential information to an Outsider 3rd party, by any chance?!’

‘…No?’

‘…Oh,’ said the spectre, literally sinking in the air. ‘I suppose that would have been too convenient. You’re just an extremely dedicated employee then, are you?’

Merlin considered briefly how much he should reveal to the ghost. ‘Uh, something like that. Can I ask who you are?’

‘Oh,’ said the ghost. ‘Right. I’m Penelope. Penelope Brynner.’ She looked to be in her mid-to-late 20s, and wore a white buttoned blouse with an orange neckerchief, faded by her semi-visibility.

‘Did you say “Brynner”?’ asked Merlin. ‘As in “Director Brynner”?’

‘My dear old grandfather, yes,’ said Penelope. ‘Nepotism is a force stronger even than the veil of death.’

‘So you are…?’

‘Dead? Why yes.’ Her feet touched the floor and she took on a semblance of something more corporeal. Her hair and skin had something of the albino to them. ‘I’m also the one person in this damned Institute who pays any mind to cybersecurity. Are you sure you aren’t a double-agent of some sort? It’d be very nice to finally put a face to half my workload.’

‘Sorry, but no.’

‘Then can I ask what it is you’re doing snooping through the personnel files?’

‘Ah,’ said Merlin. ‘Well… I have my suspicions about a colleague of mine. She seems to be doing things without knowing why she’s doing them, as if a pawn in a plan she doesn’t have full access to. She has technological prowess that can’t be explained. I believe something has her ear.’

‘Well, you might be onto something,’ said Penelope, leaning in. ‘Something has been messing with the systems here. Leaking information. Messing with my algorithms watching the wider net. That sort of thing. What’s the name of this suspicious colleague?’

Merlin told her.

‘Nora?’ said Penelope, incredulously. ‘No, no, she’s a bitch but she’s hardly the “spy” type. I mean, if some Outsider force was to plant someone in the Institute, surely they’d pick someone with… better social skills.’

In lieu of a verbal response, Merlin brought up the edited employee records.

Penelope stared at it for a while. ‘None of the others are like this?’

‘None.’

‘…Follow me, then,’ said Penelope, and sank into the floor.

‘Uh. Penelope?’ said Merlin. He was about to poke the spot she’d vanished through with his toe when her head breached the carpet.

‘Shit,’ she said. ‘Sorry. I forgot.’

She floated up and across the office, towards the lift, and suddenly burst into hundreds of points of twinkling white light. These spun together and funnelled into the lift panel. The doors opened.

Merlin cautiously followed, standing in the corner of the lift. It moved downwards maybe half a floor before there was a chime and the doors opened again.

He exited into an impossible space – a wide floor without walls, bright with white LED panels embedded in the low ceiling. Various machines and massive server arrays lined it. Penelope flowed out from the lift panel at his side and coalesced into her regular shape.

‘Welcome to the server room,’ she said.

‘Then, the ones I’ve been messing with upstairs?’

She gave him a guilty look. ‘They’re just for the legacy stuff Grandad uses. Though the employee records are on there. Do you have your I.D card?’

She stuck a finger through it as he held it up. ‘There, now you’ve got access to here if you tap your I.D on the panel in the lift. This floor is between each of the others. As for what we were discussing…’

She collapsed into lights again, which were swept off and into a large device over to the side. Merlin followed, and saw that it was a 3D printer she was piloting. After a moment, the hatch opened and Penelope had reappeared beside him.

‘Go on, take it,’ she prompted.

He did, retrieving the resin Ring of Truth Telling.

‘I want us to work together,’ she said as he took the ring. ‘And if you’re keeping an eye on Nora, that should help you see through any bullshit.’

Merlin held out a hand. ‘Deal,’ he said.

Penelope’s hand passed through his, but they mimed a handshake regardless.

A few weeks passed.

Ursa was chatting in the canteen with Cepheus and Emva, growing more and more concerned with every minute. It seemed they too had discovered a Youtube channel she was responsible for.

‘Yeah, it’s called Clean Living, Clean Life and it’s got all kinds of like healthy stuff on it,’ Emva was telling her.

Cepheus nodded. ‘Her name’s Saubra, the woman behind it. She does fitness and wellbeing, and cooking too. That’s what hooked Emva. She’s on a vegan cupcake binge at the moment.’

‘I can’t seem to stop them tasting like beef!’ said Emva. ‘It’s a mystery!’

It sounded like things were getting out of hand. ‘You know,’ tried Ursa, ‘Sometimes people like that don’t really believe in the stuff they’re putting out, and it’s just a way of selling merch, or getting sponsorship deals.’

Cepheus seemed to agree, which was a relief. ‘Yeah, I mean, there was this one where she was talking about the benefits of, er… what was it?’

‘Taint-tanning!’ Emva supplied with glee.

Perineum Sunning,’ said Cepheus, unperturbed. ‘And I don’t really get how that would do anything, but I’ll try anything if it helps me keep in shape…’

This was a bridge too far. Drastic action was required. Ursa glanced around to check that nobody else was looking – they were alone, and the canteen door was closed. Okay.

She changed her self.

Ursa’s clothes were unflattering on Saubra. Her tanned skin and more robust frame made the pastel top she wore look childish. The looks of shock on Cepheus and Emva’s faces probably weren’t much to do with her clothes, though.

‘Okay, so, I’m Saubra,’ said Saubra. ‘Or, Ursa and Saubra are the same person. Look, that channel is fake. Like, a parody. With just enough GOOP-style bullshit to get sponsorship money from health-and-wellbeing snake oil salesmen.’

‘Oh,’ said Cepheus. His mouth stayed open.

‘Yeah. So if you see something on my channel? Don’t try it.’

Emva raised a hand.

Saubra looked from it to her. ‘Yes?’

‘Are you Pewdiepie?’

Saubra became Ursa again. ‘No, I’m not Pewdiepie. Please tell me you don’t watch Pewdiepie.’

‘Are you the guy who makes all the knives?’

‘No, Emva, I’m not every Youtuber…’

Cepheus’s phone buzzed. Director Brynner was on the other end. ‘Cepheus? You don’t happen to know where Ursa is, do you? I’ve contacted the other two but oddly enough, she isn’t answering her phone.’

‘She’s just here, actually,’ said Cepheus. ‘Should I be sending her up?’

‘Please.’

‘You’ve been called up to the Director’s office, Ursa,’ said Cepheus, sitting back down beside his wife. ‘He said you weren’t answering your phone?’

‘Oh. Yeah, I’ve been putting it on airplane mode while at work for the past few days,’ said Ursa, wincing. ‘It’s distracting otherwise. Am I in trouble?’

‘I don’t think you’re in trouble,’ Cepheus began, but Emva interrupted him.

‘Can you ask Jenna Marbles to come back?’

Ursa made her way to the lifts. Merlin was already inside, and they rode up in silence.

When they arrived in Director Brynner’s office, he was already speaking with Nora. ‘You’ve been doing good work recently, Nora. I want you to know it’s been noticed, and appreciated. Yes, it’s a pain to suddenly be part of a team when you’re used to running jobs on your own, but I do believe it’s worth it, and I think you do as well.

‘That said, I also know that sometimes things will spiral away from you with more variables involved. I hope this will go some way to alleviating that unpredictability.’ He handed her a little Clockwork Amulet.

She joined the others, regarding the amulet with interest. Three chairs had been set out. Ursa sat in the middle. Nora stayed standing.

‘Right,’ said the Director. ‘You’re not in trouble.’

‘That’s what they say when you’re in trouble,’ mumbled Ursa.

Brynner continued. ‘I’ve called you here today because it’s been noted that ever since your last field assignment, the – how should I say it – group cohesion among the three of you appears to have suffered.’

‘What?’ said Ursa. ‘No it isn’t! Is it, guys?’

Merlin said nothing.

Nora said nothing.

‘Guys?’

‘Yes, quite,’ said Brynner. ‘It’s very important for our field teams to be able to work alongside one another and communicate effectively. As such, the Institute has organised a team-building event for the three of you to attend.’

All three of them were silent this time.

‘Attendance is mandatory,’ added Brynner.

Ursa continued to be flabbergasted. ‘I don’t think we need to do anything like that,’ she said, looking to her still-silent companions for support. ‘We’re a good team, right?’

Finally, Merlin said something. ‘What kind of event? Not a magical one, is it?’

The Director had no mouth, but if he did, he would have been smiling. ‘It’s an Escape Room, actually. Non-magical. We have a contract with them; supporting local tourism and all that. They’ll be expecting you.’

‘Fine,’ said Merlin and Nora, simultaneously.

There was a big sign behind the reception desk that said ‘FINAL DEAD ROOM’. Upon leaving, they’d been deposited immediately in the escape room lobby through whatever magic Brynner had used when they were first recruited. Apparently he didn’t trust them to make their own way there.

‘Ah, are you the party from the Caleeber Institute?’ asked the man behind the desk. ‘You can head right through once you’ve signed this, and I’ll explain the rules: You get one hour to solve it and escape. You don’t need to move any furniture. You get three hints; use the intercom if you want those, or if there are any problems or emergencies. Obviously don’t do anything weird – there are cameras – but there’s no microphones unless you use the intercom, so don’t forget. Good luck!’

The escape room door locked behind them with a theatrical clunk.

Immediately, Merlin and Nora got to work in silence, Merlin inspecting a large stuffed animal beside the bed and Nora rooting through desk drawers.

Ursa watched them in disbelief.

‘What the hell is with you two?’ she asked.

‘It’s nothing,’ said Merlin.

‘We just had a… conflict of approaches back in the labyrinth,’ said Nora.

‘A conflict of approaches?’ Merlin stopped what he was doing and finally turned to face her. ‘Nora, you do things without understanding them! I mean, what were you even trying to achieve?’

‘Same as you,’ said Nora. ‘Fact finding.’

I had that covered. For what reason was it necessary to obtrude your methods over mine?’

‘For myself. I don’t exactly trust the institute, and frankly it’s weird that you do. What if you found something they shouldn’t be learning? You really think they’re totally benevolent? All above board? The good guys?’

Determined as she was to have the others talk things out, Ursa couldn’t help but cut in. ‘Sounds like you’ve got some trust issues there,’ she said.

Nora smiled mirthlessly. ‘Yeah, well. I don’t really trust you enough to go into that.’

‘Hold on, what’s Ursa done?’ said Merlin. ‘I mean, I understand your hostility towards myself, but she’s done nothing to prompt your ire.’

‘It’s nothing to do with her. I do things for myself, you know that.’ Nora gestured to the room at large. ‘That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?’

‘Well,’ said Ursa, in another attempt at reconciliation. ‘It sounds like you’re both just used to acting independently, and it’s causing you to butt heads?’

‘I don’t think she’s acting independently,’ said Merlin.

Nora looked like she was about to take umbrage, but Ursa pressed forward. ‘No harm done though!’ she said, with a big fake smile. ‘I mean, Nora, if you were just trying to find things out yourself, it’s not like there’s any… uh, repercussions, right?’

‘No,’ said Nora.

Merlin’s eyes drifted down to the resin ring on his finger. It didn’t seem to react. He’d expected it to warm up, or vibrate or something. Did that mean she was telling the truth? Or just that she didn’t know?

‘Anyway, how long do we want to spend fucking about in here?’ said Nora.

‘Hm,’ said Merlin. He cast Knock on the door.

Which didn’t open.

Merlin stared, aghast. ‘That bastard Director told me it was non-magical!’

The three of them stepped back as a dark, green-edged hole appeared in the door at around knee-level. Through it, a set of whiskers heralded the emergence of a furry little face.

A grumpy little Scottish wildcat hopped through the eldritch catflap. It was black all over – so more a Kellas cat – save for a white spot on its chest.

‘Aw!’ said Ursa. Before she could fuss it, the cat had hopped up onto the desk Nora had emptied previously.

It cleared its little throat.

‘Good afternoon,’ it said, in a rolling Scots burr. ‘I am Cait-sìth, here on behalf of Titania of the Summer Fae, Queen of Earth and Fire. I’m making enquiries into the death of a Fae named Montparnasse.’

‘Oh,’ said Ursa. ‘We wouldn’t know anything about that. Why would we?’

Cait-sìth regarded her levelly. ‘You think I’m just walkin’ up to strangers in the street and asking them what they know? “Hello Humans, I’m a wee talkin’ cat”?’

‘Well, there are cameras in this room,’ said Merlin.

‘Oh, well thank you for the reminder, Mr. Gnome,’ said Cait-sìth with a little la-di-da wobble of his head. ‘I’m sure that would be quite the dilemma were I a fuckin’ dafty! No, this room’s been pulled out of your earth, and will remain so until I am satisfied with your cooperation.

‘Now, I already know the three of you were at the scene of his murder. The Caliber Institute mentioned your presence when they sent weregild. Very generous, it was. But Queen Titania has said she’ll be happy to return said weregild in return for justice for the perpetrators. You want to explain what happened?’

Ursa gave Merlin a nudge. ‘I think it’s best if we’re just honest, right?’ She turned back to Cait. ‘There was this whole labyrinth situation, and the Minotaur got him.’

‘Oh, aye? Our report points out that his head was bitten off by some rather sharp teeth.’

‘Yeah, it gored him. Horn right through the neck.’

‘I see, I see,’ said Cait-sìth, with the impression that he’d be writing all this down in a notebook were he in possession of one and a pair of hands. ‘We also believe he was under magical influence at the time of his death. Might any of you had a thing to do with that? I noticed Mr. Gnome attempt to use a spell on the door?’

‘Ah, we’re all spellcasters,’ said Ursa, trying to cover for her friend. ‘So was Montparnasse, right?’

Nora chimed in. ‘What is it you’re saying? You think one of us bit his head off?’

‘You might have summoned up some toothsome beastie to gnaw upon his noggin, aye.’

‘None of us could do that.’

Cait-sìth glared at each of them in turn. ‘It’s rather hard to prove an absence, isn’t it?’

Merlin took his laptop from his bag. ‘Not for me,’ he said. ‘You can read through everything I could cast right here. This is my spellbook.’

The cat peered at the screen as Merlin scrolled through a folder of executable files – Feather Fall, Knock, Mage Armor, Arcane Lock… nothing that could summon creatures.

‘Mate, I’m a talkin’ fuckin’ cat,’ said Cait-sìth after a moment. ‘I don’t know very much about this Microsoft Powerpoint shit. But it doesn’t prove very much from where I’m sat.’

Ursa stepped right up to the cat again. ‘It doesn’t need to prove anything. We already told you, the minotaur got him. The guy was trying to mess with our minds at the time, so I’ll admit that I’d put a Hold Person on him while we tried to get away from him. There, you happy?’

‘So you say you’re responsible for his spelling, but not his death?’

‘Yeah.’

‘And you’re the one responsible for these two? You’re the boss?’

‘Nobody’s the boss.’

‘So you’re equal participants, are you?’ asked Cait-sìth, leaning forward, ears flat.

‘The only one who isn’t equally involved is Alkahest, who actually bit his head off.’ said Merlin.

Ursa’s eyes went wide. ‘Merlin!’

‘What? I don’t want you being held responsible for a murder that’s a Demon’s doing!’

Ursa looked from him to Nora.

Cait was smiling now. ‘Ah, now we’re onto something,’ he said.

A pair of hands slammed onto the desk on either side of him. Ursa’s voice was almost a snarl. ‘Listen here, you flea-ridden little shit. Montparnasse was a creep who tried to overwrite our brains, and kill both us and a pair of innocent humans. We only realised what a threat he was because he was arrogant enough to mess with us before the job even started! So Alkahest – who he’d been sent to undermine – stepped in to stop that from happening, and fuck you if you have a problem with that.’

There came a sneeze from the cat, and suddenly Ursa had been replaced by a small, grey mouse.

‘Oof,’ said Cait-sìth. ‘Sorry, I think her hair got on my whiskers or something like that. She’ll be right as rain in, oh, an hour or so.’ He got up and stretched, languidly. The mouse, seeing this, scurried off to hide beneath the bed.

‘I think that about covers all my questions for the moment, though. You’ve been very helpful. I’ll be on my way.’ A catflap-rift appeared behind him.

‘Wait,’ said Merlin. He was holding out the wallet he’d taken from Montparnasse back when he’d still been alive. ‘I took this when we were trying to figure out his deal. It didn’t feel right to throw it away.’

‘That’s very decent of you,’ said Cait-sìth, taking the wallet between his teeth and vanishing.

There was a creaking sound as the door Merlin had Knocked swung open. A FINAL DEAD ROOM employee was nervously hovering just beyond it.

‘Oh, hey,’ they said. ‘Uh, all the cameras went off for a moment, and so we were just getting a bit worried?’

The last thing they needed was an Auditor trying to kill their mouse, which was still sequestered under the bed.

‘An earthquake,’ said Merlin.

‘Yeah,’ agreed Nora, after a second’s hesitation. ‘Did you feel that?’

‘No?’ said the employee, with a worried expression. They stood back to shelter under the opposite doorframe. ‘Should I tell everyone? Will there be aftershocks? Wait, where did the other person go?’

‘Oh, no,’ said Nora. ‘We don’t get aftershocks in the UK. And our other friend is hiding under the bed; she just gets nervous when there’s an earthquake; you know what it’s like.’

They shut the door on the hapless employee and went about trying to coax the mouse from below the bed, to make sure it had enough space when Ursa de-polymorphed.

Merlin successfully managed this with the magically-still-warm satchel of Ikea meatballs, placing the Ursa-mouse atop the bed. An awkward, silent hour passed. There came a loud buzzing from the door as their allotted time ran out, and at almost the exact same time, the mouse expanded to take up Ursa’s usual shape again.

‘Quick, under the bed!’ said Nora.

‘Guys, what the fuck?!’ said Ursa. There were crumbs of meatball on her cheeks as she was ushered to the floor.

A different employee had come to collect them. ‘Ah, better luck next time,’ he said.

The three hurried out without a word.

There was no such magic to warp them back to the Institute on their way out. Ursa stormed off from the other two as soon as they emerged in the frigid afternoon, angry that they hadn’t really made up at all, angry that they hadn’t had her back, angry that Merlin had dropped Alkahest in it.

The fact that she’d been turned into a mouse was surprisingly low on the list.

Merlin watched her go. He turned to Nora. ‘I don’t know about you, but I could do with a coffee.’

Nora contemplated. ‘I’m kind of hungry?’

‘There’s a Costa over there. I’ll get you a sandwich, yeah?’

‘I’ll get the coffee, then.’

They caught up with Ursa and dragged her into the coffee shop.

Ursa stayed out of their awkward attempts at conversation with one another. When Merlin came back from the counter with desserts, she’d just finished sending a warning about Cait-sìth to Alkahest.

Doing so meant she’d had to read his initial DM to her. It had been nowhere near as long as she’d expected:

‘Hey Ursa, it’s Alkahest – from Ikea, remember? I watched your new video – well, I watched your old ones too – and I really wanted to let you know you’ve got a fucking fantastic singing voice. I don’t know why you haven’t done a video like that until now!

‘Anyway, keep up the good work. Glad I got to meet you.’

She looked up from her phone to see the millionaire’s shortbread Merlin had set down before her. ‘At least you have decent taste in desserts,’ she said.

Merlin sat beside Nora. ‘It’s the best they had.’

Caliber Session 7: SPÖKHUS, Finale

Montparnasse spoke before anyone else had chance to.

‘Right,’ he said, making a beeline for the bones of the architect. ‘We should destroy this right now, while the Demon’s been muzzled, yeah?’

Nora, Merlin, and Ursa all moved to intercept him. Ursa wore an expression of mild discomfort; in the ‘muzzle’ metaphor, she was the one holding the leash.

‘I literally just got off the phone to request backup before we deal with this,’ said Merlin, with a more generous scoop of contempt in his tone than usual.

‘Yeah, but there’s not a lot of time, is there?’ Montparnasse’s advance had pivoted, almost as if he was circling them. ‘I have a specific job to do, and I’d rather do it in a polite and friendly manner, if at all possible.’

Alkahest’s fingers were curling softly around the hilts of his swords. He shot a glance to Ursa for approval. ‘We gettin’ violent, then?’

No!‘ she hissed. But even as she did, there was already a palpable tension in the staff room.

There was a click as the safety on Nora’s pistol was disengaged. Merlin’s breathing gained the depth it often did when he was about to recite a spell.

The others present all certainly viewed Montparnasse as a coward. One didn’t need the ability to read minds to have noticed this. And yes, it was true that he preferred not to get his hands dirty, believing discretion the better part of valour. That if it weren’t for the designs of a certain Goblin in the Caliber Institute’s R&D department, Montparnasse would be somewhere far away from here, probably with his feet up and a glass of something strong while the others dealt with the architect’s bones on his behalf.

But an oft-forgotten thing about cowardice is that it really does sharpen one’s ability to read the room.

There was a flash of turquoise power from Montparnasse’s command. ‘Alkahest,’ he said. ‘Kill them.’

The Demon’s hands tightened around the swords at his hip, and if his grin had been any wider the top of his head would have fallen off.

‘No,’ he said.

A green glint marked Montparnasse’s face. His mouth had dropped open. ‘Shit,’ he said, looking from Alkahest to Ursa. ‘He’s already charmed; shit! Ursa… no, the headphones. Same with Merlin.’

Nora had her gun already in hand. He’d been avoiding her mind because of the thing it was connected to, but… desperate times, and all that.

‘Nora,’ he said, with that same flash of power. ‘Kill your friends.’

Nora felt his presence in her head immediately, and steeled herself against the influence. She didn’t want to hurt the others, and not just because she was fairly sure they’d fight back. There had to be a way to evict him.

She thought back to when he’d last attempted to get in her head, and focused on the thing that had excised him then.

She’d been casually hacking into networks and servers for years; not even for any real reason other than boredom by now. That day, she was in the system of some Institute of Technology or something in Massachusetts. She didn’t remember why. But there was this pop-up.

A text box titled 'Pact_Magic'. The text reads 'Would you like to make a new friend? Doing so would grant you power, Nora.' The buttons below it are 'yes', 'no', and 'help'.

It had pulled her name from her hard drive, had it? Very funny.

She rubbed her hands together, and with mock ceremony clicked ‘Yes’.

‘Augh!’ Montparnasse recoiled, staggering backwards. He clutched at his head, Psionic influence like a shattered wine glass. ‘Fine then,’ he said, marching off towards the sleeping humans. ‘It’s a hostage situation.’

If he wanted to, he could simply switch their brains off. Or telekinetically crush them. Or have them forget how to breathe. Or any other manner of bargaining-chip-demise.

Ursa slid out of the room behind him, and plucked a somber lullaby from her kalimba. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said in her best ASMR voice, as Alkahest stood once more by her shoulder, and her Sleep spell drifted through the air like a soft perfume of lavender and Horlicks and chloroform.

The spell had just enough power to affect a creature of Montparnasse’s fortitude. Unfortunately, Montparnasse was Fae.

‘Sleeping isn’t something I do, love,’ he said, and continued his advance.

‘You were asleep before we went in the labyrinth!’ said Ursa.

‘Yeah, funny, that, isn’t it?’ said Montparnasse. And then he froze mid-step.

Ursa’s arm was outstretched toward the Fae’s back. Her other hand was twister-ed on the Midi Fighter on her belt, holding down a complicated chord. ‘Making me use two spell slots,’ she grumbled.

Montparnasse didn’t respond. Ursa’s Hold Person had his jaw wired shut.

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘We–‘

Her shoulder demon strode up to the frozen Montparnasse and casually pushed a sword into the Fae’s shoulder.

Ursa could only concentrate on one spell at a time, and while she was Holding one threat, that meant she wasn’t Charming the other. ‘Shit,’ she said.

Montparnasse’s scream was somewhat muted by the fact that his mouth was sealed shut, but it still carried.

Alkahest couldn’t stop grinning. ‘Try to control me, would you?’ He shoved his other sword into the other shoulder. Montparnasse’s second scream was much less vigorous than his first.

‘That was the plan all along, was it?’ said Alkahest, circling to stare directly into the Fae’s eyes. ‘Sit back while I kill these fine folks, and then I lose the very thing I came here for? I thought you were supposed to be a hero.’

Montparnasse looked like he wanted to shake his head.

‘Well, I do have one more question.’ Alkahest’s grin had fallen away. ‘And answer carefully. Were you sent here to destroy the bones, like you said? Or were you sent here specifically to deal with me?’

Montparnasse’s terror seemed to grant him some measure of resistance to the Hold upon him, but by now Alkahest had an event horizon grip on his shoulders.

‘I was just following orders!’ said Montparnasse. ‘You know how it is!’

‘Yeah, I suppose I do.’

Alkahest’s mouth opened. And opened. And opened.

And then it closed, and Montparnasse no longer had a head.

‘Fucking hell,’ said Nora, bile rushing up to witness what had happened. She’d wanted to get some answers on whether Montparnasse really had intended to actually destroy the bones, or if he wanted them for something else. Said answers probably wouldn’t be forthcoming now.

Alkahest’s mouth was back to regular proportions when he turned back toward Ursa. Her legs took a step in retreat without her permission, but she steeled herself and locked them in place.

’Right. I need to apologise,’ she said, after taking a dramatically long breath. ‘I shouldn’t have Charmed you. That was shitty of me. I just didn’t want you to go and kill those people.’ She stood with her arms wide. ‘But I know it was a sucky thing to do and so I’m wide open. Take a free shot.’ And she shut her eyes.

‘What?’ said the Demon, ‘I’m not going to hurt you, Ursa.’

Ursa risked opening her eyes again. ‘Uh… you aren’t mad about the Charm Person? “Try to control me, would you”, like you said before?’

‘What you did wasn’t control; you just had me think of you a little more fondly. I might have been mad if your spell didn’t shield me from Montparnasse’s worse one.’ His head tilted to the side. ‘But as it stands, I’m thinking of it sorta like a flu jab? So… thank you.’

‘Oh,’ said Ursa. ‘I was worried you were going to, uh… well, anything would kill me right now. I’ve still got this hole in my side.’

‘You do?’ Alkahest’s eyebrows went up. ‘Well, I can start to pay you back a bit.’

He made a gesture and a thread of fluid crimson snaked from Montparnasse’s remains. Alkahest wound it around his finger, stretching it out like donut batter, before flicking it towards Ursa.

The macabre halo floated above her head for a second, then dropped over her shoulders. By the time it reached the floor, her wound had healed completely.

Alkahest breezed past as she visibly sagged with relief, and hopped onto the table with the locker. His fingers waggled in the air before reaching down to open its door. ‘Glad that actually worked this time. Now, let’s see what we…’

He trailed off as the door wouldn’t budge.

Unbeknownst to the others, while the standoff with Montparnasse was going down, Merlin had been focusing his attention on the bones. The ribs were covered in little runes, each the size of a thumbnail, laid out across the ribcage in regular intervals.

He’d also spotted what was ostensibly a USB port on the back of the skull, which had him thinking of The Matrix. That might be a way to connect to it? But there wasn’t time to do that without being noticed. Ursa had glanced at him a few times already.

So, Merlin closed the locker and whispered an Arcane Lock to it, sealing it with magic. Moments later, Alkahest had proved his actions necessary.

‘Urrrrrsaaaaaaa,’ said the Demon. ‘What did you do to the locker, Ursa?’

‘Nothing!’

‘Are you lying?’

Ursa shrugged. ‘Why don’t you come over here and ask me that?’

‘Are you flirting with the Demon?’ said Merlin, hair and hackles rising like a Ghibli animation.

‘No!’ said Ursa, very quickly, ‘I’m trying to draw his attention from the spell you cast!’

There was a pause.

‘Merrrrrrlinnnnnn,’ said the Demon.

Merlin folded his arms. ‘I’m obviously not going to open it.’

Off to the side, Nora had been keeping out of things. Not in an ‘impartial observer’ way, but in an ‘ooh, they’re about to kick off’ way. Her money was on the Fiend.

There was a tap on her wrist – a message on the watch her ‘patron’ had provided. It read:

‘Nora, don’t react. I’ve got something I want you to do. Similar to our previous… shenanigans in the Institute’s computers.

‘There’s a USB in your pocket. Yes, I know it wasn’t there a moment ago; don’t worry about it.

‘I need you to plug it into Merlin’s computer. It should only take me about 15 seconds to find what I’m looking for if I have a direct connection.

‘And then once you’ve done that, I need you to plug it into the port on the back of the skull. We probably won’t see a payoff on this one for a while, but it’ll be good, trust me!’

It was followed by an emoji: (`∀´)Ψ

Nora scoffed, but surveyed the scene. Merlin was swearing at Alkahest in some guttural language – if she’d spoken Infernal she’d know he was calling the Fiend a ‘Demonic scumbag’ – and Ursa was trying and failing to mediate between the two.

Merlin kept his laptop in a satchel whenever he wasn’t using it. And he already didn’t trust her very much, which was the correct choice, to be fair. She sincerely hoped whatever her patron had in mind would be worth it.

There came that vrrrr sound of a text on silent. ‘It’s Cepheus,’ said Merlin, checking his phone. ‘He’s outside.’ He left to let the Institute backup in, taking his computer with him.

When he reappeared, he was flanked by six nondescript Caliber Institute employees with black suits and swords at the hip, as well as the towering frame of Cepheus like a God behind a prophet. The difference in scale was almost comical.

Alkahest raised his hands as the Institute backup moved through the scene – two kept him marked, two went to the sleeping humans, and two moved to the remains of Montparnasse.

Merlin talked Cepheus through the situation as they did. With Alkahest covered, he felt it safe enough to open the locker, and soon he’d connected the skull to his laptop via a USB cable. He struck at the keys like a concerto pianist, but stopped after just a few seconds.

‘Can we huddle over here a moment?’ he asked, leaving his experiment running. ‘Out of earshot of the demon, I mean?’

He was joined outside the room by Cepheus, Ursa, and after a moment, Nora too.

Her patron had been right. It had only taken about 15 seconds.

‘I can’t gain access to whatever the bones are connected to,’ Merlin was saying as she entered the huddle with the USB back in her pocket. ‘I believe we need a key.’

‘Oh… oh.’ said Ursa, a little guiltily. ‘Look, throwing it to the Minotaur saved us at the time.’

‘Nobody doubts that,’ said Merlin. ‘But regardless, we need to go back in to retrieve it.’

Cepheus’ usually gregarious tone was subdued. ‘If that’s the case, I can’t come with you on this. It’s a Labyrinth.’

‘Would that be a problem?’ asked Ursa.

‘It’d be bad for my, uh, mental health. It’s a Minotaur thing.’

Merlin shook his head. ‘That’s not a problem, Cepheus. We need you to get those two humans somewhere safe, anyway.’

‘Oh, yeah!’ said Cepheus, brightening. ‘I wanted to mention that! Nora, good job! She normally never bothers saving people! This is really good progress.’ He noticed Nora’s glare. ‘Uh, but yeah, we’ll do the usual hot chocolate, Modify Memory combo. No problem.’

‘Um, what about Alkahest?’ asked Ursa.

‘What about him?’ said Nora. ‘Leave him out here. We’re not looking for trouble.’

‘He could be helpful.’

‘The Demon?’ spat Merlin. ‘I doubt that. Though… it would probably be best to keep an eye on him.’

‘I’ll ask if he wants to join us then,’ said Ursa. ‘Uh, not that he has a choice,’ she added, after realising they were all looking at her.

Alkahest seemed to be in extremely high spirits as the four of them headed back into the labyrinth. The corridor they followed was the one they’d exited by, and as such should lead them right back to the centre.

‘I’m just sayin’, I still think it’s possible that we could all get what we want here,’ he was just saying. ‘You get a nice, un-haunted Ikea and I get the bones.’

‘What do you even want them for?’ asked Ursa.

‘Eh, I got plans. Like I told your trigger-happy colleague earlier – you still owe me two meatballs, by the way Nora – on the Fiendish side of things right now, there’s lots of people trying to claw their way upwards.’

Merlin snorted. ‘And you’re one of them, are you?’

‘Not exactly. I don’t want to climb the ranks so much as level the playing field. For everyone, I mean. There’s too much of the Archdevil seated atop a throne literally made of his underlings. Thing is, if those underlings stopped acting like crabs in a bucket for a minute, they’d realise that together they’d be more than a match for any Orcus or Demogorgon.’

‘What are you, some sort of Union rep?’ Nora laughed as she said it.

Alkahest didn’t. ‘Actually, yeah, that’s a pretty good way to put it. I’m trying to convince my contemporaries of the power of collective bargaining, you know? Learned a lot in Manchester back in the 80’s. Though, Thatcher’s response,’ he spat the name, ‘goes to show if you’re going to strike, it should be at the neck of whoever’s on top.’

The concept of a united force of Fiends was perhaps less utopian than Alkahest was making it out to be, but it was obvious he believed in what he was talking about.

‘I’d make a lot of speeches and stuff,’ he said, barely pausing for breath. ‘Used to think I could use the Importance Taste thing as a rhetoric device – like, “I can tell how important each and every one of you is” – but for that to work I’d have to lick everybody’s face. And you do not want to be doing that in a room full of Fiends.’

‘Wait…’ said Ursa. ‘You said the 80’s. How old are you?’

‘Few centuries. Why?’

‘…No reason.’

The Labyrinth’s central courtyard looked the same as before, with the same curated gravel and statues of the Muses.

Could Muses be involved in whatever was going on here? Outsiders, when arriving in the Earth at the centre of the axis, would sometimes take on the shapes of old stories like clothing. Or some said it was the other way around – the old stories came from the influence of Outside, even before the Trinity Test opened the gates proper.

Still, these were just statues. Not even necessarily meaningful ones, right? The chains binding the redacted one at the centre, for example, wouldn’t have bound her at all, had they been real. If she’d tried to stand, they’d simply fall away.

Under Merlin’s inspection, it turned out this statue wasn’t quite as censored out as they’d initially thought. What had looked like the first mark of the chisel was actually a letter L.

‘Maybe I should be making a vlog of all this,’ Ursa wondered aloud.

‘Oh, are you Youtube or something?’ asked Alkahest. ‘Gimme your handle, I’ll click the bell.’

Ursa was embarrassed, but could not in any way ignore the prospect of a new subscriber.

Merlin had scaled one of the walls on the edge of the courtyard, after much effort. He was surveying the labyrinth – from these walls, he could see the whole span of the place. ‘It’s… it’s a circuit board,’ he breathed. He could see clusters of shelves laid out like capacitors. The courtyard where they’d found Ethan and Alice was an isolation gap.

He could also see the route the Minotaur was travelling. He began to consider a plan.

Below, while the others were otherwise occupied, Nora hissed a message to her watch. ‘So, when is this payoff you’ve promised? While we’re here, or later?’

‘Later,’ was the reponse.

‘So do I need to be doing all this now?’

‘The sooner the better.’

Merlin had climbed down and was gesturing for another huddle. ‘Okay, I can track the Minotaur. We’ll need to not get gored, and find the USB key. Any ideas?’

‘Well, if you know where it’s going to be, you could lie down in front of it and grab onto its leg,’ suggested Nora.

‘And get trampled to death?’

‘Only if you’re slow.’

Ursa made as if to put a hand on Nora’s shoulder, then thought better of it. ‘I’m starting to see why you have that reputation of yours,’ she said.

‘Yeah,’ nodded Merlin, ‘And no friends.’

Ursa nearly clouted him. ‘We’re her friends, Merlin.’

‘Meh,’ said Nora.

‘…I don’t care what either of you say; we’re friends,’ said Ursa, ignoring Merlin’s smirk.

They’d figured out something close to a plan by the time they arrived in the Minotaur’s path. Based on his previous success, Alkahest would run and distract it, trying to keep it on longer and less turbulent corridors so the others would have an easier time on its back.

Nora planned to use a Lightning Lure to lasso onto the beast. Ursa and Merlin began to climb the shelves on either side, preparing to leap onto the Minotaur’s back when it came close enough.

And that would be soon.

A cloud of dust was coming towards them, kicked up by the runners heralding the bull’s approach. Alkahest had just about finished his stretches. Ursa was fairly high up – based on her past attempt at climbing over the Minotaur’s approach, she was probably just high enough.

Merlin, though, was having trouble. He just didn’t have a long enough reach to make his way upwards with any speed, and now the Minotaur was upon him.

Nora watched with interest, weighing up her options. Yes, she could probably give Merlin some assistance – a literal leg up. But in doing so, she’d miss her opportunity to properly aim her spell. And as Merlin had noticed, the Minotaur was upon them.

She elected to ignore him. Her Lure was more important.

Merlin, realising the predicament he now found himself in, decided to go with Plan B: he would lie down flat and try to grab a leg. He would be the first to admit Plan B was not a very good plan.

Alkahest took off running. Nora loosed her spell but missed completely, and the Minotaur and runners crashed over her like a wave of boots and hooves.

Merlin, knowing he wasn’t dexterous enough to roll his way through the oncoming tide, elected instead to simply grab onto the first thing that tried to crush him underfoot.

Above, Ursa leapt from her vantage, digging her fingers in the Minotaur’s fur to prevent herself bouncing straight off it. It was wet with something that reeked of oil, but she held on regardless.

Nora clambered to her feet, wincing at the pain. It was incredibly tempting for her to just sit down for a while. Maybe she could assemble one of the flat-pack chairs?

After a moment, she set off to follow in the Minotaur’s wake, partly because she had a job to do, and partly because the chair she’d picked was missing too many screws.

Atop the Minotaur’s oil-slick shoulders, Ursa managed to open her eyes. The shelves towered up on either side, and she could just about see Alkahest ahead at a fork in the path. He turned left, and the Minotaur barrelled after him, with Ursa clinging on for dear life.

A new burst of ash blew up at her as another of the runners was crushed underfoot. The prospect of Alkahest was apparently driving the Minotaur into a frenzy, like a carrot on a stick. But Ursa didn’t know anything about what that was like.

Still, if the Minotaur was running fast enough to catch its runners now, maybe that was a good thing? She looked down to check how many were left.

What she saw was less than ideal, though more in terms of quality than quantity.

There were about four runners remaining; the others having been crushed to powder by the Minotaur’s need to catch Alkahest. One of them, though, had a recognisable uniform and build.

It was Brian – or Brian’s body, at any rate – animated as another runner, after being left behind in the Labyrinth. Ursa probably would have felt quite guilty, had it not been for the more pressing fact that Merlin was clinging to his back.

Merlin had grabbed onto the first leg that had stamped down on him, and clawed his way upwards like a cat on curtains. When he realised what he’d done, it was far too late to switch to a less perilous course of action.

Perhaps it was the extra weight, but Brian was slowing down. The Minotaur would absolutely catch him, probably in just a few seconds, and when it did both Brian and Merlin would be combined into a sort of chalky paste.

This would be bad.

Ursa needed to slow her mount. She crawled closer to the thing’s head, Shadow-of-the-Colossus style, and struggled out of her jacket. She whipped the thing over the Minotaur’s eyes and heaved.

There was a thunk, as if a Gnome had leapt from the back of an undead runner and landed on a nearby shelf. Ursa looked back to see Merlin’s head poking out from behind a boxed ÄPPLARÖ. In a glowing Mage Hand he held a small, silver key he’d lifted from Brian’s belt.

That was a relief. All Ursa needed to do now was get down.

Merlin hopped to the floor with the USB safely in his pocket. It wouldn’t take very long to reach the centre again, now that he knew the general layout. Before that, though, he’d need to reunite with Ursa and Nora.

The latter turned out to be quite simple, as Nora came trotting down the corridor just moments after he’d dusted himself off.

‘What happened?’ she asked.

‘Got the key. I suspect Ursa will be rejoining us shortly, as well – she’s only got to retrace the Minotaur’s steps. Then the three of us can be out of here.’

‘The four of us, you mean.’

Merlin blinked at her. ‘Ugh, don’t tell me you’re enamoured of the Demon too?’

‘Fuck off. We came in with four, we’re leaving with four. Send him a Message.’

‘Nora, he’s a Fiend. I don’t think you realise how treacherous they are.’

‘Treacherous like the kind of people that leave their allies behind?’

‘He isn’t our ally.’

Nora had a knife in her hand. ‘Message him, Merlin. I won’t ask you again.’

‘No. And I’m glad you’re agreeing to stop giving orders.’

The knife moved. Merlin lowered his arms from their defensive positions, and saw a fresh, cardinal cut on his forearm before he felt the pain of it.

His teeth clenched. Heat sparked from his fingers as the trickle of blood reached them, and he sent a point-blank Firebolt straight toward Nora’s face.

Somewhere else, lurking below the axis of worlds with our story at the centre, the Alignment Death took notice. The two were in a place firmly under its influence, and as such, their actions had further-reaching consequences than either intended. On a purely Cosmic scale, both Merlin and Nora drifted just a little further into Death‘s field of vision.

‘Hey guys, what the fuck?!’

Ursa had indeed rejoined them. She’d turned the corner just in time to see Merlin’s Firebolt erupt in Nora’s face.

‘It’s nothing,’ said Nora, with a stream of blood coming from one nostril.

‘Yeah,’ said Merlin. ‘…I’m going to message Alkahest. Tell him we got the key.’

A feature of the Message spell is that only the recipient can hear what’s been sent. A feature of Merlin is that he can speak Draconic. This feature is one that Alkahest lacks.

Alkahest’s reply to the consonent-heavy Draconic sounded out of breath. ‘Uh, I don’t know who this is, but, does this mean I can stop leading the Minotaur around?’

Merlin replied. In Draconic again.

‘I hope he’s doing okay,’ fretted Ursa. ‘What if he’s gotten stranded? Merlin, can you try another Message?’

Merlin considered. He really did think it’d be best if they left the Demon here, but seeing Ursa shift her weight from foot to foot… well, there was no accounting for taste.

‘Alkahest, it’s Merlin. We’re back at the centre. If you duck into a shelf…’

After a few minutes, a tired and ash-coated Alkahest emerged from the labyrinth, feet crunching on the gravel in the central garden.

He marched straight up to Merlin and dropped into a deep bow. ‘I have to apologise,’ he said, still bent double. ‘I was absolutely certain you were going to leave me in there. I misjudged you.’

They returned to the Staff Room, key in hand. Cepheus and the others from the Institute had gotten Ethan and Alice out without them going all Auditor, which was a blessing. All that was left was getting answers.

Merlin reopened the locker and mentally prepared himself. Chances were, there’d be defenses on whatever system was built into this.

Nora stood tense at his side. Ursa was back beside Alkahest, who had sat himself down and begun extracting clouds of dust from his clothing. Cepheus blocked the doorway like a stone before a tomb.

Merlin plugged the USB into the back of the skull. The runes on the ribcage began to glow with a soft, sickly luminescence. The sockets of the skull came alight with the same. Merlin held it Yorick, and stared into its lambent eyes.

In computing, a firewall is a security system that monitors and controls traffic based on predetermined security rules. A firewall typically establishes a barrier between a trusted network and an untrusted network, such as the Internet.

In Technomancy, there’s a similar concept called a Conjurewall. A Conjurewall is a security system that establishes a barrier between Technomantic yeggs and the arcane systems they attempt to breach.

It takes a high degree of magical fortitude and years of study to even properly visualise a Conjurewall, let alone attempt to breach one. Were a mundane hacker to encounter a system under such protection, they wouldn’t even know what it was that kept them at bay.

Merlin, though, did.

In the skull’s eyes, he could see a virtual copy of the labyrinth’s zen garden, much larger in scale; the statues alone were 15-20 feet tall in this facsimile.

He took a step, felt the gravel under his boots. He wasn’t alone.

‘I take it this is your work?’ he asked.

The architect – or some vestige of him – stepped from behind the massive chained statue. ‘Well, I did have some…’ and here he looked up at the statue, ‘…Inspiration. This was all for her, after all.’

‘What’s the purpose of this system?’

The architect smiled. ‘Now if I could tell you that, it wouldn’t be a very good security system, would it?’

‘Fair,’ said Merlin, and blasted a Witch Bolt through the architect’s chest.

‘Lopodite…’ coughed the architect, as the Conjurewall collapsed.

Merlin’s fingers tapped away at the ribs. They were a keyboard. The skull was the display. He could see everything.

He’d been right, back in the labyrinth – the whole thing was a computer. The Minotaur was a side effect of the labyrinth being made, but an intended one – the labyrinth itself was designed to lure or pull people in, and when the Minotaur killed them, that was the fuel it ran on.

The bones were the heart of this process as well as its interface, and if they were to be taken to a new location, they’d convert it into a labyrinth over the course of nine months.

And the machine was predicting the future. Running calculations with so many branching data points as to seem like an itemised list of each individual atom in all of creation.

But Merlin couldn’t see the outputs. They were being sent somewhere else, somewhere he couldn’t see. The same went for the inputs – someone was using this machine to plot their course, but… towards what?

‘I don’t think it’d be wise to destroy this,’ he said, gradually rising from the trance of data. ‘If we remove it from this location it’ll be dormant for a few months; that should give us enough time to–‘

There was a different USB in the back of the skull. He blinked as Nora snatched it back, and once he recovered from his astonishment his face went bright red.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?!’ he exploded. ‘Do you even understand what the hell it is you’re playing with here?! What are you doing?!’

Nora seemed to have frozen up. Her hand had already secreted the USB in a pocket though, which also served to hide the message on her watch that read ‘Now, Nora’.

‘She’s trying to help, isn’t she?’ said Ursa. ‘Nora?’

Nora’s mouth was suddenly dry. She needed to say something. Anything. She lied to people all the time. Why was she having so much trouble responding?

‘I need info too. You were just staring at it, and I know you don’t like to share.’

Merlin looked ready to hit her with another Firebolt. ‘I don’t share things if they aren’t important. This is. What did you think you’d gain by messing with this?!’

‘I told you, information. You really expect me to sit back from something like this when my prophecised death is about a “malfunction”?’

‘Yes! I would expect precisely that!’

There was a tense moment where neither of them spoke. Instead, Alkahest rose to his feet and said, unheeding, ‘Damn. It’s as powerful as I thought it’d be, then?’

Nora scowled at him. ‘You knew what it was, and didn’t tell us?’

‘I had my suspicions,’ said the Demon. ‘But it wasn’t important to inform you all just yet.’

‘Well we know what it is now,’ said Merlin, turning the irradiance of his anger to this interruption. ‘And you are not taking it.’

‘Is that so?’ said Alkahest, reaching for his weapons, maw growing wide and sharp.

And then he smiled, with a normal mouth. ‘Okay. I can respect that.’ He bowed again, not just to Merlin but to Nora and Ursa. ‘I don’t have to lick your faces to tell the three of you are going to be a big deal.’

Ursa blew up in a sudden fit of coughing.

Alkahest stopped before the Minotaur-covered exit. ‘Cepheus,’ he said.

Cepheus nodded, and slowly stepped to one side. ‘Demon.’

‘So what’s the plan with the, er, bones?’ asked Ursa, in an attempt to smooth things over.

‘We take it to the Institute,’ said Merlin. ‘Cepheus should hold it until then; some people might be after it for their own ends.’ He didn’t move his eyes from Nora as he spoke. ‘Even if they don’t know why.’

Nora held his gaze, and didn’t move.

Cepheus took the locker to the 4×4 he and the Institute employees arrived in. When it crossed the threshold into the store’s car park, the multiple doors into the labyrinth all slammed shut.

Merlin bumped into Nora as they were leaving. His hand went for the pocket with the USB in, but she’d been expecting such an attempt and moved it to an inside pocket.

Neither of them acknowledged this.

‘Hey, where ya going?’ called Ursa, as the others stepped into the cold morning and made to head off in separate directions. ‘We could ride in the 4×4?’

‘I’d rather walk,’ said Merlin. ‘I want to have a think.’

Nora whispered a message to her watch before responding. ‘I’ve got my bike,’ she said, without looking at Ursa.

‘Oh,’ said Ursa. She got into the car alone.

‘Sooo you got caught,’ read the message on Nora’s wrist. ‘But this was still a success!’

‘Fancy next time giving me something a little easier to execute?’ said Nora. ‘What am I meant to say to stop the others being suspicious of these things?!’

The message she got back read: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

‘Bellend,’ she said to it. Why should she go along with its ideas, if this was the result?

With his beanie pulled down over his ears in the cold, Merlin walked home in a roundabout sort of fashion. He avoided the main roads. By the time he’d reached home, he’d made up his mind – he needed to look into Nora, and whatever it was that had her ear.

He made himself some coffee.

The Coffeelock: An Infinite Number of Spell Slots for the Low, Low Price of Never Sleeping Again

Before we get to the main course of this article, a brief disclaimer: don’t do this. Come on.

With that disclaimer, we can now add a second disclaimer: okay but if you do do this, the whole point of this article isn’t ‘how to piss off your DM and other players with a broken character’, it’s ‘how to make this entertaining’. I’m a performer, not a powergamer.

Okay, with that out of the way, we can get started!

The Coffeelock is one of those Munchkin character builds that abuses a loophole in the game’s rules – in this case, the Sorcerer’s Font of Magic feature – to gain a completely ridiculous benefit – in this case, a theoretically infinite number of spell slots.

You may have heard of the Coffeelock before; it’s somewhat infamous in the character optimisation circles of the internet. It’s been called ‘unanimously hated’ by Reddit’s r/powergamermunchkin, and if those people think it’s bad, it’s got to be pretty awful.

And yeah, it is. It’s a completely broken build that requires little-to-no effort on the Player’s part. You just need to be level 5, with 3 levels in Warlock and 2 in Sorcerer. You choose Pact of the Tome and one specific invocation.

That’s it. That’s the build.

A level 2 Sorcerer has Font of Magic, which can be used to convert Spell Slots into Sorcery Points, and Sorcery Points into temporary Spell Slots of up to level 5.

At level 3, a Warlock that takes the Pact of the Tome can take the Eldritch InvocationAspect of the Moon’, which states – and I quote – ‘You no longer need to sleep and can’t be forced to sleep by any means’.

Temporary Spell Slots are only lost on a long rest.

Warlock Spell Slots are regained on a short rest.

So, by feeding their Warlock Spell Slots through the Font of Magic conversion machine to make temporary Spell Slots, and taking a short rest to regain those Warlock Slots, the Coffeelock accrues more and more and more temporary Slots that would only disappear should they sleep. And they don’t need to sleep.

But what of exhaustion, I hear you ask? Yes, the Aspect of the Moon says I don’t need sleep, but I still need rest, or I’m going to be stacking up exhaustion levels, right? There’s that optional rule in Xanathar’s Guide and my DM is using it!

Well, there are a few solutions for this. Maybe you cast Greater Restoration on yourself with one of your abundant Spell Slots? Then again, you’d need the Celestial Patron for that, plus you can’t do that right from level 5. Maybe you have a friend or an NPC that can cast it for you? Maybe you don’t.

Or you make a Warforged. They don’t need to sleep. You wouldn’t even need to take the Aspect of the Moon invocation if you did that! Then again, maybe you’re in a world that doesn’t have Warforged? It’s hardly a universal solution.

Hey, you know what is a universal solution? Coffee. Everyone loves coffee. And surely your character is no exception; it’s in the build’s name and everything.

That said, maybe you’re in a setting where they don’t call it coffee; maybe they call it ‘Java’ or ‘Joseph’ or ‘Blackwater’ or ‘Hot Brown Morning Potion’ or ‘Beanjuice’ or, uh, a ‘Potion of Vitality‘.

Oh!

So, your Sorcerer-Warlock-mixup also brews a potion or two on the side! And they need to drink their Potion regularly, or they’ll either:

  1. Fall asleep and lose all their accrued Spell Slots, becoming all but powerless, or
  2. Die

Which, according to my friend Adam, is sort of how coffee works anyway.

Here’s an example you could find in any normal game:

DM: ‘Coffeelock, you’ve just finished Short Rest and you’re brewing up your potion to stave off the effects of the 4 levels of exhaustion you have. Can you roll Perception for me?’

Coffeelock: ‘Ooh, that’s a 4 with the exhaustion disadvantage. I really should have had a cup earlier, but there wasn’t much chance to do so during the prison break and the Giant attack, was there?’

DM: ‘That’s bad news then… you’re so engrossed in your potion brewing, watching it pour through the filter and everything, that you don’t notice the nemesis frog hopping up to try and break your mug.’

Coffeelock: ‘The frog again?!’

DM: ‘It followed you from the swamp, yeah. I mean, you did sit on its house. Roll initiative.’

If you’re going to attempt this, you have to be prepared to lose all the slots you’ve spent so long building up if you don’t get your coffee potion. You have to be prepared for your DM to use this as a balancing feature; a restraining bolt on your stupid character. You have to remember that you’re telling a story together, and that story can’t be interesting if a character has way too much power with no limits.

That’s why Gandalf had to leave Bilbo and the Dwarves in The Hobbit, and why the Doctor is so often separated from the TARDIS, and why, uh, Shadow the Hedgehog wears those gold rings on his wrists.

There’s never a main character in D&D, but if you’re going to attempt this, you need to be even further away from the Protagonist spot than everybody else. Otherwise, everyone else is going to hate you being at the table. With great power, etc. etc.

So, please, if you want to build this – it does sound hilarious, I get it – really lean into your dependence on the special bean drink. Maybe get a mug that says ‘Don’t ask me to cast spells until I’ve had my hot brown morning potion’. It’d have to be a big mug, I suppose.

Or alternatively, please refer back to that first disclaimer.

Plus, if you liked this article and you also like podcasts, maybe check out Roll History, where Vesper and Sami discuss stupid stuff like this regularly! Or don’t; I’m a website, not a cop

Caliber Session 6: SPÖKHUS, Part 4

There is a stack of flat brown boxes. Upon the side of each is stamped the word ‘IDÅSEN‘, and inside every box is the same thing, minus some variant of a screw or a nut or a washer, just to keep things interesting.

The stack of boxes is flanked by other, identical stacks. They fill the shelf they occupy without leaving any gaps at all. The shelves above are similarly packed.

After ten minutes of walking, the IDÅSEN boxes give way to ARKELSTORPs. Other than the name, the boxes are identical. Other than the boxes, the shelves are identical. Other than the shelves, there’s nothing.

Merlin led the way through the labyrinth, his companions a few paces behind. When they entered, he’d surveyed the constellations of router lights on the cavernous ceiling above, marvelling at the sheer number of them. And off in the distance, one of the routers was blinking orange instead of green.

It seemed as suitable a goal as any.

They moved through the curving corridors without comment. The three of them had all generally understood the nature of this place. Quiet as it was, they were in danger. It wasn’t a space for casual chatter.

This made it easy to hear voices – one masculine, one feminine – in terse conversation ahead.

‘…I know, but we should really eat something while we have the opportunity,’ the latter was saying.

‘No. We don’t know how long it’s been here. It might be contaminated.’ The former’s tone was more one of petulance than of concern.

‘They’re still warm!’

The owners of the voices were seated in a sort of clearing, situated at a convergence of eight aisles. ADDE chairs – the cheapest ones – circled a series of tables identical to the ones in the cafeteria, each of which was laden with a sizable platter of gently steaming meatballs.

‘Oh,’ said Ursa, recognising the pair. ‘Hi! Hello!’

The two figures whirled around to face her, as if whatever monster they were expecting would have greeted them with the words ‘Hi, hello’. They visibly relaxed as they realised Ursa was human, like them.

They were completely wrong on that point, but it certainly made them feel better.

‘Whoa, you guys work here, right? I remember you from, uh, before,’ said the boyfriend. He pointedly avoided looking at Nora.

‘We’ve gotten a bit turned around,’ said the girlfriend, with a nervous chuckle. ‘Would you mind showing us to the way out?’

‘Oh… no, this isn’t a normal situation,’ said Ursa, slowly. ‘I’m actually kinda unsure how you didn’t realise that?’

Was the vanilla-human perception filter really that strong?

‘We’re lost in an endless labyrinth, but we’ve all felt that way in Ikea,’ provided Merlin.

The couple weren’t volunteering any new information, so Nora stepped into negotiations. She at least hadn’t felt it necessary to draw her gun. Yet. ‘How did you two even get here?’ she asked. ‘What happened?’

The two shrank back, and shared a brief glance. It looked like a how honest should we be? glance.

‘Well, we were just in the warehouse and I got a text… and then the two of us woke up here. That’s the last thing either of us remembers,’ said the boyfriend. ‘Uh, what did you say your names were again?’

‘We didn’t. What did the text say?’ asked Nora.

‘I’m Ursa, and this is Nora, and Merlin,’ said Ursa. ‘What about you two?’

‘Ethan,’ said the boyfriend.

‘Alice,’ said the girlfriend.

What did the text say?’ repeated Nora, with a bit more volume. But she did at least wait for the others to stop talking. This was really more about getting them to open up than the answer itself.

‘Uh, I didn’t read it,’ said Ethan.

Nora gave a theatrical sigh, before nodding to Ursa, who handed the phone she’d found back to its owner. A text reading ‘FOUND YOU’ was clearly visible when the screen lit up.

‘While we’re being honest,’ said Merlin, ‘Do you want to tell us what you were doing loitering so close to closing time? Before wandering down to the warehouse, as opposed to the exit?’

Alice opened her mouth, but Ethan cut her off.

‘We were just here to look at ANKELPOPs and we got lost and now we’re here.’

He wasn’t a particularly good liar.

With outstretched arms, Ursa swooped in to lead Alice and her boyfriend off to one side. ‘If you guys don’t mind, can I just huddle over here with Alice and Ethan one second?’

When she’d moved a sufficient distance, the couple found her noodle arms around each of their shoulders to be quite implacable.

‘Alright, you two,’ said Ursa, with gentle voice and iron grip. ‘Let’s share, huh? What were you doing?’

Her captives still seemed hesitant.

‘You know the short guy there; Merlin?’ Ursa continued. ‘He already suspects you’re up to no good. And I’ve seen him try to burn a man’s face off for offering him an iced latte.’

This was, of course, a lie. It had been an iced cappuccino, which is impossible, and thus a different matter entirely.

Ursa heard the boyfriend gulp. Time for the finisher.

‘And out of him and Nora, he’s the good cop.’

‘We were gonna fuck in a BRANDASUND!’ said Alice, before Ursa had even finished.

Ethan went bright red.

Ursa blinked. Of course it was a sex thing. It was always a sex thing.

Alice was still talking as Ursa gestured for her colleagues to rejoin the conversation. ‘We wanted to be a bit more adventurous, and well, one thing led to another, and we’ve been staying the night in the store pretty frequently…’

‘We’re uh, kind of working our way through the catalogue,’ added Ethan.

Merlin sagged a little. ‘Well, at least it isn’t anything that’s created problems for us,’ he said. He’d been hoping for something useful.

‘There are still problems!’ said Ethan. He was growing increasingly more frantic. ‘You never explained what was going on! How did we get here?!’

Ursa opened her mouth for a retort, but shut it again as both Alice and Ethan staggered back and clutched at their heads.

Off to one side, Nora hissed at her while the vanilla humans were distracted. ‘Why are we bothering with these two if they’re not connected? They’re only going to die so we may as well just leave them.’

‘Shouldn’t we be, I don’t know, rescuing them?’ asked Ursa.

‘What? Why?’

‘Um… the sanctity of life, or something?’

‘Listen, Ursa. Those aren’t normal headaches. You remember what happens when regular people encounter supernatural shit, right?’

Realisation dawned on Ursa’s face. She mouthed the word, ‘Auditors?’

‘If they’re exposed long enough, yeah. Either that or they’ll snap and accept it, like I did.’

‘Okay, so I’ll just put them to Sleep and they can stop thinking about it.’

Merlin added his voice to the dissenting chorus. ‘And how do we explain them waking up in an Ikea car park? Or a hospital, depending on how badly this goes?’

‘Maybe they tried asphyxiation,’ said Ursa. ‘They’re both weird, remember?’

The headaches didn’t seem to be subsiding.

Without waiting for further protests, Ursa’s kalimba was pulled from her bag at a speed that would have made the most hardened gunslinger’s eyes water. She plucked out a lullaby, and before they’d even heard the music, Alice and Ethan had been put to Sleep.

They slumped to the floor while the other three watched. ‘Okay,’ said Ursa, holstering her instrument. ‘We need to find something to move them around on.’

Nora was incredulous. ‘Are we really going to drag them around with us?’

There was a little chime as Merlin’s laptop opened. ‘Allow me,’ said the Gnome, selecting a program called Tenser’s_Floating_Disc_RITUAL.hexe. ‘It’ll take ten minutes,’ he added. ‘I’m not wasting a spell slot.’

‘My Sleep only lasts for a minute,’ Ursa began, but Nora cut her off.

‘It’ll be fine. They’re vanilla humans; no magical resistance whatsoever. If anything it’ll turn into normal sleep.’

The group inspected the meatballs while Merlin’s code compiled. They were indeed still warm. When one was removed from the plate, another would appear in its place.

Ursa wondered if the tables and their contents were referenced copies of existing items in the real Ikea they’d left behind, repeatedly pasting from the same template. Like in The Sims. And the default had the plates full.

Merlin produced a small bag, and filled it with loose meatballs. ‘What?’ he said, when the others began to stare. ‘I’m sure they’ll come in handy somewhere.’

Some time had passed, though the labyrinth seemed endless as ever. The sleeping forms of Ethan and Alice floated on a plane of invisible force behind Merlin. His bag of meatballs was still warm, though its contents had lost integrity and collapsed like a quantum waveform. Merlin wouldn’t learn this until he opened the bag, creating a sort of Schrödinger’s meatloaf situation.

The shelves made up the labyrinth’s halls had begun to turn more often, jerking left and right in sharp, acute angles. Fortunately, their guiding light still shone orange in the ceiling above. They were getting closer.

A sudden left turn led the group to a long stretch of corridor. Here, maybe 30 feet away, a figure in a white and black suit stood over a body on the floor. There were two swords on his belt that hadn’t been there earlier.

From the rear, it looked like Azoth Alkahest, the Demon they’d met earlier. According to Montparnasse, he’d been chasing down some monster that had snatched up Brian and vanished into this very labyrinth.

Alkahest heard their approach and spun to face them. This is a metaphor, because Alkahest didn’t have a face.

In place of facial features, the front of his head was just a massive, gaping maw lined with dripping – but very clean – teeth. In the darkness of the mouth, a multitude of coloured eyes peered out at them.

All of them blinked.

‘It’s you three!’ he said, in a totally regular voice. ‘I assume you’re chasing down our manager too?’ He nudged the body on the floor with his foot.

Nora was the first one over. Brian was indeed dead on the floor, his eyes still open.

There was a sardonic lilt to Alkahest’s report. ‘Yes, unfortunately the Minotaur got him, and he ended up getting killed. It’s a shame, I was beginning to like the guy.’

Nora stood up from the body. ‘His throat’s been cut.’

‘Yes, it’s very sad.’

‘You said the “Minotaur” got him.’

‘…I never said those two facts were directly related.’

’What the fuck?’ yelled Ursa. ‘You just killed a guy for no reason?’

‘It wasn’t for no reason,’ said Alkahest, perhaps a bit defensively. ‘He was turning into an Auditor.’

‘He doesn’t look like he was,’ Merlin remarked.

‘Well, it seemed like he was about to.’

Ursa still hadn’t cooled off, marching right up to Alkahest despite his Langolier-face. ‘You slit his throat on a hunch?’

‘Well, he was clutching at his head and I didn’t have many options. You know what they say, “when all you have is two swords, everything looks like a throat”.’

‘Nobody says that!’

‘Ok well not just that; I figured I could use his blood for something. It’s useful stuff. Shadow’s my default, but I’m trying to branch out. Anyway, we don’t have time to stand around flappin’ our gums. The Minotaur will be coming.’

’You keep saying that, “Minotaur”,’ said Ursa, not even bothering to address the blood thing. ‘What are you talking about? We’ve seen Minotaurs. We work with a Minotaur! He’s big, but he’s hardly a monster!’

‘Well, he does own a Minions necktie,’ said Merlin.

Ursa ignored him, instead watching as Alkahest sighed and closed his mouth. He smiled, with his regular face, and bent down over Brian’s remains.

‘What are they teaching their employees at the Institute these days?’ he said, mostly to himself. He jammed his index finger into the wound on Brian’s neck, withdrawing it once it had a nice, thick crimson coating.

Paying no attention to Ursa’s sounds of disgust, he strode over to a large box with a POÄNG in it, and began to draw in Brian’s blood.

A diagram has been drawn on the side of a box. A circle labeled 'you' is in the centre, with near-identical circles in a repeated line above, below, to the left, and to the right of it. The line above has been labelled 'life'. Below is 'death'. To the right is 'chaos' and to the left is 'order'. The 'order' label is partially obscured by Alkahest standing in front, holding up a red finger. Description ends.
‘See? I told you it was useful stuff.’

‘So, that’s your world here in the centre,’ he explained, in a bad approximation of a college lecturer. ‘Right at the crossroads of all these parallels. And the further you go in one direction, the more steeped in that Alignment the world is.’

He pointed to the sphere below the one in the middle. ‘I’m from one down this way, a little closer to Death. And it just so happens that most Minotaurs are, too. But… the one in here with us?’

He pointed to a box on the shelf below. ‘It’s probably from one all the way down there.’

Ursa seemed unconvinced, but stayed quiet. It was Merlin that responded first, though not in English.

‘If this thing is real, there’s still some parts you haven’t explained. For example, why did this Minotaur seek out Brian? Did he do something to attract its ire?’

He spoke in Infernal, the most common language among Fiendish folk – Nora and Ursa just heard a series of guttural noises, far lower in pitch than Merlin’s usual voice, with the word ‘Brian’ recognisable in the middle like a spotlight on an unlit stage.

Alkahest replied in plain English. If Merlin as hoping for a private aside, Alkahest wasn’t interested. ‘Nope, it and its Runners just chased him down for no reason. Maybe it heard his stupid voice and got angry.’

‘Wait, wait,’ said Nora. ‘What do you mean, “Runners”?’

‘Oh. Have you ever been to Spain?’

This elicited a tilt of the head from Merlin. ‘El Encierro?’ He noted the others’ lack of comprehension. ‘The Running of the Bulls, you philistines.’

Exacta,’ said Alkahest, as if he was speaking proper Spanish and not just making a deep cut reference to that one guy in Bleach. ‘The Minotaur’s got these undead things running from it. I’m pretty sure it’s controlling them, like worms on a fishing line.’

‘Right, I can’t listen to this anymore,’ said Ursa, suddenly. ‘We’re really believing a guy who’s casually all-but-admitted to murdering a civilian, unprovoked? And now he’s going on about some stupid Minotaur thing?’ She rounded on Alkahest, who actually took a small step back.

‘You know what I think?’ she said, spearing a finger at him. ‘I think that – and no pun intended here – your story is bullshit. You’re just trying to cover your ass! There’s no Minotaur.’

At this point, on another layer of reality, the DM requested that Ursa make a perception check.

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ she said.

There was the sound of an approaching stampede. A mass of feet coming down the aisle they were on. A rush of wind pushed forward by something huge, something incredibly fast.

Alkahest had already taken off at a dead sprint. Merlin and Nora set off after him, with the Floating Disc and its occupants scooting along in Merlin’s wake.

Ursa, though, just backed away quite slowly. It could be argued that she’d frozen in shock, but more likely, she wanted to confirm if the threat was actually real or not.

It was.

A group of ten or fifteen humanoid figures were fleeing down the corridor toward her, each one moving quickly and erratically, like insects or startled reptiles. A cloud of dust was kicked up by their advance – Ursa watched as one of the figures fell and was trampled by the others, crushed to airborne powder – and in that cloud, mostly invisible, was something massive and unstoppable, a pair of bull’s horns jutting from its obscured head in smooth, lethal curves.

Instead of running, Ursa began to climb.

It was easy at first, the edges of boxes and the shelves themselves offered clean handholds. But the wind was picking up as the Minotaur bore down on her. Her palms began to sweat, and her arms began to ache. She was almost high enough. Almost.

Her haste had led to a less than ideal grip on one of the boxes. If she didn’t do something, she was going to fall. She was going to–

A horn. It slammed into the side of her, like a rail spike driven into the earth. She’d been gored. The force of it sent her sailing through the air with a streak of blood like a comet tail, before plummeting down to the concrete floor.

Merlin saw it happen. Nora spun to see him running back to try and save Ursa – if the Runners caught her, that would be it, prophecy or no. She went for her gun, to at least make an attempt at driving the thing back, before realising bullets would be no good against a threat like this. Instead, she reached down into the well of power that had been encoded into her soul, and fired an Eldritch Blast over Merlin’s head.

A runner was dissolved by the raw magical force. The Minotaur, though, didn’t even slow.

Merlin had reached Ursa, though. She’d lost a lot of blood, but she was still just about conscious. He lowered the Floating Disc and hauled her onto it, and the two of them turned tail to resume their escape.

The Minotaur was right behind them. Merlin could hear the laboured almost-breathing of the Runners.

Ahead, there was a fork in the corridor. Alkahest had reached it, and sprinted down the right hand path without stopping.

‘Left?!’ yelled Merlin.

‘Left!’ replied Nora.

And the pursuing Minotaur turned right, to follow Alkahest.

They didn’t see the Minotaur again. It seemed to be much more interested in the Demon, which suited the three of them just fine.

The orange router was very close now, and aside from an incident with Ethan and Alice waking up – until Nora hit them on the head with the butt of her gun, anyway – there were no further complications reaching it. Ursa had bandaged her wound and gotten up to walk again, patching up the hole in her shirt with a Mending spell.

She didn’t heal herself, though. This was certainly an odd choice, since as far as health went, on a scale of 1-19 she was sitting at a cool 1.

The journey was narrated under Merlin’s breath. ‘It should be directly above the next aisle over. We just need to turn here and then double back, and– seriously?’

They’d turned to see what clues the orange light might hold, and instead found another familiar figure in the middle of the aisle, directly under the router they’d been using as a guide. His arms were pointed up toward it, with waggling fingers on the ends.

He noticed them and dropped his arms. The light on the router went green.

‘You son of a bitch!’ said Merlin.

‘We thought there was some kind of goal here but it’s just you?’ said Ursa.

‘Fuck,’ said Nora.

Montparnasse flashed them a viridescent smile. ‘It’s nice to see you lot too,’ he said. ‘How’d we even get separated? I tried to find you mentally but with those earphones and the, uh, thing connected to Nora, I couldn’t get a bead on your heads.’

‘What were you even doing?’ asked Merlin.

Montparnasse looked blank for a second, then followed Merlin’s gaze up to the now-green router above. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘I was trying to get a phone signal, or internet access. I thought maybe I could telekinetically press the WPS button, but it just wasn’t working.’

‘The light was orange for hours!’

‘Yeah, I didn’t have any other ideas.’

‘What were you even hoping to achieve with an internet connection?’

Montparnasse grinned again. ‘Alright, you’ll like this. I wanted to check the plans, and see if the guy that built this place was a Wizard or something. A regular haunting couldn’t make something like this. Might explain how it came to be if whoever built it was doing weird magic while he did.’

He looked as if he were expecting applause. Instead, Merlin opened his laptop to show Montparnasse the building plans. ‘Look. Look! The plans are wrong, but they don’t have a bloody labyrinth in them!’

‘Wait, you have internet? Oh damn, ok, Google if the builder was a Wizard!’

‘You can’t just Google if someone is a Wizard,’ said Ursa.

‘You could if you were on BlinkedIn,’ said Merlin, typing away. ‘See, just a regular architect.’ He peered closer at the screen. ‘…Who disappeared nine months ago. When this store opened.’

Of course.

Things were just growing more complicated. But they needed to get out before they could get to the bottom of everything.

‘Montparnasse, you’re Fae,’ Merlin thought aloud. ‘Can you sense nature and fresh air and the like?’

This earned him a thump on the arm from Ursa, though without much force on account of her lack of blood. ‘That’s racist,’ she said.

He was generalising about Wizards a minute ago!’

I’m Fae, and you’re being racist! This isn’t Greggs.’

‘I’m Fae as well! And you could tell where the air was fresher before! I saw you!’

‘You’ve internalised it then. I’m sorry to hear that.’

Montparnasse shook his head, though. ‘I can’t, I’m afraid. There are others in the court who would be able to. But I’m not an Elf, and I’m not from anywhere close enough to Chaos for that.’

Stepping from behind her companions’ argument, Nora waded back into the interrogation. ‘That’s something. Why you? What made your Queen send you to deal with this? You did nothing when you encountered the Minotaur. You’re a coward by your own admission. What exactly did she expect you to achieve?’

The smile on Montparnasse’s face faded, just a little bit. ‘That was… incisive, Nora. But you’re right that I’m not the most action-oriented individual. I’m really more of a delegator.’

‘As in, you let others risk their lives without getting your hands dirty, and then step in at the last minute to purloin the reward?’

‘Yes, exactly that,’ said Montparnasse, casually. ‘The Psionics I’ve got at my disposal do lend themselves to such an approach. And it’s very important that I don’t mess this up, or there’ll be big consequences for me, so…’

‘You said before that this was your chance to prove yourself to your Queen,’ said Ursa, breaking away from Merlin’s reddening face and blue-ening language. ‘But you’re already being given jobs by her. What do you have to prove?’

When Montparnasse spoke, there was a new edge to his voice. ‘Everything. My very purpose is to serve the goals of… of Queen Titania, be they the smallest desires or the largest designs. Every action I take should be to prove myself a worthy member of her court.’

He smiled again, though not at any of them. ‘Of course, right now I think she’d be quite upset if she knew what I was doing.’

‘Then… why don’t we make a deal?’ said Merlin. ‘We work as one. Neither party harms the other, and we pool our resources until we find the source of this haunting.’

Montparnasse considered this for around a second and a half, then held out a manicured hand, side on. ‘Deal,’ he said, and a little ball of light appeared in his palm.

‘Wait, wait,’ said Nora. ‘Not until we find the source. Just until we get out of here.’

Montparnasse retracted his hand as they adjusted the terms.

‘No attempts to read our minds, headphones or no,’ added Ursa.

‘Okay. And… we get the glory for completing this,’ said Merlin.

The others both squinted at Merlin. ‘I don’t think that was an issue until you brought it up,’ said Nora.

‘I just don’t want him trying to downplay our contributions to the Queen of the Summer Fae,’ Merlin groused. ‘I’m networking.’

‘An equal split of credit, then?’ said Ursa. ‘Market it as a collab?’

When Merlin finally shook Montparnasse’s hand, the agreed upon terms were:

  1. Neither party would harm the other for as long as they were in the Labyrinth.
  2. Neither party would attempt to influence the other through magical means.
  3. If danger presented itself, each would attempt to protect the whole group to the best of their ability.
  4. Afterwards, credit for any achievements would be equally split in the ensuing reports.

Of course, they no longer had a goal to head towards. Ursa tried to climb the shelves again, despite her wound, but found that they stretched up to an infinite, uncrestable height. Which was annoying.

It had been a further hour of wandering the Labyrinth, with only a ten-minute pause for Merlin to refresh his Floating Disc. The jagged corridors had now begun to flow in smooth curves, and the radius of these curves were getting smaller.

They were nearing the centre.

It made sense to try for the heart of the Labyrinth; if it spread out infinitely in all directions, then the only goal that could possibly be reached was the middle.

The Minotaur was conspicuously absent. Monsters in Labyrinths were supposed to prevent prisoners from finding the centre; that was practically the whole point. Apart from when they were supposed to chase them into traps, of course.

In fact, they hadn’t seen the Minotaur at all since they’d seen it chasing down…

Footsteps ahead of them, advancing at a rapid click. A single pair, thankfully. It was -of course – Alkahest. He was wearing his game face again, maybe so he could take deeper breaths while he ran.

‘Move, you stupid bastards!’ he shouted, without slowing. ‘It’s got my scent or something!’

They doubled back and ran the way they’d come, hoping to ditch Alkahest but not finding any suitable side passages. And then, a dead end.

‘That’s not possible,’ said Merlin. ‘We retraced our steps!’

It seemed the Labyrinth itself was against them. Or possibly against just Alkahest.

What did you do?’ growled Ursa. ‘Why is it chasing you specifically?’

Alkahest’s maw came face to face with Ursa’s eyes, and the maw blinked first.

‘I… think it’s the same reason it went for Brian.’

Explain.’

Alkahest closed his mouth, and his human face looked sheepish. ‘I’d rather not.’

Nora shoved Montparnasse forward. ‘What’s he hiding?’ she asked.

‘It’s a key,’ said Montparnasse, quickly, before hesitating.

‘And?’ said Nora.

‘And he took it from Brian when he killed him,’ finished Montparnasse. ‘Sorry, Azoth.’

Alkahest curled his lip at him, but winced as Ursa bore down on him again.

‘Give it here,’ she demanded.

‘No. It’s important.’

The wind was picking up.

‘Important how?’

‘I don’t know yet. But I can just tell; it’s a talent of mine. I can, uh, sort of taste how “important” an object is.’ Alkahest thought for a moment. ‘Or a person.’

The sound of a stampede was getting louder.

Ursa held out her hand. ‘Give it here,’ she said again.

‘What if it’s the way out?’

The Minotaur had found them. It barrelled toward them like an oncoming train.

Now, Alkahest,’ said Ursa, with menace in her words.

Alkahest sucked in a deep breath, and then gingerly he retrieved an unremarkable key from his pocket. It looked like it was for a locker, or a desk drawer.

As soon as it hit her palm, Ursa flung it toward the oncoming monster.

The cloud of dust and ashes hit them.

And they were all still there when it cleared. The Minotaur was gone. So was the key.

‘I’m glad that worked,’ said Ursa.

‘You weren’t sure?!’ started Merlin, but Alkahest talked over his protests.

‘Listen. Ursa. I really did think that key might be our only way out of here. But I realise–‘

‘Oh god please don’t make this awkward,’ said Ursa.

‘What? I’m trying to say thank you!’

‘I know. It’s awkward.’

‘Ugh. Fuck you, then.’

He walked away in the only direction that was available to him. The effect was diminished somewhat by the others following him, as it was the only direction available to them, as well.

And soon, they came to a circular clearing. The floor here was a clean white gravel of the type one might find in a Zen garden. The path sloped a little as they entered the heart of the Labyrinth.

On the far side, there was a door, waiting for them. It was already open. A stone hallway, like the one that had brought them here to begin with, stretched away on the other side.

Other than that, there were no shelves, or boxes. Instead, the courtyard was filled with statues.

There were ten of them in total, nine of which stood freely around one in the very centre. The centre one – black marble where the others were all white – had chains carved into it. They looked terribly fragile.

Merlin and Ursa recognised the iconography on a few of them. They were feminine figures, each holding a different object; one held a shepherd’s crook, another a scroll, another a tragic mask. And sure enough, there were names chiselled in near the base of each.

Thalia‘, said the one with the crook. The ones with the scroll and mask were labelled ‘Clio‘ and ‘Melpomene‘, respectively.

‘Muses?’ said Ursa, circling them like she was admiring a gallery installation.

Each of the nine muses was represented in the clearing. The chained one in the centre, though, didn’t have a name.

‘No, it looks like it used to,’ said Merlin. He indicated a gash in the statue where a name might once have been. It had been chiselled off.

Nora, though, had ignored the statues, heading for the door without a word. The others, Fae and Fiend included, followed along, leaving whatever mysteries were in that room behind for the moment.

The door led to the store proper’s Living Rooms section, with callous disregard for Euclidean geometry. The other doors to nowhere were all closed now, except for…

‘Ha,’ said Nora.

The crooked door from earlier swung open. Whatever room was beyond it was pitch black.

Nora looked around at the others. ‘Right. Who wants to go in first?’

‘We’re out of the Labyrinth now, so I’m no longer obliged to work with you,’ said Montparnasse, a bit too quickly. ‘So I’ll hang back here.’

With a brief glare at the greentoothed Fae, and a less-brief stop to deposit Ethan and Alice on a nearby sofa, Merlin strode up to the doorway. Being a gnome, his eyes worked quite well in the dark, though it took them a moment to adjust.

He needn’t have waited, though. As he set foot inside, there came a clunk from somewhere above as the halogen lights turned on, revealing the familiar beigeness of the staffroom.

The damp patch had swollen to a full, bulging blister, yellowing paint peeling from it like a sunburn. It couldn’t have been natural. It looked like a pregnant beluga embedded in the ceiling like Han Solo in Carbonite.

There was a little retching sound before Ursa spoke. ‘That’s… gross,’ she said with a grimace, trying not to breathe though her nose. ‘Maybe we shouldn’t–‘

Merlin shot the thing with a Firebolt.

It popped like a boil; fluid like sour milk spewing from it with a sloshing gurgle, and a metal locker was carried out on the tide of it to slam onto the table below. It had viscous lumps of that same amniotic custard stuck to it. It smelled like disease.

‘See, I knew that key was important,’ said Alkahest, apparently unfazed by the grotesquery. ‘If we’d kept it we’d have been able to get that open.’

Ursa fully had to lean against the door frame; nausea filling up her head as well as her stomach. Just as she thought things might be improving, the smell proved too much for her, and she ended up being sick on the floor outside.

Alkahest actually stopped his I told you so-ing to follow her out. ‘Whoa, hey, you okay?’ There appeared to be genuine concern in his voice. ‘Should I, uh, hold your hair back or something?’

‘It’s fine,’ said Ursa, between heaves. ‘It’s fine. God, this happens every time we go out on a job.’ She was running out of guts to chuck, which was good. But the convulsions had caused the wound in her side to reopen, which was bad.

There was another loud clunk, this one echoing out as if a bell had been struck. The door of the locker swung open of its own accord. Merlin lowered his hand, having just cast Knock.

There were bones inside, with a jamlike coating of the fluid slowly oozing off them.

‘Ugh,’ said Merlin.

‘Oh,’ said Montparnasse.

‘Ah,’ said Alkahest, drawing both his swords and beginning to move. ‘I believe that’s what I came here for.’

‘Put those away,’ said Ursa, straightening up to her full height beside him. As he turned to respond, she hit one of the glowing buttons on her Midi Fighter. She kept it buckled to her side in a makeshift holster for quick access, with a wire hooked up to a speaker in her bag. It was similar to Nora carrying a pistol, she supposed.

A chord rang out, arcane power threaded between each of the notes that made it up. Ursa cast Charm Person on the Demon before her.

Slowly, with the same air as one who’s forgotten why they came into the room, Alkahest sheathed his swords.

‘Give them to me,’ said Ursa.

‘You can’t just have them, ya bastard,’ said Alkahest, but he smiled as he said it.

Ursa didn’t smile back. She’d been sure he’d been moving towards the still-sleeping Alice and Ethan. What was that he’d said about blood before?

Back in the staff room, Merlin was mid phonecall with the Caliber Institute. Or, rather, he’d gotten through directly to Cepheus, who was at home, in bed, with his wife. It was 4 in the morning, after all.

‘We need backup right away,’ Merlin was saying, looking from the locker with the remains in it to Nora, who’d drawn her pistol and was eyeing Montparnasse in the corner. ‘We’ve secured the cause of the hauntings, but there are others here that want it and we need assistance.’

Cepheus still sounded groggy, but his words were serious enough. ‘Sure thing, Merlin. I’ll have – stop that, Emva, it’s a work call – people out to you for support and extraction as soon as possible.’

The phone beeped as the call ended.

‘We could just destroy it now,’ suggested Nora.

‘No!’ said Ursa and Alkahest, at the same time. Alkahest politely gestured for her to continue, so she did.

‘If this is the reason that Labyrinth is down there – if it’s the Architect or whoever – destroying it might cause it to collapse. And we need answers; there’s the question of whatever the hell was sending those texts – I don’t think the Minotaur had a phone, do you? And what was the deal with all the routers? And the weird statues? Not to mention how this guy ended up in a locker to begin with!’

‘We don’t need answers, we need to deal with this,’ said Montparnasse, stepping forward. ‘Let’s just–‘

You don’t get a vote,’ said Nora, pointing her gun at him. ‘We’re out of the Labyrinth, remember?’

Montparnasse stepped back for the moment, but he wore a familiar smile.

‘How long before we get our backup?’ asked Ursa.

Merlin shrugged. ‘The Institute is what, 10 minutes away at this time of night? But it depends on who’s actually on hand. How long before your Charm wears off?’

‘Just under an hour now.’

‘So,’ said Nora, punctuating her words with pistol gestures. ‘We’ve got a load of bones we can’t do anything with because it might ruin our only way of getting to the bottom of this. We don’t know when help will arrive. Ursa’s whole left side is bleeding. We’ve got about an hour, or until Ursa loses concentration from lack of blood, before the Demon realises he doesn’t have to play nice. There’s a grinning psychic in the corner just waiting to betray us. And we’ve got two potential Auditors napping in the next room over. Does that about cover it?’

Merlin and Ursa nodded.

‘Great. Average workday, then.’

Ediera: Bee’s Incredible Journey, Part 1

[My good friend Adam runs a homebrew game set in a world named Ediera; a high-magic setting of airships and floating cities, wracked with manastorms and camel jerky. My character is an Aarakocra Monk named Bee, who happens to be illiterate. This is her version of events, with help from another party member.]

Okay hi hello. Have we started? Oh!

Okay. My name is Bee and this is the story of how I became the greatest warrior in all of Ediera. So, me and Kri and Thistle went to the desert and–

Thistle’s Notes: Here I interrupted and asked for a bit more introduction. Bee was unhappy that I wouldn’t let her just jump ahead, but I reminded her that I’m the one who can read and write here, so I’m doing her a favour by acting as scribe for her… interesting perspective.

I’ll set the scene. Right now we’re on an airship. It’s been weeks since my journey began! I’m travelling with my new friends, Kri and Thistle.

Kri is an Aarakocra like me, only not like me because she’s more like a magpie than a hummingbird. She’s also more in touch with her Aarakocra-ness than me. She’s still got the accent when she speaks Common, and she knows about the weather and talks about her clan a lot. She can do magic too, which I used to think was suspicious, but it turns out she’s okay.

Thistle is something called a Firbolg, which – she says – means she’s descended from Giants. She knows all about the stars, which I think is because of how tall she is. You’d notice the stars too if they were right next to your head! She does magic like Kri, but not like Kri because she can turn herself into a star sign.

I like them a lot. They’re really patient! Yeah, sometimes they get annoyed with me, because I’m not as smart as they are. Which I totally get! Swatter, who raised me when I lived in Artis, used to get angry when I didn’t understand things – but after he’d calmed down he always said that was because he loved me and didn’t like it when I couldn’t look out for myself.

Anyway, Thistle is looking at me weird now so I’ll get on with the story. She’s very nicely agreed to write down what I say, because I never learned to do it myself!

Should I talk about Alistair? Alistair has been a friend of mine for years, ever since Swatter and me tried to rob him outside a pub in Artis. He seemed to prefer talking to me than Swatter, which I always thought was weird, because Swatter was better at talking than I do.

The “Alistair” Bee is referring to is Alistair Felswick, Genasi adventurer and expert in Elven culture and archaeology. I’m realising now that I should perhaps have gotten myself more than one cup of coffee for this.

Anyway, I’d gotten a request to meet with Alistair at his home, which is where he lives. And apparently it was urgent. Only, when I arrived, Alistair wasn’t there, and instead I found Thistle – only I didn’t know her name yet – knocking at the door.

‘Hey, whatcha doin’?’ I asked.

‘Oh. Hello,’ said Thistle. She talked all fancy. ‘Are you a friend of Alistair’s? I’ve received an invitation to his humble bode, the place in which he resigns.’

Bee’s impression of me is less than accurate.

‘Ah, I’m here for the very same reason,’ I told her. ‘Do you think it’s something important?’

She didn’t know, but she thought it must be. It wasn’t like Alistair to keep people waiting. Soon, we were joined by another Aarakocra – Kri. She’d been invited just like us, and I immediately recognised her as a potential rival.

I think it’s good to have a rival. They inspire you to push yourself, y’know? I’ve never had one before.

But, we weren’t having much luck getting in the house, even with three of us. Frankly, I was losing interest – Alistair clearly wasn’t home, and I’m not prepared to stand around all day knocking on a door. What am I, a woodpecker?

We must have looked pretty suspicious though; I mean, I did stick my beak through the letterbox at one point. So suspicious, in fact, that we attracted the attention of Alistair’s neighbors. One neighbor, anyway.

‘Ahem,’ said a voice from behind us. ‘May I ask what you’re doin’ to that there door?’

A Halfling stood there, all small like, uh…

Here, Bee paused for one minute and seventeen seconds as she internally grappled with ‘simile’ as a concept. I made some suggestions, but these only caused her face to scrunch up further. Eventually, they settled for:

…like a Human, but not as big. He had a pipe made of some rich-looking wood in his mouth, with a plume of bluish smoke trailing as he spoke.

Weer, weer, we’re here to visit Alistair,’ said Kri. She’d started talking in Aarakocra before switching to Common. ‘Do you know if he’s gone out?’

The little man looked puzzled for a second, but then he flashed us a warm smile that was lessened only a little bit by the wisps of smoke leaking through his teeth. Teeth kinda freak me out in general, if I’m being honest. They’re bones that grow in mammals’ mouths! It’s not natural. Bones are supposed to stay on the inside!

I’m glad I don’t have any. Teeth, that is, not bones. I do have bones! They’re hollow!

Bee was very insistent that I include her diatribe here. She says it’ll give the document “character” and help us “sell a million copies”.

‘He’s out at the moment, I think,’ said Charles. ‘I’ll tell you what, you’re more than welcome to wait for him at my little old house across the street.’

Bee, you have to introduce a person before you put their name in the narration. Otherwise the audience won’t know who you’re referring to. No, you – oh, now look what you made me write, ugh.

‘My name’s Charles,’ said Charles Willingham, the Halfling man who had walked up to us before and said we could wait at his house.

…Thank you.

So, we went over to Charles’ house, across the street; a building that was an almost perfect reflection of the one we’d been attacking the door of. Inside, he led us to a little kitchen and began to make tea in a copper kettle. I was relieved to be offered something hot to drink – there was a definite draft in the house, even though we’d shut the door behind us.

I could even see the hairs on Charles’ beard moving with the wind when he brought over the cups!

‘Do you take sugar?’ he asked, setting a bowl of the stuff in the centre of our table.

‘Just half for mine,’ said Thistle.

‘Oh same as me!’ I said, pouring some into my cup and only spilling a little.

Bee is neglecting to explain here that I take my tea with half a spoon, not half the cup. She should be relieved about her lack of teeth in more ways than one.

Charles peered at each of us in turn. ‘So, how do you know Alistair?’

I explained what I’d said earlier in this thing; that I’d first met him when Swatter and me tried to mug him, and we’d been friends ever since. Kri said something about him needing, uh, her feathers for a special hat, I think. And Alistair once visited the tower Thistle studied in and he taught her about sports.

I met Alistair when he visited the Great Wizard Umbras for a consultation on star charts. During his stay, Umbras’ personal assistant came down with a quite severe case of being murdered, which Alistair and I collaborated on. On solving, I mean. Sports were not involved. Unless murder is a sport, which it isn’t.

According to Kri, Alistair led an expedition to rescue her clan from a freak manastorm that they’d been caught in. I’d like to ask her more, for clarity’s sake, but I don’t know if it’s a traumatic memory for her?

And Charles the Halfling puffed at his pipe and nodded with a sense of relief. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘I had to be sure it was really you.’

His outline wobbled, like he was a reflection in a bathtub, and then spread upwards with a noise like a slide whistle.

I don’t remember any such noise at the time.

Alistair Felswick smiled at us, warmly, looking like himself again. I was kinda disappointed that I’d already finished my tea, because I was surprised enough to spray it everywhere, you know?

‘We might not have long,’ he said. ‘I’m being followed. I just came back from the Black Desert, and… well, I can’t go into detail on what I found there. But I’ve called the three of you here because the Queen, uh, she currently wants to see my head on a spike, I believe.’

‘You’ve made an enemy of Queen Annabelle Quilton?’ Thistle actually did spray her tea everywhere, and it got all over the table and the floor and Alistair’s hair. Kri went to help mop it up, and she slipped, and fell on her butt, and she said ‘ouch, my butt’.

I’m beginning to worry that Bee might be a compulsive liar?

Alistair continued his explanation after we’d put Kri’s butt in a big bandage that made her look like a wrestler. ‘It’s all a misunderstanding. I need the three of you to plead my case to her, as I suspect I won’t be able to do so myself.’

Wook, why not?’ asked Kri.

There was a tearing sound. Suddenly, this portal just appeared like a wound in the air, all dark and swirling. It dripped weird purple onto the floor. I shot up from my seat, ready to act – it had been hours since I got into a fight – and I saw both Thistle and Kri jumping up as well.

Alistair, though, just looked resigned.

Three figures in dark cloaks charged through the portal. They were going straight for Alistair himself. I leapt across the table and hit one with a swift kick to the side of the head, but by the time I landed the other two were already past me.

I turned back to see Kri clap her hands together and send one crashing into a bookshelf with a huge boom of thunder, and Thistle had banged this walking stick on the floor – the grain of the wood shone with starlight, and I thought she was going to do some kind of spell… but then she just brained one of the cloak guys with it!

I did do some kind of spell; it’s called “Shillelagh”. And I would prefer not to include the word ‘brained’ if possible, along with any other such lurid hyperbole you might be tempted to employ, Bee. This isn’t tabloid news.

She crushed the guy’s skull, and like, brains got all over the carpet… but that didn’t stop them! The first one I’d kicked, behind me now, yelled something in a language I didn’t understand, and then everything went black. And all the while, Alistair just stayed in his seat, looking all defeated.

I wanted to shout at him not to give up! But one of the cloaks had cast a Darkness spell, so he obviously wouldn’t have been able to hear me.

And then, the lights came back on. Only instead of Charles the Halfling’s house, we were standing in rubble in the middle of the street! The cloaks had taken Alistair, and the house he was hiding in!

Allow me to field this one: Once we’d gotten our bearings, Kri and I inspected the rubble to find a device of quite cunning artifice that seemed to have been used to amplify magical effects. I suspect Alistair used it to set up a safehouse, though how long it had been overlaid on the wreckage, I am not sure. We didn’t exactly get chance to investigate further, because Bee had seen something in a window and already wandered off.

That’s right, my enhanced senses of perception had spotted something in Alistair’s second-floor window across the road – it looked like a humanoid figure, beckoning us closer. Very suspicious.

Kri and Thistle joined me. ‘You know, this coo-could be a trap,’ said Kri. ‘Why would it be gesturing for us to go over there?’

‘It’s reverse psychology,’ I told her. ‘Whatever it is, it’s scared of us, so it’s pretending to invite us over.’

‘That doesn’t make much sense, Bee.’

I recognised her tone. Sometimes Swatter would use that tone when he was about to leave me outside or hit me or whatever. It’s the ‘incoming challenge’ tone – I used to call it Swatter’s ‘training voice’. Which, obviously, meant it was a challenge from my rival!

‘You’ll never beat me there,’ I grinned.

‘…What?’ Kri tried to play it cool, but I saw through her.

I’d already set off running. I sucked in a deep breath and used my Step of the Wind to leave both Kri and Thistle in my dust! But the thing about Kri is that she isn’t bound by the strict training code that Swatter instilled in me. She doesn’t wear weights on her wings; she didn’t have to train on the ground only, because flight wasn’t an unfair advantage for her – her whole clan could fly! Not like me and Swatter!

So what if she flew past me while I ran up the stairs? What if she got on the roof and came down the chimbley?

Bee, did you mean to say ‘chimney’ there?

Yeah, chimbley. She could fit, I think!

So, I skidded to a stop, and then cannoned up through the air toward the window I’d seen the beckoning figure in. No wings, just leg power!! Sure, Kri might think she could get ahead through the chimbley, but when I crashed through that window in a shower of broken glass and blood and feathers, she wouldn’t see that coming, no way blue jay!!!!

That’s an Aarakocra expression.

Oh, really? Well, Kri and I were downstairs, having let ourselves in through the now-unlocked door. I have to admit that neither of us knew exactly where you’d ended up.

I was on the floor in a bedroom, I think. It was a bit of a messy room, but more importantly, there was a flash in the corner of my eye! I caught sight of a little red hat, rapidly scurrying away from the doorway, toward the stairs where the two of you were lying in wait.

The trap was sprung!

Yes, instead of Bee descending the stairs, instead we encountered a diminutive little gentleman with purple skin, brown robes, and indeed, a little red cap on his head. He had horns and claws and sharp teeth, and when he spoke, it sounded like air squeezed from a balloon and a knife scraping a dinnerplate, both at the same time.

‘Oh hello there, you lot,’ he squawked. ‘My name’s Terry, good to meet you, and all that… Um, Alistair said that I was to invite you into his house after the one across the road disappeared.’

I followed the little man – who later told us he was an Ink Devil – down the stairs to where Kri and Thistle were shuddering at the sound of his voice.

‘They took Alistair then?’ he asked us.

‘They did. Do you live here with him?’ asked Thistle, question for question.

‘Yeah, I’m Alistair’s assistant. He said this would happen, and that I’m supposed to help you.’

‘Help us do what?’ asked Kri, not wanting to be left out of the questions game.

Terry the Ink Devil looked up at us with pleading red eyes. ‘Rescue him.’

He bustled off through a hallway, and we followed. ‘Well, he did ask us to clear his name with Queen Quilton,’ said Thistle.

Kri nodded, though a little stiffly. Terry was leading us downwards now, probably underground – and Kri seemed to be getting more nervous as we progressed. ‘Hoo, how would three nobodies – friends of a wanted criminal, even – manage to get an audience with the Queen?’

‘Maybe we could break into her room in the night?’ I suggested.

The two of them shared a look.

‘I’m serious!’ I said. ‘She wakes up in the night and there’s three figures surrounding her bed, and she freaks out, and we lean in and say, “You made a big mistake when you arrested Alistair Felswick”. That’ll help her realise he’s innocent!’

Neither of them acknowledged the suggestion this time. I think they were lost in thought.

‘I don’t think it was the Queen that took him, actually,’ said Kri. ‘What happened with Alistair was a bit too cloak-and-dagger for a Royal arrest, you know?’

Thistle nodded thoughtfully. ‘It’d help if we knew what it was he’d found in the Black Desert.’

‘Well, we’re here!’ shrieked Terry.

We were definitely underground now. Before us was a huge vault door, that Terry shook his fingers and made slowly swing open. I’d expected a panic room or a fallout shelter, but inside all I could see were a few desks, some cabinets with indeterminate treasures inside, and stacks and stacks of books. Thistle’s eyes had lit up.

‘Welcome to Alistair’s Library, I suppose,’ said Terry. ‘You can have a look round, if you want.’

Star Wars, Morality, and the Insidiousness of the Force

So, I’m back to hyperfixating on Star Wars because Light of the Jedi, the first novel in the new High Republic stuff, just got released and I accidentally looked at a picture of a lightsaber. This triggered a chain reaction that led to me binging all of the Mandalorian in a single weekend, watching the Lego Star Wars Holiday Special (which is a masterpiece) despite it being January, and reading page after page on Wookieepedia about ‘Ponda Baba’ or ‘Tip-Yip’ or ‘Glup Shitto’ or whatever.

Star Wars is easy to hyperfixate on, because there’s always more.

Anyway, as I usually do when I’m into something, I began planning a tabletop RPG campaign. The plan is to use the Star Wars hack for D&D 5th Edition you can find online, because while I do agree that you can’t just use D&D as an all-purpose ruleset for any game… I know 5e really well. It’s like that Top Gear meme.

This one

Sami indicated she’d be willing to play and wants to make a Mandalorian, which is of course extremely cool. I asked Mari too, but she said she was used to the Star Wars RPGs made using the 3rd Edition SRD system, with their thousands and thousands of steps to making a character. If she didn’t have the option to make a force-sensitive half-droid half-jawa half-sarlaac with stormtrooper training, what was the point. I’ll put you down as a ‘maybe’, Mari.

The next step was to think about when to set it. If you’re not up on Star Wars, there’s as many different eras as Ariel has legs:

  • Pre-Republic, before there were even Humans. I don’t think this is canon anymore?
  • The Old Republic, about a thousand years before any of the movies, with loads of Jedi and Sith gallivanting about the place
  • The High Republic, about 800-200 years before any of the movies, after the Sith have experienced severe budget cuts
  • The Fall of the Jedi, when all those clones were there
  • The Reign of the Empire, when the Empire reigned
  • The Age of Rebellion, when the Empire reigned but people did something about it
  • The New Republic, after Palpatine got dunked into a big space well
  • and The Rise of the First Order, when the First Order rose.

I’m leaning more towards either the Old Republic, so I can include as many lightsabers as possible, or after the Rise (and fall) of the First Order, so I can do whatever I want without worrying about canon overlap.

After that, you need a plot, or at least some kind of conflict. Star Wars likes to have concrete villains to work against, though that can feel a bit arbitrary – like, Palpatine is the villain because he’s evil. What does he want? Power. Why does he want it? He’s evil.

I’d prefer to work in some more nuanced motivations. I’ve got this concept for the antagonist that’s rooted in a particular frustration I have with Star Wars, namely; just how inflexible the morality of the universe is.

It’s absolutely black and white, with its frustrating good vs. evil fairytale viewpoint. I know Star Wars is practically a fairytale, but…

I don’t remember which game it was, but there was a mission in one of the Star Wars where you’re playing as a trainee in the Jedi temple on, uh, Bodega or some other planet. You hear rumours of two other trainees that are in love, and they want to run away together. You’re given two choices: help them, or report them to Jedi Miss Trunchbull.

I, of course, helped them escape. Two students desperate to be together, in spite of a culture that said that wasn’t allowed? It spoke to my queer little heart. And the game gave me dark side points for it!

Yoda’s ghost floated from my computer. ‘Mm, bad person you are,’ he said. ‘A Jedi must not know love.’

‘What about Ki-Adi-Mundi and his four wives?’ I asked.

‘Talk about him, we do not,’ he said, before being eaten by my cat.

The Jedi order are a bunch of hypocrites. The whole ‘attachment leads to jealousy-> greed-> fear-> anger-> hate-> Dark Side’ business is a load of crap. Fear doesn’t necessarily lead to anger! I’m frightened every day and I’m not mad about it, I’m just tired and depressed.

But that’s because I don’t live in the Star Wars universe, see. My life isn’t dictated by fairytale morality. In-Universe, if you’re afraid, it always leads to anger, because the Force itself… uh, enforces that.

In the Mandalorian, there’s a scene where the Baby Yoda misinterprets an arm-wrestle as a threat to his Dad, and force chokes the other participant a bit (she’s fine). According to the rules, this puts the little frog closer to the Dark Side – a literal baby! – and means he’s more likely to do evil stuff again.

Because both sides of the Force have a will of their own, and the more in touch you are with the power, the more exposed you are to that will. The Jedi suppress their emotions, the Sith are ruled by them.

Normally, this would be the point the article would argue for the case of Grey Jedi, a force-wielder that finds balance and embraces neutrality. But Mari pointed out to me, as we watched Attack of those Clones, that the Jedi order are already neutral, in that cowardly ‘staying out of it’ fashion.

There’s even a quote from Count Dooku on the subject, though aimed specifically at Yoda:

The Jedi Order’s problem is Yoda. No being can wield that kind of power for centuries without becoming complacent at best or corrupt at worst. He has no idea that it’s overtaken him; he no longer sees all the little cumulative evils that the Republic tolerates and fosters, from slavery to endless wars, and he never asks, ‘Why are we not acting to stop this?’ Live alongside corruption for too long, and you no longer notice the stench. The Jedi cannot help the slaves of Tatooine, but they can help the slavemasters.

From Karen Traviss’ Clone Wars novelization

And he’s right! Karen Traviss is out for BLOOD!

So, back to the RPG. What if our antagonist felt the same way about the Force? They saw its influence, pushing people to either remain aloof from making a real difference or actively make things worse, and thought ‘this is evil’.

What if their goal was to destroy the Force itself, on humanitarian grounds?

Or maybe that wouldn’t work for the villain, because they’d obviously be CORRECT and anyone opposing them would be in the wrong.

Eberron Journal: Fourth Entry, or, Death in High Society

From the journal of Vanivieve ir’Coralyn d’Sivis, with a small word of warning: today’s entry concerns wealth, police corruption, and a somewhat gruesome murder.

This whole affair began with us – that is to say, the version of us from our two years of lost time – performing some great service for the city of Sharn. I’m told it involved an orphanage.

It seems our lost-time-doppelgangers were something of a force to be reckoned with; alas, not a solitary one of us could hope to measure up to their prowess. Nor the channeling of that prowess toward the public good.

Nevertheless, when the stream of their accomplishments broke its banks, it would be dishonest if I said my companions and I were willing to swim against the current. And so, we found ourselves attending a gathering of highest society, the crème de la crème of Sharn’s Skyway.

Star Caller, a Fae Dragonborn of unbridled social sway and factor-500 sunny disposition, had thrown together the event as both a celebration, and a fundraiser; both of which were thanks to our efforts. I can perhaps imagine there might have been some collateral damage.

I am not equipped to write on the fashions present at the event. No doubt with Aster’s help, I could have a detailed account of the looks on display, with – I’m sure – several points deducted from myself for choosing an outfit more or less copied from last year’s Skyway Gala. But I don’t intend to trouble her with such trivialities. Everyone else is decompressing, in their own ways. This journal is mine.

Vanivieve Gala Look
Vanivieve’s Fancy Party Look

Upon our arrival, Star Caller greeted us with a warmth we hadn’t earned. Her dress left her shoulders bare; blue-purple skin setting her apart from the other guests. The external gills coming from her head trailed as though she moved through water, glowing with a soft, pink bioluminescence.

‘I’m so glad you could all make it,’ she beamed. ‘There’s been a few people that couldn’t attend, what with us having to relocate and reschedule!’

These amendments to the occasion came at the behest of Efir Van Quisse, a Police Captain moonlighting as a Security Guard for the night. It appeared that our Great Detective, Robyn, has had dealings with him in the past, so she went to make a few inquiries as to why such amendments were necessary. Mock elected to accompany her, I assume to loom in the background and crack her knuckles at dramatic moments. Or fluff up her tail; whatever it is Tabaxi do to appear threatening.

We made sure to keep our Sending Stones on their loudest settings, so we could communicate despite the crowds and music.

Security was fairly tight. While Robyn and Mock were acquainting themselves with the guards, we were doing the same at the coatroom. The party had a strict no-weapons policy, which included magical devices, staves, and even jewellery if it was too pointy. There was a Goblin complaining about having to check in a knife she’d brought. ‘I know, but this is not a weapon, it’s an heirloom,’ I heard her saying to the poor clerk. ‘I’m close friends with Star Caller herself, you know!’

We later learned, when Robyn reported back, that Van Quisse was operating under the idea that there was an incident about to happen. That DAASK, that anti-social gang of monsterfolk, was planning to make an appearance. And that Star Caller herself was wrapped up in some kind of scheme with them.

This made no sense at all; Star Caller just obviously wasn’t the gang type. That said… very little made sense to me at the time. I’d been attempting to calm the nerves a little, and in doing so found that the barman mixed a superb tequini.

The fire of the tequila – plus the heat of the chilli twist that was the garnish – certainly melted away the chill of my anxiety, and the cold sweat on my palms was soon replaced by a sort of garlic residue from the shrimp hors d’oeuvres I was shoveling down my gullet.

I may have embarrassed myself somewhat.

(A note on the hors d’oeuvres – there were at least eight different types of shrimp, ranging from simple tartlets with guacamole, to a blue-cheese stuffed offering that I couldn’t have said no to even if, say, a corpse were on the floor before me)

My companions had found some rumours going around the place. Many were relating to the apparent DAASK attack, though others mentioned some kind of incendiary device. This did set off alarm bells for each of us; I think not unreasonably, considering our recent altercation in a burning library. Of course, sometimes rumours are just that. Rumours.

It wasn’t just a party with rich people milling around a ballroom. For the fundraising angle, Star Caller had arranged a variety of games and events – a bake-off, broomstick races, dancing duels; and fireworks at 8pm. We participated in some of the events ourselves; Jacqueline in particular wanted to try a dancing duel. This will be relevant later on.

We heard more as the party went on. It wasn’t just to be an attack, but an assassination. And Star Caller wasn’t a member of it, she was the target! This we heard from an older woman with an incredible veneer of ruffles, who in turn had heard it from an uncomfortable-looking guard going through his orders with Van Quisse.

And this led to my trying, and failing, to persuade Star Caller to leave and get somewhere safe. We found her judging the entries of a cake-decorating contest, and she would not be convinced of the danger.

So, I chose to attempt something… less than ethical. Since my breakdown embracing of honesty as a guiding force, I’ve found my faith in Truth… rewarded. I can do things some conjurers would envy, and these abilities are only becoming stronger. But they’re new to me, and as with any new tool, I still look for excuses to put them to work.

I run the risk of being misconstrued here. I am not trying to defend my actions. I reasoned at the time that it was for her own protection; that I knew better the threat to her safety. Arrogance. I was correct about the danger, but that is irrelevant.

Suggested that she get away from the party and find somewhere safe. I did this because I was unable to convince her without resorting to magic. Strange, is it not, how I go into a moral (and emetic) crisis if I speak anything but the truth, but I may attempt to subsume another’s will without so much as a hiccup?

At any rate, it didn’t work. I would love to excuse myself from guilt because the spell failed; after all, Attempted Murder carries a much milder punishment. But why? Should one who tries to kill another be excused because they are incompetent? I think not.

I don’t know if she even noticed the enchantment I’d woven into my words; if she did, she chose to spare me the shame of having to explain myself. That woman is better than any of us.

The fireworks display was when things went wrong.

I was mulling over ethics when we heard the scream, just as the last fireworks were fading in the sky. We sprinted back to the main hall, followed by what seemed to be the entire guest list, and luckily we arrived seconds before anyone else.

I should mention the incident with the dancing duels. As I mentioned, this was part of fundraising efforts similar to the cake decorating. When a duel began, a whole side-room full of participants – under some enchantment or other – would dance and dance away until they couldn’t any more. And whoever was the last one dancing was the winner.

Yes, it sounds like a punishment from the end of a fairytale, but the fatigue wasn’t anything that couldn’t be remedied with a short rest and a small cup of orange juice.

Several members of our group took part, and who should win but our resident Bard, Jacqueline. She may have the temperament of a baby duckling, but she can move with the grace of a swan. Of course she won.

Which led to her being whisked away to the Winner’s Room, where those victorious in each round of the dancing duels would wait, rest up, and convalesce with their citrus beverages until the final showdown.

Only it seems that Jacqueline never made it inside. We didn’t see her until the murder.

Star Caller was dead, her blood seeping between the boards of the main stage. An assistant of hers had been the one to scream, alerting the gathered guests to the body.

And to the person standing over it with a bloody knife. Jacqueline Rantique.

If you’ve read my previous entries in this book, you can see why this would be cause for additional alarm. Jacqueline’s ami jovial had struck again.

But that didn’t quite add up.

‘Drop the knife,’ I heard Aster snarl. Jacqueline did so without hesitation.

Straight away I’d dropped my bag and found myself sprinting for the assistant, who stood with her mouth open in horror. Damage control, I thought. Someone else in our group had a similar idea – a cloud of fog filled the room, and I barely made it to the assistant before I’d lost sight of her.

‘Okay,’ I told her. ‘You need to tell the guards what you’ve seen. But-‘ and here I found myself feeling my way around the truth, like prodding at a sore tooth with my tongue – ‘It’s vitally important that you don’t mention the woman you saw until we return to you. We know her. She’s part of the investigation.’

See? That wasn’t even a lie by omission.

Luckily, the assistant seemed to be in shock, and was mostly just pleased to have a clear voice to direct her. When the fog cleared, and the guards arrived, Jacqueline had been bundled into a room behind the stage.

She didn’t remember anything, because nothing that simple could have happened. She’d been sent to the winners’ room, then the next thing she remembered she heard a thump and saw a corpse at her feet. The knife was already in her hand when she came to.

Now, it would appear that our ami jovial would be the prime suspect, would it not? But as I said before, that didn’t add up, and for one simple reason.

We knew the results of that thing’s work. There was too much of Star Caller left for it to have been him.

So whodunnit?

Being heroic guests of honour at this party, there were certain privileges when it came to events such as murder. Plus, we had a well-renowned detective in our midst.

Le jeu était en pied.

That, uh, doesn’t translate especially well to Common.

The first thing Robyn wanted to do was to inspect the body. Van Quisse and his lackeys were crawling all over the stage, with the former sneering at anyone who seemed unsettled. ‘Get a grip, man!’ he barked at one particularly shaken officer. ‘It’s only a body. You’d think it was your first murder.’

In retrospect, I’m interpreting that comment differently.

Van Quisse’s brusque demeanour paired well with his stature. He was imposing, in a powder keg sort of way; a barrel filled with the potential for sudden, explosive violence.

His eyes narrowed when Robyn approached, though his glare did little to bore through her noble background and quiet competence. He simply stewed as she inspected the wounds, matching them to the knife, before she stated that the angle of entry meant the assailant must have been someone taller than Star Caller.

Van Quisse guffawed at this. ‘Is that so?’ he said. ‘Well, I happen to have already found the culprit, and unless she has a pair of stilts…’

He revealed a goblin, looking very uncomfortable in the fine surroundings – though that may have been more to do with the handcuffs digging into her wrists.

We’d seen her earlier at the cloakroom, complaining that it was an heirloom, not a weapon. The knife did indeed have a ceremonial quality to it. It was gold or at least gold plated, with so many sharply-cut jewels embedded in the handle that it might have hurt the wielder more than any potential victim. The blade was also about as sharp as a cheese knife. It was a sloppy tool for murder.

Plus, some goblin masquerading as a guest was altogether too obvious. Especially with the ‘DAASK attack’ rumours, that, now we thought about it, we had first heard from Van Quisse himself.

This time I felt less ethically dubious when using magic, considering Van Quisse was potentially covering up a murder through his assumptions. So I cast Zone of Truth, and I asked if he had concrete proof that the goblin – Lady Sucrocene – was responsible for the murder. He didn’t, of course.

Robyn saw a prime opportunity. Under the compulsion of the Zone of Truth, Van Quisse struggled to deflect the weight of her inquisition.

‘Why are you so quick to blame this Goblin?’

‘I don’t like goblins,’ spat Van Quisse. ‘So it’s an excuse to clear out one with ideas above its station.’ He could feel the spell affecting him, and struggled against its bounds.

‘So you admit she didn’t do it.’

‘Fine.’

Robyn pressed on. ‘Do have a lead on the actual culprit?’

‘You can’t force me to cooperate.’

‘Why? What are you hiding? Are you the one responsible for the murder of Star Caller?’ she asked.

‘How dare you accuse me!’

‘Answer the question, Van Quisse. Did you kill Star Caller?

‘No,’ Van Quisse said, with a grim smile. ‘I did not.’

Now, did you see what happened there?

I’m quite an expert at the difference between honest truth and technical truth, and it nearly slipped past even me. Van Quisse wasn’t lying, no… but Robyn hadn’t quite asked the same question the second time around.

But now he was stonewalling us. The fact that he knew he could only speak the truth just made him refuse to speak at all. Robyn would ask another question, and he would simply say ‘I already told you I didn’t kill her.’

So we made our way to questioning others. We learned from the clerk we’d seen with Sucrocene earlier that the cloakroom safe with all the confiscated weaponry in wasn’t actually locked; it was more for show than anything. So really, anyone could have waltzed in and took the knife.

We learned that when the judge of the dancing duels took Jacqueline back to the Winners’ Room, he didn’t actually stick around to see if she’d gone in, as there was the next round to manage.

We eventually tracked down Star Caller’s assistant – the one who’d found the body – and gently pressed for more information on what she’d seen.

‘It was… he didn’t have a face,’ she wailed. ‘It was horrible.’ Seeing the body and the figure standing over it, she’d looked around to try and find help. When she’d turned back, the faceless man was gone, and had been replaced by our friend Jacqueline.

So, our ami jovial really had been present, which was why Jacqueline had the blank spot in her memory. Fortunately, the assistant hadn’t connected the two.

‘He looked right at me, and he said something,’ she told us, staring into the cup of tea she’d been given. ‘He said… uh. He said to “tell her I got her a present”, and he just… patted his pocket. I don’t know who he meant, though? Maybe the girl that got there afterwards?’

We quickly excused ourselves after hearing this, and made our way back to the room behind the stage – our sort of base in the investigation.

‘Do you even have pockets?’ asked Mock.

Jacqueline reached into her jacket, and slowly, slowly retrieved a slim book from within. Its title was written in gold foil, all calligraphy and heavy swirls. ‘It’s a romance,’ she said, leafing through the first few pages.

‘Huh,’ I said.

‘Huh,’ everyone else agreed.

They, like me, had assumed it’d be a clue of some kind.

‘Well, maybe it is a clue,’ said Aster. ‘What if it was taken from the murderer?’

So, a plan came together. We’d make an announcement – could the owner of this book please collect it, we found it (technically it was truth, so I shouldn’t get that urge to sabotage things I get if someone is lying on my behalf). And we’d watch for reactions in the crowd; the beefier members of the group guarding the exits, coordinating through Sending Stones.

In the end, we got lucky.

It turned out that the book had nothing to do with it, but when Jacqueline got on stage, and Robyn had the guards gather everyone in the main room, the murderer got jumpy. It was Aster that spotted him; I couldn’t actually see over the bannister we were hiding behind.

It was the guard we’d seen Van Quisse barking orders at. His head was spinning, looking for ways out we hadn’t covered. His eyes darted to his Captain, silently pleading for support, but Van Quisse only shrugged at him with a smile on his face.

He made a break for it, bursting from the milling guests around him like a blast from a siege staff. He was heading for the stage, bulldozing his way through the crowd at a full sprint. I realised, too late, there was a trapdoor he was aiming for.

Then Robyn stepped out from stage right, and the guard was spinning in the air before landing hard with his arms pinned behind his back.

Robyn’s voice was patient. ‘You, sir, are under arrest.’

We’d finally moved Van Quisse to action. He marched up as we regrouped onstage, his massive frame flanked by slightly less-imposing officers.

‘You lot are causing a scene, you know,’ he said, slowly. ‘I’ll have you release my Corporal there, and you’ll be coming with us to explain just what the hell you’re playing at. From behind bars.’

Robyn pulled the Corporal to his feet. ‘You can’t cover this up, Van Quisse,’ she said.

‘Oh?’ Van Quisse’s reply was much softer now, so the crowd couldn’t hear. ‘And who are you going to report it to? We look after our own, you know.’

‘Yes, I’m quite aware of that fact.’

She nodded to Jacqueline, on the other side of the stage. Then she leapt backwards, pulling the guard along with her, down the route he’d used after the murder to make his getaway; the route he’d been hoping to use again. The trapdoor made the thump that Jacqueline had heard when she first came to.

Before Van Quisse and his lackeys could pursue, Jacqueline hit him with a spell I’d never seen before – Tasha’s Hideous Laughter. Van Quisse doubled over, laughing that booming laugh of his, and when the other officers turned back to see what was wrong, Jacqueline dropped the Laughter and enthralled them with bardic music.

A haunting tune encircled the stage. The guards, stood and listened with an air of intense melancholy. I wasn’t even a target of the magic itself, and it still filled me with this delicate ennui, like I was lost in the woods…

We pulled Van Quisse below the stage to join his Corporal. Without Jacqueline’s ensorcelled music, the other guards woke up and began hammering at the trapdoor – both Shiira and Mock using all their strength to keep it closed against their assault.

I reached out through my faith again, too desperate now to even consider ethics, and cast another Zone of Truth around myself, Van Quisse, and his Corporal. We needed them to confess! But even if I could compel the truth, I couldn’t compel cooperation.

‘Do we just need to persuade them to talk?’ asked Jacqueline, stepping toward our captives. ‘I can help.’

‘Jacqueline, I don’t think pulling off your own face and turning them into steak tartare will exonerate us,’ I said, without thinking.

She looked hurt. ‘I said I can help. Not Jeeves.’

Jeeves?’

She ignored me, putting her panpipes to her lips. A single note flowed from her as she cast Charm Person on them both. ‘Alright,’ she said, sounding almost like a school teacher. ‘Do you want to explain what happened?’

‘The Captain made me kill Star Caller, and he was going to frame some monster!’ said the Corporal. ‘He said if I didn’t do it I’d lose my job. I’ve got a family to feed!’

Van Quisse interrupted, the Charm Person only prompting him to treat us with respect, not his patsy. ‘Either that or I’d toss you in a cell, you sniveling maggot.’ He turned to Jacqueline and began chatting away like a cab driver spouting conspiracy theories.

‘See, they call Star Caller’s work “advocacy” but everybody knows it’s a setup to replace normal humans with monsters from Droaam. Can you imagine living in a city like that? You’d have DAASK, or worse, on every street, in every window! And then what? Riots is what. People will die.

‘So yeah, she had to go. You can’t sort someone like that out through legal methods, not when it’s all people like her that are really in charge. Lucky for Sharn, I’m willing to protect our way of life.’

He grinned, all self-satisfied. I noticed then that the hammering at the trapdoor had stopped.

‘I think that’s quite enough,’ said Robyn, handing Aster’s sending stone back to her. Van Quisse’s confession had been broadcast through Robyn’s own stone, lying above on the stage itself, still set to the loudest volume.

Van Quisse’s smile faded as the Charm Person wore off and he realised what he’d said. He’d proved himself much more of a monster than those he was so afraid of. It’s ironic, especially seeing as his actions will likely push moderates in the opposite direction.

Until all this, I would have counted myself among those moderates. Now, I’m… thinking quite hard about my views on DAASK, and Droaam itself. I don’t want to be on the same side Van Quisse was.

Droaam, as a nation, isn’t recognised by the Treaty of Thronehold, no. But neither is Cyre, and nobody seems to discredit its natives as thieves and pillagers (though the tragedy of the Mourning may have something to do with that). Despite Van Quisse’s insistence, public sentiment on those from Droaam skews negative. The best they can hope for is “noble savage” or “criminal pretending to be respectable”.

I’d never really thought about it before.

And that’s where I assumed it would end. Van Quisse might have the backing of a corrupt police force, but he’d been heard gloating by a whole room of influential socialites and Dragonmarked House representatives. He’d be taken away by his own men, and they’d be forced into following the law at pain of funding cuts.

But the evening had one last thing in store. As we emerged from the cellar, we found that the entire guestlist had been knocked unconscious, sprawled out across the floor like a fallen tray of gingerbread people. I saw Aster shudder at the sight of it, but looking back it may have been more at all the glamerweave getting creased.

A figure in a heavy cloak stooped over Star Caller’s remains. Power thrummed in the air.

We rushed at it, determined to keep it from whatever its plans were for the body of our friend. But whatever magic it had at its disposal was far beyond anything we could handle – I was frozen in place, as were my companions save for Robyn and Mock. Somehow they resisted the hold, and flanked the figure, though it noticed Robyn’s advance and kept its guard up.

‘Please. I’m not here to cause harm,’ said a feminine voice from within the cloak. ‘Just trust me.’

And the power in the air coalesced. Mock shot forward to interrupt, but Robyn herself stepped in and deflected her falling hammer. She must have recognised the person before them.

And in the silent ballroom, Star Caller drew in a ragged breath after laying lifeless on the stage for hours.

Zagorda of the Third Eye removed her hood and helped Star Caller to her feet. I recognised her too, now. She was one of three rulers of Droaam, a Night Hag, a being of such arcane potency that not even the combined might of the five nations had been able to dethrone her. And she and Star Caller were chatting like old friends at a school reunion.

Zagorda thanked us for our assistance in finding her friend’s killer, and gave us a business card, saying we seemed competent enough to warrant her doing so. If we were in need of work, or in need of aid, we may contact her.

Zagorda Eberron Card by Sami Gibbs
Zagorda’s Card, courtesy of Sami Gibbs

She also… “dealt with” Van Quisse and his accomplice. I hope that just means he’s in prison.

But with that, the party was over. Zagorda had modified the memory of the collected guests, having them believe that there’d been an attempt at Star Caller’s life, but nothing had succeeded. They all knew Van Quisse had been responsible, though I later heard some of the guards wondering why his punishment was so severe for just attempted murder.

‘Should one who tries to kill another be excused because they are incompetent?’ I asked them. ‘I think not.’

Please. I’m allowed to be a tiny bit smug, I think.

Before she disappeared, Zagorda thanked us again, and promised she’d leave our memories of the evening intact, but I still can’t help but feel paranoid. She was too real, in a metaphysical sort of way. Like she was the only letter penned with enough ink, and the rest of us were pages of scratchy grey indentations instead of words.

Her card is a discomforting weight hidden in my journal. I hope we never want to follow up on it, but that isn’t just up to me. I keep writing “we”, you know?

I was shown several times tonight that I don’t always know best; whether that’s about the severity of danger, or getting people to talk, or the number of hors d’oeuvres to eat before they make you sick.

So, I suppose I’ll have to talk to everyone else about it, instead of just my journal.

Caliber Session 5: SPÖKHUS, Part 3

It was easier to park when the three arrived for their night shift. A smattering of cars still loitered near the lights of the entrance, and Nora, Merlin, and Ursa marched into it like alien abductees.

‘Hey, if we find the ghost, we can leave early, right?’ asked Ursa.

‘Oh yes, that’s the law,’ said Nora, without so much as a smirk.

Brian was waiting for them in the staff room, as agreed. He’d sat himself directly beneath the damp patch on the ceiling, positing himself as someone apparently fine with being dripped on. This could be taken as a metaphor. ‘Righto, good to see you three,’ he said. ‘Heston’s here as well, but no sign of Monty just yet.’

Alkahest, never one to discard an expressive pose, sat once more with his feet on the table. ‘Brian is referring to Montparnasse,’ he offered.

The loss prevention manager let out a hearty chuckle. ‘Never used to have all these weird names when I were a lad!’ He’d never been a particularly observant man, which was something of a detriment to his performance at work.

‘Ha ha ha,’ said Alkahest. He didn’t laugh. ‘This guy. I swear.’

Nora looked from one man to the other, and promptly decided her team had to escape this awkward staffroom purgatory. ‘Why don’t we three do a bit of a sweep through the showrooms? We can, uh, check if anyone suspicious is trying to hide in a wardrobe.’

Brightening at the prospect of no longer being in the room, Merlin chimed in as well. ‘The old SMÅSTAD stowaway.’ He’d made a conscious effort to familiarise himself with the Ikea catalogue before their shift. ‘Good idea. You two stay here and wait for Montparnasse.’

*

Ursa held out both pairs of the mind-shielding headphones when they got outside.

‘Before that creep shows up,’ she said. ‘It’d be smart for you to put these on. I think I’ll be safe if I set up some mental defenses to keep him out of my head.’

Merlin reached up to take the black pair as Ursa began to murmur under her breath, ‘One maca two maca three macarena, four maca five maca something Pasadena…

He let them hang around his neck, more an accessory than anything functional.

Nora’s hand hesitated over the remaining pair of headphones. They were white with pastel-turquoise accents, and had fur lining that made them look more like earmuffs. Oh, and they also had fuzzy, light-up cat ears on top.

‘Tell you what,’ said Nora. ‘You keep hold of them.’

Heeeeeey, maca… Really? Are you sure?’

‘Yeah. They, uh…’ They didn’t fit her aesthetic. ‘They wouldn’t go over my hat, and I can’t take it off because, um, I have hat hair. You should definitely keep them.’

Ursa slotted them over her ears, unfazed or oblivious to Nora’s less-than-graceful lie. They did look cute.

Their sweep of the shop floor was to follow the route a regular shopper would take, travelling up an escalator that deposited them in the first of the showrooms.

Considering it was 20 minutes before the store was due to close, it wasn’t exactly strange that there were no customers. But even so, it had that air of kenopsia you find in empty hospitals or shopping centres. The three of them, quite unconsciously, huddled together as they hiked the showroom trail.

Until Nora stopped. ‘Something isn’t right,’ she said, and for maybe half a second her eyes flashed with a little ring of code, her Eldritch Sight coming on.

The section of the store marked ‘Living Rooms’ was designed to mimic the real deal, with a variety of sofas, and armchairs, and coffee tables and bookshelves, and lamps and rugs and cushions, and even tasteful, soulless art on the walls. The effect was completed with fireplaces that weren’t for purchase, and windows and doors to nowhere.

It was one such door that had caught Nora’s attention, though nothing about it registered as magical according to her Eldritch Sight. But it was odd somehow.

‘Is this… crooked?’ Bit sloppy for a showroom, if so. ‘See? It tilts to the left a bit.’

She indicated the top of the door frame, which was indeed crooked, tilting to the right. There was a gap of just a few centimetres.

‘Your other left,’ said Merlin.

Nora just blinked at the door. She reached up to feel the gap; there was an intermittent breeze coming through the crack. And the door was crooked on the left again. She felt it move.

Like it was shifting in slumber. Like it was breathing.

‘Haha, living rooms,’ said Ursa, with something of a manic air. ‘We should move on.’

The next area, ‘Offices’, was much the same – fabricated rooms to show off Ikea’s enhancement of your home and lifestyle. This one had a variety of desks and spinning chairs. Each desk had an approximation of an iMac on it, eliciting a snort of derision from Merlin.

In one corner, a young couple – a vanilla-human man and woman in maybe their early 20s – were admiring the plane of an ARKELSTORP.

‘Excuse me,’ called Nora. ‘I’m afraid it’s nearly our closing time. If you could make your way to an exit, that’d be…’ she struggled with a dusty corner of her brain marked Friendly Language for a moment, eventually settling on, ‘swell.’

‘Oh we’re just having trouble choosing between this one or a MALM!’ said the woman.

The man looked disgruntled, and checked his phone.

‘It’s true that the MALM is more affordable, but the ARKELSTORP has that natural wood finish that I think makes a place feel more authentic,’ said Merlin. ‘It’s more unique,’ he added, when he noticed the others had turned to stare at him.

‘That’s just what I’ve been thinking!’ said the woman. Her boyfriend/husband/brother/whatever checked his phone again, huffed out another sigh, then put it back in his pocket.

‘Well, unfortunately for a larger item like that, you’ll need to head down to the warehouse,’ Nora continued. ‘So… do that.’

Ursa watched the couple’s retreating backs, eyes narrowed. Nora watched her in turn. ‘You…’ Another trip to the Friendly Language corner – ‘…ok?’ she asked.

‘Yeah, I don’t know if he was just doing stereotypical man things, but I suppose I’ll find out once I steal his phone.’

Nora watched as a spectral, pink Mage Hand shot forward from Ursa, towards the man’s back pocket. It was much too fast for any sort of pickpocketing finesse, because on another layer of reality, someone had just rolled a 1.

Nora moved without thinking. If she was going to get killed tonight, she didn’t want it to be because of an arcane slap on an Auditor’s ass.

The man straightened up as he felt the probing grasp of the Mage Hand, and turned to see a slightly-out-of-breath Nora with a rictus grin on her face. ‘M-may I help you?’ she choked out.

The couple left more quickly after that.

*

The hairs in Merlin’s nostrils detected something as they entered the ‘Kitchens’ section in their sweep. It wasn’t too strong, but it smelled like… well, like a bin bag full of rotten food. He checked his companions’ faces to see if they’d noticed too.

Nora looked uncomfortable. She might have noticed, or that might just be her resting face. Ursa absolutely hadn’t noticed; she was bopping away with her headphones loud enough to block her sense of smell. Merlin could hear the slightly muffled music as if they were on his own head:

…Don’t you worry about my boyfriend
He’s a boy whose name is Vitorino
I don’t want him, couldn’t stand him
He was no good so I…

Ursa pantomimed along with the laughter on the song. So no help there. Merlin broke off from the other two without so much as a word, and made like a breakfast cereal toucan.

His nose led him to one of the fridges, a built-in model KÖLDGRADER. The smell had gotten more pronounced as he’d closed in on it, with individual notes of rot and plastic and something effluent, and it was a near physical presence by the time he found the source. Gingerly, he reached for the handle.

A squelching sound greeted him as he wrenched open the door. Threads of something sticky stretched and parted as it moved, like melted cheese. The stench threatened to make him hurl. From an olfactory standpoint, that might actually have improved things.

Inside the fridge was the usual faire for a kitchen showroom: a selection of empty bottles and tupperware containers, and an assortment of plastic toy ingredients – chicken legs, vegetables, blocks of cheese, pots of marmalade; all to illustrate that fridges could be used to store food and drink.

And all of it was carpeted with mold. The plastic food had decayed as if it were meat, dripping with some foul fluid that seeped down the fridge’s walls and spilled out towards Merlin’s low-heel lace-ups. He took a step back. Flies buzzed around his vision, crawling in and out of the bubbling plastic pores of the ‘food’.

With an effort of will and surgical focus, he summoned up a Mage Hand of his own and extracted a plastic jar of jam. The fridge’s door closed with the soft sound of some crust being broken. He ignored it. Instead, he brought the jar to a nearby sink, and ran it under the cold tap.

‘What the fuck kind of haunting is this,’ asked Nora, joining him. She wore a similar expression of grim nausea.

‘Its nature eludes me. But it’s somehow made inorganic matter decompose like a corpse would.’ Merlin’s Mage Hand held its jar to the light. The contents were black and slimy. ‘You’re the one with experience of this.’

Nora looked from him, to the jar, and back again. ‘No, I’m not.’ Her eyes flashed, and her brow furrowed. ‘Nothing about this is registering as magical either. I don’t know how to explain it.’

‘Hmm,’ said Merlin. The jar had clouded over and begun to ooze with ichor again. He set it on the side and turned back to the fridge itself. ‘Perhaps if we–‘

Tinny music filled the air. Do you believe in life after love? I can feel something inside me say, I really don’t think you’re strong enough, no!

‘Hey, what are you guys lookin’ at?’ asked Ursa. ‘You gonna eat some toy food?’

Merlin turned to see her holding up the plastic pot of jam, the bristling mildew on it rolling in streams down her arm. He felt himself retch.

Ursa frowned at him. ‘It’s just plastic, Merlin.’ She inspected the little toy’s label, which read SYLT LINGON, and the crude plastic approximation of berries through the clear plastic, before noticing Merlin’s expression.

A light came on over Nora’s head. ‘Wait. What does this look like to you, Ursa?’

‘Uh. A fridge.’

‘No, the things inside it.’

‘Toy food? Not real food; do not eat.’

‘Nothing gross about it?’

‘Well, not if you’re just looking? I don’t know what it’d taste like.’

The fridge filled with horror and decay was something only Nora and Merlin were experiencing. Ursa, on the other hand, saw her companions apparently terrified of plastic food.

Nora drew her gun. ‘Whatever it is, it’s targeting me and Merlin. Ursa, you might need to take point.’

‘Oh,’ said Ursa. ‘I’ll, uh, pick a more appropriate playlist then.’

*

Ursa led the way into the ‘Bedrooms’ section of the store, with Nora and Merlin bringing up the rear.

The whole section was dark, lit only by one or two bedside lamps that flickered on and off like dying braincells. And hovering in the centre, a slightly closer patch of darkness… the specter itself.

It was coming closer. Nora aimed down her pistol’s sights, but couldn’t get a clean shot in the shadowy room. Merlin snapped his fingers, to conjure up a Firebolt to lob at it, but somehow the magic wouldn’t come.

Ursa wandered past them toward the sound of snickering coming from behind an ottoman. The lights were still on. The room was quiet. Merlin and Nora were staring wild-eyed at nothing in particular.

The figure behind the ottoman hugged its knees and tried not to laugh. When Ursa prodded it with her foot, its emerald grin quickly drained away.

Merlin and Nora heard a familiar voice say ‘Oh, you caught me then,’ as the lights came back on and the ghostly thing they’d been looking at turned out to be a HOVNÄS floor lamp.

Montparnasse was eyeing Ursa as if she were a stubborn stain. ‘How come you weren’t affected? I was aiming at all three of you.’

Before Ursa could answer, a black mass hammered down upon him and stuffed the barrel of a gun into his mouth. ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ growled Nora.

‘Ic waff jus a pank,’ said Montparnasse around the pistol.

‘Well, nobody is laughing.’ Merlin was right next to him too now. His Firebolt was working just fine now, and he held one close enough to singe one of Montparnasse’s dreads.

‘No, but seriously, how come I can’t read your mind?’ asked Montparnasse, when things had calmed down a bit. He glanced over at Merlin. ‘Ohhhhh, the headphones?’ he asked. ‘Why aren’t you two wearing any?’

‘It’s a long story,’ said Nora, wiping spittle from her gun.

‘Ah, no need to explain. You just thought about it so I get the picture.’

Nora scowled at him.

‘Are you limited to reading only surface level thoughts?’ asked Merlin, a note of curiosity in his tone.

‘If I’m not concentrating, yeah. And if I do try and look deeper, usually people can feel it. So surface stuff is what I’m usually overhearing. Like how you were panicking before!’

This time Merlin scowled, and sedulously put his headphones on.

Montparnasse just kept talking. ‘Well, I say overhearing, I could turn it off if I wanted to. But why would I limit myself like that? Psionic power isn’t too common among the fair folk, so Queen Titania took a notice of me, even though I’m originally from the Winter Court. She knows I’m loyal, but she thinks I don’t take things seriously enough. This is my chance to prove just how much I can do for her. Maybe I could even join the Royal Guard!’

None of those with him were more than half-listening. Ursa’s playlist had moved on, her attention spirited away on the Vengabus. Merlin was stewing in his plans for revenge. Nora, without any headphones, made a mental note to see if her Patron could provide any thought-shielding in future.

Montparnasse stopped mid-sentence. ‘Nora. What the hell is that?’

‘What?’ asked Nora.

‘What?’ asked Merlin and Ursa, at the same time.

‘That thing you just thought about!’ Montparnasse was panicking, much more disturbed than when a gun was in his mouth. ‘The thing on your computer. Talking to you through your wrist. I don’t understand; what is that?!’

Nora’s thoughts quickly moved to violence, and all the ways she could shut him up.

Realising he’d hit a wall, Montparnasse switched to pleading with the others, though he couldn’t read their minds. ‘Listen, something’s not right. She doesn’t even know what it is herself, but she knows it isn’t normal! And she’s just fine accepting power from it? Ask her about it!’

But nobody gave him a response. The tannoy interrupted them. ‘Attention shoppers: the time is now 10pm and the store is closed. Please make your way to the exits. Thank you for shopping with us at Ikea Middlemarch.’

*

Nobody asked Nora about what Montparnasse had said on their way to the staff room. Nobody asked when it was agreed that the three of them would sweep the warehouse area while Alkahest, Montparnasse, and Brian himself would tackle the showrooms.

It didn’t seem like the right time.

While Ursa and Nora trawled through the boxes for any potential remains they could torch to deal with the haunting, Merlin found a convenient plug and booted up his laptop. Yes, they’d have to check the boxes to be thorough, but the apparent thousands of routers were preying on his mind. Perhaps, he reasoned, it was one of those hauntings where the house had been built on an ancient burial ground. In which case, the solution would be to… burn the Ikea down.

He negotiated with the local council’s website, which looked like it had been optimised for Mosaic 1.0, and unearthed the paperwork that had been submitted for planning permission to build the store.

‘It’s odd,’ he explained, when Nora and Ursa returned. ‘The floorplan is nonstandard for an Ikea, and you can see here that it’s been built around a central courtyard or something – this big empty space here – that the architect stated was a ‘place of outstanding natural beauty’ he wanted to preserve.’

‘I didn’t see anything like that,’ said Nora.

‘Right, because it isn’t real. Just page after page of the architect talking about his ‘inspiration’, and nothing in the real world to have prompted it. Anyway, did you two find anything?’

Ursa held up a phone that wasn’t hers. Its background appeared to be a smiling couple, who they’d last seen in the Offices section. ‘Just this,’ said Ursa, swiping to show hundreds of texts all reading:

help us

Then a single one that read:

FOUND YOU.

And the lights went off. After maybe half a second of terror, they remembered that they’d been told this would happen at 11pm on the dot. Nothing had ‘found them’. It was fine.

A scream came from the direction of the showrooms.

‘Well, this is why we’re here,’ said Nora, and took off running.

Sprinting along the reverse of their earlier route, the three skidded to a halt in the ‘Bedrooms’ section. A body lay in the centre of the path.

‘Oh, no, Montparnasse,’ said Merlin, clinically.

‘What a terrible shame,’ Nora agreed.

Ursa went over to inspect him. ‘I don’t think he’s dead, you know.’ There was a sort of hum in the room, just off the cusp of audibility. Sometimes, magic came to her as sound, and the air around Montparnasse still held the last fading note of a lullaby.

She knew that particular note. Something had cast Sleep.

Merlin took the opportunity to rifle through the unconscious Fae’s pockets, though all he found was a wallet. It contained about £20, a visa listing Montparnasse’s home as ‘London, UK, Earth#C0027’, and a picture of him in some kind of renaissance-era military uniform next to a tall woman with opalescent hair down to the floor. She was looking at him with a great deal of fondness.

‘I think I can wake him up.’ Ursa waggled her fingers in a mystical sort of way, then bopped Montparnasse on the nose, just hard enough to hurt.

‘Owgh!’ he said, shooting upright. ‘Oh god, where did it go?!’

‘Calm down,’ said Nora. ‘Where did what go?’

‘I, uh, I… don’t remember.’

‘You don’t remember? It knocked you unconscious.’

Montparnasse had the decency to look embarrassed. ‘Actually, I did that myself. See, whatever it was just burst out and snatched up Brian, and Alkahest took off running after it, but it had really affected me – maybe because of my psionics – and I could feel my sanity slipping… so I put myself to sleep and wiped it from my memory. And now I’m safe!’

He took in the three looming over him. Well, Merlin wasn’t really capable of a loom, but it’s the thought that counts. ‘Mostly safe, anyway,’ he finished.

‘Hmm. You’re coming with us.’ Nora pointed her gun at him, as a kind of rhetoric aid.

‘I’d really rather keep out of the way, if that’s alright,’ Montparnasse tried.

‘After the shit you pulled before? Nope, you’re staying where I can see you. Move.’

The four of them made their way backward through the showroom, more slowly now that there was an unknown monster that apparently ate both sanity and loss prevention managers.

Within minutes, they’d come to the very first section, ‘Living Rooms.’ Merlin was the first to notice the visible cloud of his breath in the sudden cold.

Each and every one of the ‘doors to nowhere’ was open. Crude stone corridors stretched out beyond them, dwindling to single points in the distance like diagrams on 3-point perspective.

All except the one door Nora had thought was crooked earlier. This was firmly closed.

Obviously, this was the door of most note. It’s human nature to be most interested in the one route sealed off to you. And it’s in a D&D party’s nature to spend at least 30 minutes trying to get a door to open.

After force, tools, Knock spells, and trying to somehow fit behind the doorframe had all failed, it was decided they’d need to try one of the others. But not without sending a canary first.

‘Go on then,’ said Nora, gesturing with her gun.

‘You know I’m from Outside, right?’ said Montparnasse. ‘That thing might not even hurt me.’

‘Oh, do you know what kind of bullets are in it?’

Montparnasse hazarded a glance at her thoughts.

Nora nodded at his dawning horror. ‘That’s right. Cold iron.’

Montparnasse sucked in a breath, then fled through the nearest door. He’d disappeared from sight by the time the others looked, despite the apparent lack of bends in the tunnel.

‘That’s not exactly heartening,’ said Merlin. Nevertheless, they had a job to do.

Eventually, the tunnel came to a T junction. It had narrowed down such that they were now in single file, Ursa leading the way again – she turned right. A slight breeze had been coming from that direction, and she was rewarded when the tunnel opened up.

They’d come out into a vast cavern, the ceiling so high in the dark that it couldn’t be seen. Far above, thousands of wireless routers were affixed to that ceiling, their lights blinking like synthetic stars.

Shelves towered around them, each filled with boxes filled with flat-pack furniture. There was a sign above, like the ones that had been in the warehouse and showrooms, only hanging from massive lengths of chain like a gothic pendulum. It read ‘Offices’. In the distance, above the shelves, another could be seen that read ‘Panic Rooms’.

‘I don’t remember seeing panic room stuff in the warehouse,’ said Ursa.

They weren’t in the warehouse. They were in the labyrinth.

The Dungeon Master & Magician’s Guilt

Being the DM is hard.

That’s probably the most lukewarm take imaginable, but it’s true. You have to act as narrator, supporting cast, rulebook, judge, game engine, researcher, tactician, and even psychiatrist, if your players have woven their personal trauma into their characters (which they absolutely will have).

Plus you have to be ready for questions like ‘What happens if I drink the slime?’ or ‘Can I try to join the Rat King’s hivemind if I tie my hair to it?’ and you can’t even hit your players because there’s a pandemic on because that would be unethical.

But then… is it really that hard? Sure, you’re responsible for everything in the world of the game, and you have to plan what’s going to happen (or at least get good at improv), and you’re the one that’s desperately searching through your books for a table of slime flavours… but it isn’t as hard as everyone seems to think it is.

It’s simple if you know the tricks.

I mean, all you did was roll on a chart in the book. All you did was ask what the players wanted to do, and then let them do it. In that fight where the Druid did 100+ damage in a single round? Yeah, it was cool, and everyone remembers it even months later, but you forgot the lightning resistance and now you feel like you cheated them!

When your players are saying thanks for a fun session, all you can think is: They wouldn’t be thanking me if they knew what a shambles it was. But you can’t say that out loud! Just thank them for being good players! After all, if they knew the mess that had been going on behind the scenes, that’d ruin the illusion of competence you’ve set up, maybe forever.

This is the Magician’s Guilt.

Magician’s Guilt is a term I first heard in a conversation with the owner of my Friendly Local Game Store. He’d usually set up at a little table near the back and try to cure my psychological issues whenever I went in (In the years since the store closed, I believe he’s actually gone on to become a therapist. Good to know I was an appetizer).

Anyway, we were talking about being the Dungeon Master vs being a player. I’d lobbed out the same analogies I always do:

‘Running a game is all about spinning plates, but the plates are behind the DM screen. Your players don’t realise how hard you’re working to keep everything spinning unless they hear one break.’

Or my favourite: ‘The DM is like a swan in a pond, looking all serene and graceful above the water, but underneath their legs are kicking furiously to stay afloat, and also they just want to eat some bread.’

When he didn’t look sufficiently mind-blown by my tepid insights, I ended up asking, ‘Do you know what I mean?’

‘Oh yeah,’ he said. ‘That’s Magician’s Guilt.’

He explained it thus: there’s no such thing as magic. The magician knows this. The audience knows this. Therefore, the magician must trick their audience.

But because the magician knows how the trick works, and the audience does not, the magician begins to see themselves as some unscrupulous deceiver.

Sure, close up magic seems hard, but really all you’re doing is distracting them with patter while you palm a card. And they thought they’d drawn one at random, but you’d made sure it was the twelve of clubs or whatever with a false shuffle.

It’s simple if you know the tricks.

He told me he feels this guilt so strongly that it sometimes impacts his ability to run a game. And I knew exactly what he meant; there are times I’ve had to call off a session because all I had prepared was a table of random encounters and my players would see right through it and feel cheated.

‘So how do you get past that feeling?’ I asked.

‘I wish I had a solution,’ he said. And the conversation moved on. But, like most of my conversations with the guy, it stuck with me (I’m writing a post about it months later).

If you look into Magician’s Guilt as discussed by actual magicians, their principle concern is not with the guilt itself, but with its impact on their performance; on their ability to lie and say ‘this is an ordinary £5 note’.

Their solution is simply to practice. According to close-up magician and Magic Circle Member Ben Williams, ‘People don’t really know what a magician has in their pockets… You can always justify it by telling yourself that you cannot give someone the wonderful experience of magic without a little white lie here and there!’

Like I said before, the audience knows magic isn’t real. But they still show up. It’s irrelevant what is or isn’t going on up the magician’s sleeve, what matters is that moment when the magician asks ‘is this your card?’

Chances are, the players can see the swan’s legs kicking away, at least some of the time. But that doesn’t matter. It’s not about the tricks. It’s about the fact that you learned them well enough to focus on the show itself.

When I’m a player and I think the DM is pulling names from a table, I don’t think ‘Bah, look at them needing to roll, I know how it’s done’. I marvel at how they implement the results of the roll into the story.

Look. I get wanting to make your games look effortless. Back when I started DMing, more than a decade ago now, I actually used to pretend I hadn’t prepared anything at all, to try and fool my players into thinking I was better than I really was, and maybe have them look past my mistakes.

Nowadays, I’ve grown past that way of thinking, at least most of the time. Being the DM is hard, even when you feel like it isn’t. If you’re feeling the Magician’s Guilt, maybe that’s because the difficult behind-the-scenes stuff comes to you easily now, and you’re devaluing the effort you put in to learn it?

Maybe you’re forgetting why your players want to be a part of your games. The tricks are easy if you know how they’re done. But it’s not the trick itself where the magic happens. It’s with the person performing it. You.