The Writings of Leo Byrne Jenicek

The Squad-Part Two

Posted on March 17, 2025 by jenicek

The window on the passenger side was spiderwebbed with cracks though a few boot kicks popped it out. Sarge took the driver’s seat and McCann took shotgun. It took some coaxing but, the engine rumbled to life.

One of the back tires was shredded but that wouldn’t be a problem. The APC made a wide turn through the snow-blanketed field and began to pick up speed as it headed for where the McCann said the shooter was. His estimation was correct as bullets pinged off the side.

Sarge swerved back and forth to make them a moving target, causing Spinelli to cry out, “What the fuck!”

“Sorry!” shouted Sarge over her shoulder.

Despite her defensive driving, the driver’s side windshield was struck and cracked. A strong gust of wind blew up snow and visibility dropped to zero. With the sound of metal being crushed, the APC slammed to a halt. As quickly as it had sprung up, the wind died down and they could see they had hit the treeline. Stillness fell over the area and only the hissing of the dying engine could be heard.

Sarge knew she’d have a goose egg but shook it off and turned to McCann who was shaking his head.

“Do you see him?” she asked quietly.

Scanning the forest ahead, he looked for movement. Nothing. Wait… There was a figure, dressed in white stumbling through the dense woods. Aiming, he found the target, and with a squeeze of the trigger, dropped him.

In the sniper’s nest, they found an unopened first aid kit, which delighted both Goldberg and Spinelli. Deeper in the woods, McCann stood over the body of the shooter. A bloom of bright red spread over the winter fatigues as it froze. It seemed like a painting, like some weird abstract thing that people claimed to understand but really didn’t. Then he took the rifle and ammo because you never left anything useful behind. He also found a small steel flask filled with liquor, but nothing else of value.

+60

Goldberg was putting the last bandages on Spinelli when McCann got back.

“How’s the patient?” asked Sarge.

“The round went straight through, didn’t hit bone,” said Goldberg as he cleaned his hands in the snow.

“It hurts like fuck,” added Spinelli with a grimace.

“Can you walk?” asked Sarge.

Spinelli got to his feet, with Goldberg’s help, and said “Nothing wrong with my legs.”

“Good man.”

“Hey, here’s some medicine for you,” said McCann handing Spinelli the flask.

Ramirez, who was keeping lookout, hissed, “You know that shit is poison!”

This made the rest boo him.

“If you die from that shit, I ain’t burying you,” said Ramirez.

“If I die from this shit I’m going to haunt you!”

With one hand, Spinelli opened the flash, took a sniff, and shook his head.

“It’s Rocket Fuel.”

That was the nickname of the potent liquor that the other side made and seemed to love. It was tasteless, had a real kick, and was a little bit oily but it was here. Spinelli took a slug and passed it along. Everyone except Ramirez drank.

“Okay boys, grab your gear, time to march,” said Sarge as she shouldered her pack.

They moved through the wood, the roads didn’t seem safe right now. No one felt like talking as they trudged along. As it got darker, the wind started blowing again and snow fell on them, making things even more cold and wet. After some quiet hours, they came to the edge of a ridge with a river below.

Sarge consulted her map and said, “Foxtrot should be about a klick and some change away, on the edge of this ridge. Rameriz, scout ahead and see what’s what.”

With a nod, Ramirez vanished into the woods. Everyone took the opportunity to rest, Spinelli rested against a tree and fussed with his sling.

“Stop that or I’ll wrap him you in gauze and hang you from a tree,” said Goldberg.

“Maybe I’d get a decent night’s sleep,” said Spinelli.

“It’s kinda pretty,” said Chang.

“What?” asked McCann who was again, keeping watch.

“Look at it,” He said, gesturing to the area below the ridge.

It was late afternoon, and on the horizon, clouds had parted and the setting sun peeked out. The river looked like beaten copper and the snow was dusted with a rosy hue. For that moment, their aches, pain, worry, hunger, weariness, and even the war, faded from their minds.

+50

-45

Like many beautiful things, it was over too soon.

“Someone’s coming,” whispered McCann.

Cover was taken and they were ready to fight. Then a caw, like a crow might make came from deeper in the woods. Spinelli did two in response, and three more caws came back. Ramirez emerged from the gloom with three soldiers with Foxtrot emblems on their arms.

“Found’em Sarge.”

One of the soldiers, with two chevrons on his arm, stood forward and saluted.

“I’m Corporal Banks, Sargent.”

+20

She returned the salute and said, “Good to see you, Corporal. I take it you’re our escort.”

“That’s right. My compliments to your Private Ramirez, he came within twenty meters of the perimeter before someone spotted him. Glad he’s on our side.”

“De nada,” said Ramirez with a big grin.

Looking around, Banks asked, “Is this everyone?”

“Everyone who’s alive,” replied Sarge.

Looking at Spinelli, he asked, “How’s that arm soldier?”

“Still attached to me, Corporal,” said Spinelli with a pained grin.

“You’re in luck, we have an actual to-goodness doctor back at base, she’ll give you the once over. We’re losing light Sargent, is everyone ready to go?”

The march back to the base was quicker thanks to Banks and his men leading the way. Sarge walked alongside him and spoke quietly.

“Do you know what’s going on?”

“That’s above my pay grade, but I can tell you that a lot of smaller squads have been filtering in over the last few days.”

“How many?”

“About a dozen or so over the last three days.”

“Any high-value targets near-by?”

He smiled and said, “There’s some old castle across the river, that gets a lot of traffic.”

“How many troops stationed there?”

“The LT will brief you, like I said, above my pay grade. But If I had to guess? More than us.”

“Well fuck me.”

“Fuck us, Sargent,” corrected Banks.

Posted in Adventure, Science Fiction, War, Writing | Tagged Ambush, APC, Behind, Blizzard, Books, Castle, Enemy Lines, fiction, Fight, Grenades, Gunfire, March, orders, Rendezvous, Rifles, Science Fiction, Short Story, Sniper, Snow, soldiers, sunset, War, Winter, Writing | Comments Off

The Squad-Part One

Posted on March 10, 2025 by jenicek

Sarge pulled the pin on her last grenade and hurled it toward where the gunfire came from, then she and the rest of what was left of her squad hit the dirt. A beat later, a geyser of dirt shot into the air about sixty meters away. The explosion muffled the screams. At Sarge’s signal, the rest of the squad, Spinelli, McCann, Goldberg, Ramirez, and Chang fanned out and moved up to see if there were any survivors.

“Jesus, these guys are dog food,” muttered Spinelli.

“Whatta you feed your dog?” asked Goldberg.

Spinelli made a face and called out, “No survivors Sarge!”

+100

They searched the remains. It used to make them gag, all of them had vomited more than once. But now, they just covered their mouths and noses with improvised masks and sorted through what was left. Once they recovered what they could, the squad continued further into enemy territory.

As they made their way under a grey, cloudy sky, the distant sounds of small arms fire and the occasional thump of larger guns could be heard. After about three klicks, they came across an abandoned bunker, with the words, “Fuck This War” painted on the side. The area had been shelled but half of the bunker still stood.

“Okay, we’re stopping for the night,” said Sarge.

Everybody knew their jobs, and soon they set up camp. McCann took position on the roof, keeping watch. Inside, the rest sat around a chemical lantern that cast an eerie green light over their dirty faces.

“Chang, what did we get?” asked Sarge.

He took each item out carefully and laid them on the floor.

“Three hundred rounds of ammo, a compass with some scoring but still functional, two NSR-70 knives, a radio that I might be able to fix, and six MREs.”

“That stuff is poisoned,” said Ramirez, who was a bit of a conspiracy theorist.

“Why would they poison their own troops?” asked Goldberg.

“Just think about it.”

“I don’t think you have,” said Goldberg with a smirk.

“So you think, that the other side issued poisoned MREs to their troops, just in case they died so they could kill us from beyond the grave?” asked Spinelli.

“Wouldn’t put it past them,” said Ramirez as he looked at the packages suspiciously.

-25

“Yer a nutball,” said Spinelli.

“Hey, I heard about it from a guy I know in Echo Company,” he insisted.

“Is he invisible or can other people see him?” asked Chang with a grin.

Laughter echoed in the bunker and Ramirez scowled.

“Whatta you say, Sarge? Are these full of poison?” asked Goldberg.

“Well, the last one I ate was salty as fuck, so maybe they’re trying to give us high blood pressure,” she said, setting off more guffaws.

Then they ate. Ramirez refused his MRE but the rest dug in. It was a stew of some sort and salty as fuck, but it did make a break from the rations they had, which had a distinct lack of flavor.

+25

As everyone except Ramirez dug in, Sarge brought McCann an MRE. He accepted with no complaint. She took over the watch with the night-vision goggles while he ate.

“Anything moving?” she asked.

“No. It’s been real quiet.”

“Good quiet or bad?”

“It’s funny.”

“What is?”

“Before I joined up, quiet was a good thing. Noise meant trouble. Now, anything can mean that.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“But no, it doesn’t feel like bad quiet. Thanks for the stew, Sarge.”

“Not too salty?” she asked.

“Nah, I like a little flavor.”

Finishing his dinner, McCann took the night-vision goggles back.

“What’s the plan, Sarge?”

“We’ll move at first light, heading northeast. We’re supposed to rendezvous with Foxtrot Company.”

Scanning the horizon, he asked, “Then what?”

“We’re there to provide aid to Foxtrot. Which if I had to guess, means killing people and trying not to get killed ourselves.”

“SOP.”

“SOP,” she agreed, “I’ll have Goldberg relieve you in a couple of hours so you can get some rest.”

“Thanks, Sarge.”

At first light, they were all up, grumbling but still up. They hadn’t had coffee in weeks so they had to rely on the cold morning air to wake them. As they marched, it began to snow lightly. Not unexpected given the time of year, but not welcome. Goldberg insisted on singing “White Christmas” because Irving Berlin wrote it and he said it was his cultural right to do so. Chang pegged him with a snowball and the rest laughed.

Light snow grew heavier, making marching more difficult, and then the wind picked up. Goldberg stopped singing as they pushed on. Within minutes, it was hard to see more than a few inches in front of them. Trudging forward, from out of the blizzard came an APC.

“Scatter!” shouted Sarge.

All moved to positions surrounding the APC. After a heart-pounding minute, Sarge crept around the back of the vehicle to see the doors had been blown off, probably by a rocket launcher, and it was empty.

“All clear!” she shouted.

+50

-15

+35

They all took shelter inside to wait out the storm. It was impossible to find their way in these conditions. Scouring the APC, they found only an abandoned helmet and a cigarette pack with three left. Passing back and forth, they shared this rare luxury. While they waited, Chang worked on the damaged radio they had recovered and Spinelli scooped up snow to melt so they could refill their canteens.

“Should we call in?” asked Goldberg.

“Still under radio silence,” said Sarge, who was reading a map.

“How far are we from Foxtrot?” asked Ramirez.

“No way to know.”

“Do we know anything?” asked Goldberg.

“If you wanted to know stuff, you’re in the wrong line of work,” said McCann.

“You got that right,” said Chang as he tinkered with the broken radio.

Goldberg sighed deeply and said, “You’re not wrong.”

“Hey,” called Spinelli, “I think the snow is stopping!”

A crack of gunfire echoed and a blossom of bright red appeared on Spinelli’s left arm.

-25

“Hit the deck!” ordered Sarge as Ramirez and McCann pulled Spinelli inside. Goldberg began examining the wound, and Spinelli moaned. Everyone was on the floor. They all waited for another shot.

“Where’s the shooter?” asked Sarge.

“Let’s see,” said McCann, who put the recovered helmet on the end of his rifle and stuck it out the back door. Another shot rang out, clipping the helmet.

“Northwest of here. Only one shooter.”

“Orders?”

The rest looked at Sarge.

“Chang, check out the driver’s compartment, see what’s what,” she ordered.

Chang nodded and clambered in. A moment later he called out.

“The weapons are offline or destroyed, but there is fuel.”

Sarge smiled and said, “Okay boys, here’s the plan.”

+100

Posted in Adventure, Science Fiction, War, Writing | Tagged Ambush, APC, Behind, Blizzard, Books, Bunker, Enemy Lines, Fight, Grenades, Gunfire, March, orders, Rendezvous, Rifles, Sniper, Snow, soldiers, War, White Christmas, Winter, Writing | Comments Off

The Reason

Posted on March 3, 2025 by jenicek

The thick armored door’s many bolts opened with a weighty thunk and swung open. The defense Advocate, a heavy man, with thin hair, dressed in a grey suit and tie entered. He turned to the two heavily armored soldiers who stood on either side of the door and said, “If you would please give us the room?”

“Sir, We have orders not to leave the prisoner unattended,” said the First Solider.

“For security reasons, sir,” added the Second Solider.

“Advocate-client privilege is still the law,” replied the Advocate.

“One moment, sir,” the first Solider, as he spoke into his radio.

The Second Solider continued to stare forward. The Advocate felt the weight of his gaze but then realized that he was looking past him.

“Sir, we will give you the room but do not cross the line,” the First Solider said, pointing at a red line painted on the floor, ”For your safety.”

“If you have any concerns, just press the button on the wristband issued to you when you arrived,” said the Second Solider.

“We will be right outside if you need us,” said the First Solider.

“Thank you both,” the defense Advocate said as they exited.

Sitting down at the long metal table, he took out his notes. The table and chairs were bolted to the floor, so it was a bit of a tight squeeze for him. Across from him, was his Client, shackled and bound.

“Good afternoon, I am your defense Advocate. I’d like to discuss your plea.”

With a sneer, the Client stated, “You’re not my personal Advocate.”

“No, I’ve been appointed to your case.”

“Where’s Randolph?”

“Excuse me?”

“Randolph is my personal Advocate. I’d rather have him than some idiot.”

“I assure you, I am more than capable of acting as your defense Advocate.”

The Client shrugged and his chains clanked.

“All the same, I want Randolph as my defense Advocate.”

“I’m afraid-”

“That you’re an incompetent cog?” asked the Client.

“That your personal Advocate was disbarred and is currently serving three life sentences for his role in… Well, everything.”

“Three life sentences?”

“Yes, he insisted on acting as his own Advocate.”

He barked a laugh devoid of any genuine joy and said, “I guess I’m better off with you.”

“Let’s go over the charges and discuss how you want to plea. I will also tell you that the prosecution has offered a plea deal.”

“Not guilty,” the Client said.

“Are you sure?”

“Completely.”

“As your Advocate, I’d advise you to at least listen to the deal before rejecting it outright.”

“Do you think it’s a great deal?”

“Under the circumstances, I think it is the best you’re going to do.”

“Okay, what is it?”

“Plead guilty on all charges, make a public apology for your crimes, and you’ll get life without the possibility of parole.”

“That’s what you think is a great deal?”

“I said it was the best you’re going to do, not that it was a great deal.”

“Not guilty.”

“There is a chance, if this goes to trial, that you might receive the death penalty.”

“No there isn’t,” calmly said the Client.

“I assure you, it is a possibility.”

“They don’t want to make me a martyr.”

“There is a strong public outcry for justice.”

“Does that include executing me?”

“Yes.”

“Everyone wants to see me dead?”

“Clearly, I can’t speak for everyone, but given the large number of executions you ordered, it can’t be a surprise.”

“Not guilty.”

“Noted. Is there anything you can offer in your defense?”

“I thought that was your job?”

“Do you have any remorse?”

The Client looked at his Advocate with incredulity and replied, “For what?”

“For all the crimes you are accused of committing.”

“Do you want me to wring my hands, weep, and beg forgiveness?”

“It might help.”

The Client again laughed joylessly.

“I would advise you to take this more seriously.”

“Why?”

“Because your future is at stake.”

“My future is already decided. The best I can hope for is to be locked up for the rest of my life.”

“It’s better than the alternative.”

“People want spectacle, they want blood!” he said with a grin.

“I think you’re wrong, people are interested in justice.”

“You sound like a chump.”

“If you are unhappy with me as an Advocate, you can request another, but it will not delay your trial, a tactic you have employed in the past. Also, whoever replaces me will have less time to prepare your defense. Do you understand your situation?”

“You got some balls on you after all.”

“Do you wish to dismiss me as your Advocate?”

“No, you’re as good as I’m going to get I guess. Have at it.”

“Are there any details that could prove useful in your defense?”

“Are you asking if I did what I’m accused of?”

“Everyone, including you, is given the presumption of innocence. That being said, there is a mountain of evidence saying otherwise. Can you offer anything to justify your actions?”

“Well, I could say I did it all to protect our nation’s interests, to put us back as power on the world stage, and to restore us to our former glory.”

“Given the suffering and death toll, it’s a position unlikely to succeed.”

“It’s the truth though.”

The Advocate smiled for the first time since entering.

“You like that?” asked the Client.

“No, but it does amuse me that you think that you can determine what is true or false as you sit there, chained like an animal.”

“You have to admit, it worked.”

“Until it didn’t.”

“It’s not over.”

“Believe it or not, I have worked hard on crafting a defense for you. I poured over the evidence and depositions, but I have to say, there is no viable path for acquittal for you.”

“I still have supporters.”

“I’m sure you do. They are vocal-”

Another joyless cackle rang out.

“-but small in numbers.”

“We’ll see.”

“We have already have. You lost a lot of your followers due to what you referred to as policy changes. The subsequent outbreak and nationwide civil unrest caused those who were left to lose faith.”

“You’re not going to railroad me into taking that terrible deal!” said, the Client, his face getting red.

“As I advised you before, it’s the best you can hope for.”

“You’re a loser and bad at your job. I want a new Advocate!” he said, his chains rattling.

“I’ll inform the court you wish new representation,” said the Advocate.

“Tell them I want a better Advocate this time!”

The Advocate gathered his papers, put them back in his bag, and was about to let the Soldiers know he was ready to leave, but then turned back.

“I understand you.”

The Client made a dismissive sound.

“It’s obvious why you did what you did. I know why you caused so much suffering, especially to your own followers.”

“I’m playing four-dimensional chess while you’re trying to understand tic-tac-toe,” said the Client.

“People love to throw around four-dee chess to avoid explaining their thought processes. It means they’re out of their depth.”

“If you had any scrap of insight-”

“Cruelty was always the point,” said the Advocate.

The Client did not reply.

“You fed on your follower’s savage joy as you robbed, imprisoned, and slaughtered the disenfranchised, the outsiders, the vulnerable, anyone different. After you brought them as low as you could, you turned on the masses who swept you into the office you formerly held.

“Of course they were shocked. You were only supposed to go after the ‘bad’ people. Not true patriots like them. But you didn’t stop, you already got what you wanted from them. After that, everything went to hell. Because, as I said before, cruelty was always the point. More than the wealth, more than the adulation, freedom to be vicious with impunity was the goal.”

As the Advocate spoke, the Client said nothing. Looking at him, the Advocate saw a smile on this man’s face. Even now, at the end of the most tragic period in history, the thought of everything horrific he did made him smile.

Looking up, the Client took on a confident demeanor, an impressive feat for a shackled war criminal, and said, “I did what I had to.”

The Advocate knocked on the heavy metal which unlocked and opened. Weapons ready, the two Soldiers entered.

“Is everything okay sir?” asked Soldier Two.

“It is not!” shouted the Client.

“Shut your Goddamned, filthy mouth!” spat Soldier One.

“I’m fine, thank you both. You can expect a new Advocate sometime soon. My services are no longer required,” he said.

“Understood sir. If you’ll follow me,” said Soldier Two.

As the three free people exited, the Client shouted insults at them. No one responded and the heavy metal door swung shut once more, leaving him alone.

Author’s note: Clearly, the events of this time have inspired me to write the little fable. In this world, things have gotten much, much worse than here, as of this writing, but there is hope for some justice. While hope is in as short supply as eggs are, I encourage anyone reading this, to find hope where you can. Also, this is not a time to be quiet. BE LOUD AS F! To paraphrase Laurel Thatcher Ulrich, “Well-behaved activists seldom make history.” We won’t win by hedging our bets.

-Leo Byrne Jenicek 3/3/25

Posted in Act Now, Life, Politics, Short Stories, Thoughts, Voting, Writing | Tagged Advocate, Arrogance, Betrayal, Civil Unrest, Court, Crisis, Cruel, Cruelity, Dictator, Executions, fiction, Law, Pain, Politics, Power, Prison, Prisoner, Privilege, Short Story, Trial, Tyranny, Vicious, War Crimes, Writing | Comments Off

Illuminated Doodles-Part Four

Posted on February 24, 2025 by jenicek

We arrived at my office building to find the high glass walls that encircled the lobby still standing, though no longer clear. It was filled with so many cracks that you could not see through it. Whatever hit it, hit it hard, but the safety glass did its job. Luckily the doors were unlocked, but also spiderwebbed with cracks.

Entering the lobby, I saw papers strewn about, crushed coffee cups, some bags, and purses. No one at the security desk either.

“This fortress is deserted,” said the Rabbit Knight.

“Not one brave soul to defend it,” Tybalt murmured as she shook her head.

“That should make this quicker, I don’t need to answer any questions.”

“All you need do is tell them that you are here to save the world from an endless war!” stated the Battle-Axe Badger with confidence.

“Right,” I replied, which was easier than making this into a thing.

Looking about the lobby, the Rabbit Knight asked, “Where is your enchanted tome?”

“My office is on the twenty-third floor,” I replied.

“Then let us climb this tower!” declared the Rabbit Knight.

“I have a better idea.”

The freight elevator was large enough for three animal warriors, their mounts, and me. We all fit, but it was a little tight. I had always wanted to throw the large switch on the controls of an old-time elevator, and I smiled as I sent us up.

My friends looked at me with approval.

“You seem keen for the battle to come,” observed Tybalt.

“Verily!” added the Rabbit Knight.

“Keep thy head in the fight, ere you lose it,” advised the Battle-Axe Badger.

That was enough to ruin the moment. My grin disappeared.

“Do not let grief overwhelm you,” said the Rabbit Knight.

“Let us stand together, and victory will surely be ours this day!” shouted the Bow-Cat.

As they all raised their weapons, the lights went out and the elevator jerked to a halt.

“Hold on,” I said, reaching for my iPhone for some light when the Rabbit Knight produced a torch that filled the freight elevator with a warm, flickering light.

“We have fallen into a trap!” bellowed the Battle-Axe Badger.

I shivered at the word fallen, not a word you want to hear in a stuck elevator.

“I don’t think so, the power went out. There’s a lot going on outside, something must have happened.”

“Planned or not,” said Tybalt, “we are imprisoned.”

“That will not stand!” shouted the Rabbit Knight.

“HOLD ON!

They all froze, which I was a little amazed by.

“The power is out, but I think they have backup power,” I assured them.

As I said that, red lights came on.

“A sinister hue,” said Tybalt.

The other two agreed.

“It’s an emergency light, it’s supposed to be that color,” I said.

Before they could ask any more follow-ups, I said, “We’re not trapped. Look… Heavenward.”

They did and felt pretty happy to have used one of their terms.

“There is a trapdoor,” observed Tybalt.

“We can climb up and-”

Just then, the Battle-Axe Badger, on his toad mount, leapt up and kicked the trapdoor open and then scrambled up and out of the freight elevator.

“We are in an oubliette!” he shouted back.

“What?” I asked.

“A type of dungeon for prisoners you wish to forget,” explained the Rabbit Knight.

“No, it’s just the elevator shaft,” I said, knowing that might not be helpful, “Look up do you see a door?”

“I do!”

“There should be a ladder on the wall, climb up, and try to pry the door open.”

The freight elevator shuttered, followed by the sound of metal screeching, and then a loud bang.

“Egress is open!” yelled the Battle-Axe Badger from above.

“Can one of you give me a-”

I was about to say boost, but it turned into an expletive as a bright, pink tongue wrapped around my waist and pulled me, well Heavenwards. Just as suddenly, I was deposited on the floor, my eyes wide.

“Was that the first time thou hath been carried by a toad’s tongue?”

“Yes. Yes, it was,” I responded with more calm than I felt.

The others joined us with their mounts. Also, I should note, that giant snails can move more quickly than you would think. I probably should’ve mentioned this before, but I think I can be forgiven for not mentioning it before.

“Are close to our destination?” asked the Rabbit Knight.

“We’re on the seventeenth floor, so it’s not much further. We’ll have to take the stairs from here,” I said getting to my feet.

We all went into the hallway. It was eerily quiet, no noise of phones or conversations, the usual hubbub of an office. There was, however, the distant sound of combat from outside. Looking out a window, I could see that multiple fires had sprung up around the city.

I started to run towards the stairs and my friends followed me when a voice cried out.

“Halt varlets!”

Standing guard at the stairway door were two raccoons wearing helmets and wielding spiked clubs.

“What ho!” called the Rabbit Knight, “’Tis the Virtuous Bandits!”

The raccoons cried out with joy, “Our prayers hath been answered!”

A mini-reunion occurred with what I could only describe as much rejoicing. To their credit, it was quick and the Rabbit Knight then explained what we were here for to the Virtuous Bandits. They did give me some side-eye for my unwitting error, as it was told to them. However, they did turn and say, “We pledge our troth to this quest, let us right the wrong that was done and set the world to its correct place in the firmament!”

“Let’s,” I said.

With that, we all set off up the stairs. I was relieved that no robots were lurking between us and the twenty-third floor. When we arrived, I slowly opened the door. A cold blast of wind blew past us carrying torn and singed papers along with a faint, sulphurous scent.

We crept into the reception area, which was empty of people but filled with dread. Burn marks scared the brushed aluminum walls. The logo of the company had been ripped from behind the reception desk and broken into many smaller pieces. As much as I resented coming to work some days, this felt petty and small-minded.

I led everybody out to the bullpen, what we called the large open room filled with cubicles. Broken windows explained the cold wind that filled the floor and the room was filled with loose papers that danced in the air. I moved towards my cubicle, third row, second from the left. Taking a deep breath, I opened the middle drawer where I had put my pad of paper. It was there, the margins filled with the doodles that started this whole thing.

Righting my chair, I sat down and began to draw. Everyone leaned in to watch.

“If you could give me a little room?” I asked.

“Is there a smaller chamber you wish to work in?” inquired one of the Virtuous Bandits.

I sighed and said, “Please just stand back and let me work.”

“As the Monks did,” said Tybalt and the others nodded and gave me some breathing room.

It had to show an accord between the Animals and the Robots, without one side getting the upper hand. I had begun to draw a contingent of Animals approaching with scrolls when I heard a wicked cackle. Standing on the top of a nearby file cabinet was a devil. I mean a literal devil. Bright red skin, horns, pointy beard, hooves, and even a pitchfork. With a grin that said, ‘I’m about to F-around so let’s find out,’ he shot a bolt of fire at me.

With a powerful kick, the Rabbit Knight knocked my chair, and me down and the bolt of fire slammed into the opposite cubicle.

“Stay down and finish your illuminations!” he shouted as the rest of Woodland Warrior began to fight.

Some artists require silence to work, fortunately for me, I create art to drown out the nonsense around me. Usually, it’s boring corporate-speak that is meant to make dumb ideas sound smart and not the sounds of battle against a citizen of Hell, but the principle is the same. Using the Animals I met in this quest, I had them negotiate with the Robots. There were offers and concessions, all visual. I had to suppress the urge to put word bubbles, as those might end up in the medieval texts.

With an unsettlingly loud crash, two human-shaped robots appeared at the end of my row of cubicles and just started to tear the place up, flinging office equipment all over the room. The Virtuous Bandits ran at them to distract them from me and I got back to work. I felt guilty that they were all risking their lives while I hid under my desk and doodled. But it wasn’t as if I could fight, so I did my best to be accurate and quick. On the other margin, I drew something, just in case. All it needed was one more line.

As the sounds of battle grew closer, as well as the stench of brimstone, I finished the last scene. Animals and Robots had signed a truce, they shook hands or claws or whatever was at the ends of their arms. I drew much rejoicing.

The mechanical sounds stopped, and I crawled out from underneath my desk to see the Human-Shaped Robots turning around and then rocketing out of the broken windows into the sky. The flying saucers zoomed up and into outer space, I guessed.

“Hey!” I said, “It’s over!”

Except it wasn’t. That Devil was still here. The Animal-Robot war was over but the Devils didn’t give a damn and he was still fighting and frankly, winning. The Rabbit Knight had a singed ear and had been stabbed by the pitchfork, Tybalt was breathing heavily and was down to her last arrow, and the Battle-Axe Badger was covered in wounds. Their mounts were all exhausted and lay on their sides.

“Well, well, well,” said the Devil in a voice that sounded a little like Alan Rickman, “Here’s the one I have to thank for spreading so much chaos. Excellent work!”

He took a little bow.

“I’ve fixed it,” I said, “The Animals and Robots aren’t at war anymore.”

“It hardly matters, since we have already infested the mortal realm.”

“We will fight till you are locked back in your infernal prison!” said the Rabbit Knight.

“Are you still here?” asked the Devil.

All of the Animals, even wounded as they were, closed in on the Devil.

“You are determined, I’ll give you that, but it’s all pointless. Hell is here and we’re in this for the long haul. I know how humans love your protracted wars, so gird your loins! This is going to be a doozy!”

Tybalt shot her last arrow at the Devil who incinerated it with his hell-fire. He then looked directly at me.

“You seem like a reasonable fellow, just destroy the paper you’ve got gripped in your hands and I’ll make sure all your dreams are made real. We can do that you know.”

I told him where he could insert that offer.

“Or I could torture anyone and everyone you ever loved for all of eternity. We also do that you know.”

What could I do? Everyone looked at me with expectations.

“Get ready,” I said with a sad look.

The Devil grinned and the Animals cried out. With a flick of my pen, I closed a line on the other margin. From outside, cries of anger and despair echoed throughout the city as well as flashes of flame.

Then, just below where the Devil stood, a hole lined with tentacles opened up belched fire, and pulled the Devil in. I never heard that much profanity in such a short time. Giving us the double-finger salute, he was hauled back to hell.

As wounded as my friends were they all rushed in to embrace me and praised my cleverness and guile in dealing with that Devil. After that, they begged my leave as they needed to return to their posts. Drawing them traveling, bandaged but with whole, they all faded and appeared on the page, waved to me, and moved off the edge of the paper.

I have to admit, I was sad to see them go. Even though this was my fault, though not done on purpose, they forgave me and put their lives on the line for me. The only other person I knew who would do that was my girlfriend.

I called her as I walked downstairs, assured her I was all right, and was headed over to her place. She told me that whatever this all was seemed to be over for the moment but she insisted I not take any chances on my way over. I told her that I wouldn’t dream of it.

Courtesy of an abandoned Citi-Bike, I made my way to her place, stopping only to buy some beer and snacks at the deli, miraculously unharmed, near her place.

She greeted me with a big hug when I knocked on her door and then pulled me in. We drank beer and ate processed food while sharing our days. My story was, let’s call it abbreviated. As I said before, I don’t like lying to her, but some stories are best left unsaid.

She spied an inter-office envelope sticking out of my jacket

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Just some work stuff I had with me this morning.”

“No work stuff tonight!” she declared, “Whatever that is, it can wait till tomorrow. The world will keep on going,” she said as she leaned into me.

“Absolutely,” I said.

Posted in Adventure, Fantasy, Humor, Magic, Mysterious, Science Fiction, Short Stories, Urban Fantasy | Tagged Aliens, Art, Badger, Books, Breaking News, Cat, cats, Culture, Devil, Devils, Doodles, Drawing, Fantasy, fiction, Flying Saucers, Girlfriend, Hell, Humor, Illuminated Manuscripts, Knights, Magic, Mysterious, New York City, News, Paper, Quest, Rabbits, Relationships, Robots, Science Fiction, Secret, Short Stories, Short Story, Snails, Subway, Surreal, Travel, Urban Fantasy, Writing | Comments Off

Illuminated Doodles-Part Three

Posted on February 17, 2025 by jenicek

Usually, the worst thing about a Subway tunnel is being stuck between stations. I have to say, being attacked by robot crabs is worse. Of course, I had my animal bodyguards, who ferociously defended me. Like a lot of men, I always felt as though if I had to, I could fight. I had scenarios where I would rise to the occasion to kick some butt. Reality is another thing. Fighting is terrifying, especially when you don’t have a weapon and also don’t know how to use any weapon.

Without these medieval battle beasts, (was that a comic book?) I would be a smear on a robot crab’s claws. I thanked them all.

“’Tis but our sworn duty,” rumbled the Battle-Axe Badger.

“You art the sole hope in this matter, we will defend you with all our hearts!” declared Tybalt, the Bow-Cat.

“Indeed! Let us sally forth!” cried the Rabbit Knight.

Lighting our way with my iPhone, I saw a station, about a block away. The platform had about a dozen cops and EMT workers, who were aiding passengers that had made their way there.

“Who are those liveried in the darkest blue?” quietly asked the Rabbit Knight.

“They’re cops,” I said.

“What is a ‘cop?’” asked the Battle-Axe Badger.

“Are they a breed of Hob-Goblins?” asked Tybalt.

“No! They are police.”

They all stared at me.

“I have never heard this word.”

“Nor I.”

“What does it mean?”

I took a deep breath and said, “They enforce the laws and help people.”

All three of them nodded and Tybalt said, “They are this place’s Shire Reeves.”

“Then we should ally with them and add to our ranks!” said the Battle-Axe Badger with great confidence.

“Whoa there!” I said moving in front of him and his toad mount, “We should avoid the police right now.”

“Did you not say they helped those in need?” asked Tybalt.

“That he did,” added the Rabbit Knight.

“I did, but they are likely stressed by everything going on. You three are… Not what they are used to.”

“Were they not trained?”

“Are they not disciplined?”

“Have they no honor?”

“Here’s the thing, they will have more questions than we have time. So it better to avoid them, for now,” I said.

“There is wisdom in your words,” said the Rabbit Knight, “What would you have us do?”

Looking around, there was behind us, an emergency exit stairway. It was probably made for MTA workers or EMTS, but it would us get up to the street. We climbed up, and with some effort, the Battle-Axe Badger pushed the metal trapdoor open. Once we were on the street, it was clear that things had gotten terrible very quickly.

Cars were on fire, trucks crashed into storefronts, and the distant sounds of sirens and gunfire could be heard.

“Lead on!” shouted the Rabbit Knight.

We made our way through the streets of midtown, avoiding danger where we could, and battling it when we could not. The sounds of destruction were echoing through the streets, and I fought the urge to hide till it was all over, which was not an option.

Suddenly, my phone rang. My girlfriend. I answered it as I ran.

“Hey,” I said.

“Where are you? Are you safe?” she asked.

I do think honesty is a cornerstone of any healthy relationship. But you just can’t tell your girlfriend that you’re off to save the world with a Rabbit, a Cat, and a Badger.

“I was on my way to work but everything’s going nuts and I’m heading home,” I said, not mentioning it was taking the long way home.

“Do you want me to come over?” she asked.

I wondered what I did to deserve her.

“No. Stay at home, it’s safer. I’ll call you soon. Love you”

“No, I Love you.”

We both chuckled. It was stupid but it felt normal and I needed some normal right now.

“Are we close?” asked Tybalt.

“One block up, then two blocks to our left.”

As we turned off Lexington Avenue, there were a dozen, of what I’m going to call, Snake-Bots. Each was made with the top half of a human-shaped robot, and the rest was a tail. There’s a name for that in mythology but I can’t remember what that is. At my urging, we stepped back around the corner. I suggested we go back a block and try that, but it was filled with demolished delivery trucks, no way to get past, at least without making a lot of noise.

“We should just return, slay them, and continue!” growled the Battle-Axe Badger.

Sounds of battle could be heard, reverberating off the skyscrapers.

“That might get us some unwanted attention,” I said.

“Then we shall vanquish those who follow!” declared the Bow-Cat.

The Rabbit Knight twirled his spear to show, I suppose that he was also ready to do battle. While each of these woodland warriors was more than capable, each time we fought, we were slowed down, which made things get worse.

“Hold on,” I said as I peeked back around the corner, there had to be something, I hoped.

A toppled dirty water hot dog cart, several smashed cars, shattered glass from a destroyed storefront, and THAT!

They took orders very well, part of being fighting types maybe? But they understood my plans quickly and agreed that it would work. I was not as confident but I was the bait so…

Jumping out into the middle of the street, I waved my arms and yelled, “Hey you dumb robots! That’s right, I’m talking to you! Are you snakes or people? Pick a lane!”

I’m not sure if my taunts spurred them on or if they just enjoyed killing, but they came at me fast. According to the plan, my plan, I stood my ground. Clenching my fists, I hoped this crazy idea worked.

Just as they were about to strike, the Battle-Axe Badger leapt out, stuck the fire hydrant, angled the flat of his blade, and doused the Snake-Bots with compressed water. They all seized up, literal lightning arching between them, and then they collapsed into a heap. A few small bolts of electricity danced over their bodies and then they dissolved and ran down into a sewer grate.

While this was strange, it wasn’t even close to the strangeness of the past day, so I just soldiered on. As we crossed Park Avenue, a group of foxes, dressed in full armor, manned a trebuchet that slung many flaming robotic heads toward a phalanx of mechanical legionaries who were about to fire a giant crossbow at their foes. Both sides went flying which allowed us to run across the street in the confusion.

As we approached my office building, the Rabbit Knight tapped my shoulder and said, “Gaze heavenwards.”

It took me a beat to get that he meant up. Hovering above the city were what could only be called a fleet of flying saucers, moving in groups of three. I could hear a faint noise that sounded like a theremin.

“They await to see what faction will win,” said Tybalt quietly.

“Who do they want to win?” I wondered out loud.

“Very little is known of those unearthly creatures,” said the Rabbit Knight, “Other that they are implacable foes.”

Well, that was the way I drew them. If I had put more thought into their back story, or more accurately, given them a backstory, I might have some insight to offer now. Instead, I just said, “Let’s keep going.”

If you have lemons but no sugar, is it still lemonade?

Posted in Adventure, Fantasy, Humor, Magic, Mysterious, Science Fiction, Urban Fantasy, Writing | Tagged absurdist, Aliens, Art, Badger, Books, Breaking News, Cat, cats, Culture, Doodles, Drawing, Fantasy, fiction, Flying Saucers, Girlfriend, Humor, Illuminated Manuscripts, Knights, Magic, Mysterious, New York City, News, Paper, Posted in Adventure, Quest, Rabbits, Relationships, Robots, Secret, Short Stories, Short Story, Snails, Subway, Surreal, Travel, Urban Fantasy, Writing | Comments Off

Illuminated Doodles-Part Two

Posted on February 10, 2025 by jenicek

“Awaken! Dawn has broken and we must away!”

I lurched up out of deep sleep and frantically looked around my bedroom. Then I remembered.

“Morning,” I grumbled.

“Indeed it is! Gird your loins for the battle to come!” declared the Rabbit Knight.

“Please leave my loins out of this,” I said, yawning.

“He seems a poor champion,” said feminine voice.

Turning on my bedside lamp, I looked at the book where the Rabbit Knight had been. He had returned with a cat who had a bow and quiver of arrows on her back. Also, she rode what looked like a dog with a man’s face.

“Right…,” I said remembering that this was supposed to happen.

Tybalt, the Bow Cat gave a look to the Rabbit Knight that suggested perhaps I was not the horse to bet on.

“Despite his lowly and slovenly appearance, he is the only one who can aid us,” replied the Rabbit Knight.

“You are my trusted companion, and I will not question your wisdom on this,” she said, though she did continue to look at me with a lack of confidence.

“I’ll get ready and we can go,” I said shuffling off to the bathroom.

“Do not tarry overlong! Should we fail, the world will suffer!”

A hot shower and shave helped me wake up, though I needed some coffee. As I got dressed, I turned the morning news on.

“Breanna Walters is live at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where an exhibition of priceless Medieval illuminated manuscripts has been vandalized. Breanna, can you tell us what is going on?” asked one of the anchors.

“Well Tom, apparently, someone broke into the museum last night and

added their own illustrations to these priceless items. Museum security and the NYPD are currently reviewing video footage for clues as to the criminal’s identity. A representative for the MET has revealed that the vandal drew in what looks like robots assaulting the creatures in the margins. The questions everyone is asking is, how and why?”

Tom, the anchor interrupted, “Sorry Breanne, we’ve just got word that similar defacings have happened in multiple museums across the world including the Victoria and Albert Museum in Britain.”

“This is why we can’t have nice things,” added Kimberly, the other anchor, who then touched her ear, “We’re getting a report of a fire that just broke out on the Upper West Side, our News-Copter is on its way.”

I turned off the news.

“We should’ve set out last night!” shouted the Rabbit Knight.

“Why did you not?” asked the Bow-Cat.

“He,” sneered the Rabbit Knight, “insisted we wait for reasons he could not explain!”

“Hey! There should be some instructions on those old pages telling people that reproducing them is dangerous!” I retorted.

The two animal warriors were about to speak but then looked at each other.

“Mayhap there is enough crow for all of us to feast,” said Tybalt.

The Rabbit Knight nodded sagely and said, “As always, your words guide me through uncertain lands.”

I suddenly felt like I was intruding on an intimate moment.

“Should we…”

“Aye, let us away,” said the Rabbit Knight.

Even though it was early, there were still people on the subway but I got a seat and opened my book. I tried to read but having two animated companions in the margins made it hard to concentrate.

“What an odd method of conveyance,” observed Tybalt.

“It feels quite mole-ish,” said the Rabbit Knight.

“Yes, very,” she agreed.

“Was this all mole made?” asked the Rabbit Knight.

Taking out my phone, I said, “Hey there. No, it’s all man made.”

“Are you certain?” asked the Bow-Cat.

“Absolutely!”

With a frown, the Rabbit Knight asked, “Why are you placing that small plaque by your ear? It makes you look like a madman.”

“I’d look crazy if I didn’t!” I said with a laugh.

People talk to themselves every day in New York City, but I had no desire to draw more attention to myself than necessary.

“Have events broken his will?” asked Tybalt.

“Not at all!” I assured them, “This is just how we do things.”

“Your realm is odd indeed!” she said.

Just then everyone’s phone began to beep. A Wireless Emergency Alert. Then the subway lurched to a stop. The alert advised people to seek shelter and to remain there. Passengers had opinions.

“What da hell?”

“If this is a glitch I’m gonna punch whosoever messed up in the balls!”

“Hey! Let’s all just keep calm!”

That resulted in a torrent of profanity topped with ‘Sit yer ass down!’ The would-be helpful person did so.

“What has transpired?” demanded the Rabbit Knight.

“It’s fine, we just have to sit put for a bit.”

“I fear the danger grows with each passing moment,” said Tybalt.

“Just relax, it will be fine.”

Of course, that’s when a Robot, battling a Badger riding a toad, who was swinging a battle-axe burst into the subway car. I thought the torrent of profanity from before this was a lot, but I was wrong. Also, there was a lot of screaming too. In that moment, I noticed that these two figures had a two-dimensional quality, which made me think of that video from Aha. Lacking a third dimension did not stop them from tearing things up.

The Knight Rabbit and the Bow-Cat gave each other a quick look and then said, “Throw your tome upon the floor!”

“What?”

“The volume you carry!”

This didn’t make any sense to me, but none of this did. Not having a better idea, I threw down my book. It spun on the floor and banged into a stanchion. Then, in an explosion of paper, the Rabbit Knight and Tybalt the Bow-Cat leapt out and joined the battle. With three against one, it did not last long, but the subway car was trashed.

Everyone else, wisely, had left the car, so it was only me and the three animal warriors. The Rabbit Knight whispered something into the Battle-Axe Badger’s ear.

“He does NOT look like a brother,” he said in a deep voice.

“It is a long tale and time is not our ally this day,” said Tybalt.

“We must not tarry,” said the Rabbit Knight, “for peril is close upon our heels.”

“Can this one guide us?” asked the Battle-Axe Badger.

“I’m right here and yes. I know where to go. But going on the track will be dangerous,” I said.

“Danger may advance but so shall we!” said the Rabbit Knight.

They then all cried, “Huzzah!”

All three of them looked at me till I said ‘Huzzah.’

“Okay, so follow me and whatever you do, don’t touch the third rail.”

Posted in Adventure, Fantasy, Humor, Magic, Mysterious, Short Stories, Urban Fantasy | Tagged Abusrdist, Art, Badger, Books, Breaking News, Cat, cats, Culture, Doodles, Drawing, Fantasy, fiction, Humor, Illuminated Manuscripts, Knights, Magic, Mysterious, News, Paper, Posted in Adventure, Quest, Rabbits, Robots, Secret, Short Stories, Short Story, Snails, Subway, Surreal, Travel, Urban Fantasy, Writing | Comments Off

Illuminated Doodles-Part One

Posted on February 3, 2025 by jenicek

It all started when I drew a rabbit with a lance riding a snail. Honestly, I was quite pleased with how it came out. I like to draw little pictures in the margins of my notepads (usually robots, aliens, and spaceships) when I’m in boring meetings. However, the previous weekend I went to an exhibition of illuminated manuscripts at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. My girlfriend’s attempt to bring some culture into my life.

As the tour guide told us about the lives of those medieval brothers, I felt for them, adding these odd little scenes and creatures in the margins. Find your fun where you can.

Come Monday morning and I’m in a stuck meeting that both could’ve and should’ve been an e-mail, so I start doodling. I guess my girlfriend’s efforts to enrich my life with the fruits of civilization paid off since I added the mounted Rabbit Knight. I had him joust against a robot who was half motorcycle. It was a hard-fought battle, it took several margins to conclude but the robot was victorious and the Rabbit Knight fled. Slowly because he was riding a snail. Feeling as though I had accomplished something in this meeting, the rest of Monday didn’t seem so Mondayish, at least until I got home.

After dinner, I sat in my favorite chair, which I’ve had since college and has been repaired multiple times courtesy of duct tape (maybe my girlfriend was right about me lacking culture), and continued to read the sci-fi novel I was currently engrossed in. After about ten pages, something unexpected happened. The Rabbit Knight slowly slid into the margins.

My first reaction was, “Damnit! Who drew in my book?”

My second was, “That looks like what I drew today.”

Before I had time for a third thought the Rabbit Knight turned to look at me and said, “What ho varlet!”

I dropped the book, jumped out of the chair, and screamed a little. Did I fall asleep while reading? This did feel like a dream. Looking out the window, I saw my street, not an undersea kingdom or an inverted cityscape, as I had in other dreams. Muffled cries came from my book. Apprehensively, I picked it up and opened it to the page I had been reading.

Glaring at me with contempt was the Rabbit Knight. The snail didn’t seem terribly pleased with me either.

“Your manners are churlish, sirrah!” declared the Rabbit Knight with a scowl.

“Sorry! You just caught me off guard,” I replied.

“Do you know what you have done!” cried the Rabbit Knight.

I stared blankly at this two-dimensional, animated creature.

“Are you deaf or merely a fool?”

“Hey!”

“A fool then. It clear from your lack of manner and cunning.”

While I’m no genius, I resented being called a fool.

“Listen here, I drew you! Show some respect!”

“Respect is earned and your purse is empty of that coin.”

“Okay then,” I said as I began to close the book.

“Hold! I beg you!” shouted the Rabbit Knight.

Sighing, I opened the book. The Rabbit Knight had dismounted his snail and knelt.

“I fear the urgency of my quest has frayed my nerves like a rope overused. I beg your forgiveness.”

He looked so sincere, I felt sorry for him.

“It’s okay, I think we may have startled each other.”

“Indeed. I come for your aid in a matter most grim.”

“Okay…”

“We are now fighting a war on two fronts. The monsters and the infernal machines on the other.”

“The what?”

“Those mechanical abominations that you render.”

“Robots?”

“If that is what they are called, then yes.”

“Right. I need a drink.”

Picking up the book, I went to the kitchen and got a beer.

“Do you want one?” I asked, immediately feeling dumb for asking.

“If you would be so kind as to draw me a flagon, I will join you.

I took a ballpoint pen and sketched it for him. He raised it and said, “To victory!”

“Victory,” I said with less enthusiasm.

“Now, the balance of Page is askew,” said the Rabbit Knight.

“I’m sorry but I don’t what that means.”

“Very well,” said the Rabbit Knight as he scratched one of his ears, ”Do you know why the blessed brothers inscribed myself and the other warriors of the natural world in Holy Texts?”

“I assumed because it’s a boring job and they were trying to find some way of making it a little fun.”

“I common misconception! Those holy men were charged not just preserving the word of the Lord but of keeping that which was unnatural at bay from the mortal world.”

I thought that a talking illustration might fall under the category of ‘unnatural,’ but kept that to myself.

“And so it has been for centuries, by our diligence monsters have not once set claw nor tentacle in your world.”

“Umm, thanks?”

Bowing deeply, the Rabbit Knight said, “Twas my duty and done happily.”

Not knowing what to say to that, I raised my beer bottle to him and we drank again.

“So, what’s the problem?”

“When you rendered me on your pages, you did so with great skill.”

“Thank you,” I said, a little pleased with myself.

“That was your first mistake.’

“Wait! What?”

“Your second was when you pitted me against those soulless armored monstrosities. The warriors of the natural world had no quarrel with those metal fiends until you pitted us against each other. Now we battle two implacable foes. If no accord can be reached, the mortal world will be awash with the blood of the dying.”

“That’s terrible!”

“You need to draw my triumph over those automata.”

“Sure thing, I’ve got a pad on my desk,” I said as I stood up.

“It must be the same parchment that you did your first illumination,” insisted the Rabbit Knight.

“Does that really matter?”

“There are strict rules about such matters,” he answered.

I was tempted to ask what they were, but that seemed like a waste of time.

“That parchment, or pad, is back at my office.”

“Then we need to storm your office to recover what we need!”

“Slow down, we don’t need to storm anything.”

Regarding me with a sly look, the Rabbit Knight asked, “Know you some secret way, forgotten from ages past?”

“No.”

“You confound me. How are we to gain access to this ‘office?’”

“I work there. I don’t need to sneak in or lay siege to it,” I said then finished my beer and contemplated a second.

Leaping upon his snail mount, and brandishing his spear, the Rabbit Knight shouted, “To your office then!”

“Except, we can’t go now.”

“A path must be chosen! Are you to aid me or not?”

“It’s nighttime. No one is there.”

“Then it is the perfect time to strike!”

“There are strict rules about such matters,” I said, hoping not to have to explain office protocols to an animated Rabbit Knight.

“Very well, but I insist we set out at dawn’s first light.”

I agreed, even though I was not a first-light sort of guy.

“I will return before we set forth, I must call upon my ally and boonest companion,” said the Rabbit Knight as he and his snail unhurriedly made for the edge of the page, “Fear not! I will not abandon you in this, the most dire of hours.”

“Who’s? Your friend?” I asked, suddenly realizing I didn’t know his name and he didn’t know mine.

Stopping the Rabbit Knight said with a grin, “Tybalt, the Bow-Cat.”

Definitely the most Mondayest Monday.

Posted in Adventure, Fantasy, Humor, Magic, Mysterious, Short Stories, Urban Fantasy, Writing | Tagged Abusrdist, Art, Books, Culture, Doodles, Drawing, Fantasy, fiction, Humor, Illuminated Manuscripts, Knights, Magic, Paper, Rabbits, Robots, Secret, Short Story, Snails, Surreal, Writing | Comments Off

Winning

Posted on January 27, 2025 by jenicek

“Well boys, we’ve done it! We won,” declared Lord Dominator.

A loud cheer went up from the rest of the Band of Bad-Assery.

“All those superheroes are locked in that pocket dimension that the Arch-Arcanist sent them to!” added ever-glowing, Professor Plutonium.

Cruel laughter echoed in the meeting room of the evilest people in the world as the Arch-Arcanist stood and took a bow.

“We didn’t even get to punch anyone,” Titanus-Maximus said sadly. He was currently the second strongest person in the world.

“Why throw punches when we can poison people’s minds,” smirked Bella-Don, the world’s greatest expert on toxins.

Puffing out his chest, Lord Dominator said, “I brought together all the best, or should I say WORST people, to make this happen. Right boys?”

He held for laughter, which followed. Robo-Servants poured more drinks for the assemblage of villains. They stopped using human servants because they were worried about being infiltrated, though truthfully, it was mostly because they refused to give paid holidays and medical benefits to their human workers, which made them all quit.

The Influencer, who was not and did not identify as one of the ‘boys,’ did not laugh. Instead, she frowned as she scrolled on her Genius Phone.

“You should smile, you’re much prettier when you do,” said The Counselor. He had the preternatural ability to find loopholes in any law, so naturally, he was the ‘legal’ arm for the Band of Bad-Assery.

“And you’re sort of tolerable when you shut your mouth,” she replied, not looking up from her screen.

This prompted a lot of ‘ooooo’s from the other villains as well as a few ‘snaps,’ and one ‘sick burn.’

“Let’s get back to celebrating our complete domination of the world!” said Lord Dominator, who found any opportunity to work his name or a variation of it into conversation, and got uncomfortable when people didn’t talk about him.

“We should order takeout!” shouted the speedster, Greasy Lightning.

“I think we should go somewhere nice,” said Sister Stalwart, currently the strongest person in the world.

“Let’s go to Smith & Wollensky,” said the Arch-Arcanist.

“I’m in the mood for Chinese,” stated Professor Plutonium.

“Anyone like chicken pot pie?” asked Titanus-Maximus.

“You all clearly forgot that I’m allergic to gluten AND I’m lactose intolerant!” shouted the Spoiler, Potentate of Putrefaction.

“There’s no gluten or lactose in a nice juicy steak!” retorted the Arch-Arcanist.

“They pour seasoned butter over the meat! And their rolls are full of gluten!”

“Then ask them not to add the butter and don’t eat the rolls!”

“But I love the rolls!”

Lord Dominator slammed his fist on the table causing everyone to jump.

“Did you dummies forget? We’re the undisputed masters of the Earth. If we want something, people just give it to us.”

A murmur of agreement went through the room.

“I’m craving some Big Macs and a McFlurry,” added Lord Dominator as he smacked his lips, “And what daddy wants, daddy gets.”

Before anyone could object, the Influencer said, “That’s not true.”

Everything went silent. The unspoken rule was you could gently suggest things to Lord Dominator, but telling him he was wrong was not to be done.

“Don’t be stupid,” said Lord Dominator with that look he got when it was clear he didn’t know what was happening.

“Let me show you,” she said with a sigh.

All the monitor screens in the meeting room showed WWNN’s (World-Wide-News-Network)coverage of a massive protest march up Fifth Avenue in New York City. The chyron read: BLIZZARD OF SNOWFLAKES HIT MANHATTAN.

“But everybody loves us! We convinced these idiots that the super-heroes were the reason everything was bad and we got rid of them and everyone thought it was amazing!”

“Yah… right now, not so much,” said the Influencer.

Pointing at the young woman, Lord Dominator declared, “This is your fault! Some influencer you are! You couldn’t influence a cat to chase a dog.”

“Isn’t the other way around?” asked the Counselor, who never owned a pet.

“Cats chase dogs! Everyone knows that!” insisted Lord Dominator.

“I’ve seen that many times,” said the Arch-Arcanist as he nodded.

The rest, except the Influencer agreed.

Looking Lord Dominator right in the eyes, the Influencer said, “I’m the best at convincing people to do things, but since you’ve broken most of your promises, it’s hard to spin that shit into gold.”

“That’s not true! I got rid of those so-called superheroes!”

Everyone’s phones displayed the following statistics.

UNEMPLOYMENT-UP 89%

AMAZON RAIN FORREST-56% DESTROYED

17 ENDANGERED SPECIES NOW EXTINCT

EGGS-27 DOLLARS A DOZEN

“It’s going to take time. Right?” Lord Dominator said, “It’s not like I said I’d fix it all in one day!”

A video of Lord Dominator replaced the list, saying, “Day one, all problems will be fixed!”

An uncomfortable silence filled the room.

“We should just kill the protestors,” said Lord Dominator.

“I could punch them!” said Titanus-Maximus with enthusiasm.

“Great idea!”

Silence followed.

“The rest of you don’t have any ideas?”

“Is that the best plan?” asked the Counselor.

Lord Dominator shrugged and said, “Why not? They’re the enemy of the people.”

“But aren’t they the people?” suggested Sister Stalwart.

“The optics will be terrible,” said the Influencer.

“Tech-Bro! Don’t we control the media?” demanded Lord Dominator.

Tech-Bro, a pale doughy man with a bad perm stood up and said, “My man! We totally do. But…”

“But what?”

“Here’s the thing my brother, everyone has a camera in their pockets. If we kill them, it will get out.”

“You’re the best computer engineer in the world. Can’t you just use an algorithm to fix that?”

Stroking his patchy stubble, Tech-Bro said, “I’m more of a big-picture guy.”

“Wait? Don’t you have multiple degrees?” asked the Spoiler.

“You’re gonna LOL. All of them are honorary.”

Pointing his power gauntlet at Tech-Bro, Lord Dominator vaporized him.

“What else have we got?” asked Lord Dominator, “No bad ideas.”

The rest of the supervillains froze.

“Why don’t I see what’s happening?” asked Greasy Lighting, “Get some boots on the ground.”

Before anyone could say anything, he was gone. Three seconds later, he returned, carrying a lot of paper bags.

“What did you find out?” asked Sister Stalwart.

“First, that McRib is back. Did you guys know that?”

Lord Dominator tore open a bag and started stuffing the pseudo-barbecue sandwiches in his face.

“Good work,” he said with a full mouth.

“Anything other than that?” demanded the currently strongest person in the world.

After inhaling popcorn shrimp (he also ran through a Popeyes), the speedster said, “Yeah, there are protests all over the world.”

“What!” cried Lord Dominator as he spit out a half-chewed McRib, which he then quickly picked up and finished. Five second rule.

“But there are counter-protests,” added Greasy Lightning.

“See! I told you!” crowed Lord Dominator.

“How many people are in the counter-protests?” idly asked the Influencer.

“It has to be twice as many. No! Three times!”

As he drank a tub of gravy, Greasy Lightning did some quick calculations on his fingertips, then licked them clean.

“Well, based on what I saw, and I’m just ballparking it here, for each counter-protester, there are about… Ten thousand protesters.”

“WHAT!”

Before Lord Dominator could turn him into particles, he sped away, taking most of the bags of food with him.

“Titanus-Maximus!” shouted the would-be ruler of the Earth.

“Yes!”

“Find Greasy Lightning and just mess him up. Make sure he never runs again.”

“Right boss,” he replied as he lumbered out of the room.

Titanus-Maximus was not the smartest member of the Band of Bad-Assery, but even he knew the odds of catching Greasy Lighting were somewhere about zero. The kid was just too damn fast. Also, it looked like things weren’t working well in this new world. Maybe he’d change his name and costume and go back to being a wrestler. Maybe a bouncer. Yeah, a bouncer might be a nice change of pace.

Back in the meeting room, things were considerably less sanguine.

“Because if you kill them, they will turn against you,” explained the Counselor.

“Just tell them the superheroes did it!”

“I trapped all the superheroes in a pocket dimension,” the Arch-Arcanist reminded him.

“Just fulfill one of your promises,” suggested Sister Stalwart, “An easy one, like lowering the prices of eggs.”

“And how am I supposed to do that? Wave a magic egg wand? Hey, Archcanist, do you have a magic egg wand up your sleeve?”

“I do-” he began.

“Great! Do it now!”

“-but it only produces one, perfectly cooked egg. It can’t lower prices.”

“THEN WHAT GOOD IS IT?”

Lord Dominator smashed the meeting table into two long pieces and flung them out the window. Ironically, one crushed a mugger in Central Park who was a big supporter of this new world order. The other ricocheted into the counter-protesters and sent them scurrying away.

“Perhaps, we should see what we can do outside,” suggested the Arch-Arcanist.

“That’s a good idea,” replied Sister Stalwart as she straightened out her battle habit.

The rest all stood up and mouthed similar sentiments of getting stuff done in a more direct, but also vague manner. They wandered out, making statements about bringing the fight to the streets and so on. Then only Lord Dominator was left. The wind blew through the broken window causing fast food napkins to swirl about. Lord Dominator gazed out over the city and struggled with how this all went wrong. It had to be someone else’s fault. There was no way it was anything he did. He turned and saw he was not alone. The Influencer still sat in her chair, tapping on her phone.

“Why didn’t you abandon me, like the rest of them?” he asked, “They are very bad at their jobs.”

She didn’t look at him but replied, “I’m working on a fix for all this.”

“You’ve fixed it!” he said with glee.

“I’m working on it.”

“What’s the plan?” he asked, clearing his chair of napkins and ketchup packets.

“I can’t tell you.”

“You HAVE to tell me!”

She lowered her Genius Phone and said, “The only way this can work, is if you react in the moment to what is going to happen.”

“I’m a pretty good actor in boarding school. Did I ever tell you I played MacBeth?”

She nodded in agreement. Firstly, she knew for a fact, he was only cast because his father donated money to refurbish the school theater. No losers in his family, even if they had to cheat. Second, he said the name of the Scottish Play aloud. She wasn’t especially superstitious, but it felt right for him to do that now. She quickly posted what she was working on and put her phone away.

“Okay, I got the ball rolling. Just be ready when things happen,” she said as she got up and walked towards the elevator.

“What should I do?” he asked.

“Whatever you want. You’re in charge of the world.”

“I am,” he said with renewed confidence as he stood and looked at his domain.

The influencer smiled as she rode down to the lobby. All the mystic supers were trapped, but there were plenty of amateur mages out in the world. One alone was no threat. Hundreds of them? That was quite another matter. They would all follow the breadcrumbs she digitally dropped.

While she had no love of heroes, without them, it just didn’t work. Chalk it up to a failed experiment. After all, she just changed the world to see if she could.

Her phone pinged as she exited the elevator. #LordDumbinator was trending hard. Time for a frappuccino and cookie. She earned it.

Posted in Adventure, Humor, Politics, Science Fiction, Short Stories, Super Heroes | Tagged Books, Comedy, Dominate, fast food, fiction, Fight Back, Humor, Influencer, Loyalty, Promises Broke, Promises Made, Resist, Resistance, sci-fi, Science Fiction, Short Story, Social Media, Super Heroes, Super Villain, Winning, Writing | Comments Off

Open and Shut-Part Three-A Tale of the Arrondissement

Posted on January 20, 2025 by jenicek

“Do you think we’re cursed?” Maxi asked.

Arpin thought for a moment, then shrugged.

“No philosophical insights?”

“Do you mean that by living in a random and uncaring world, we are cursed by virtue of our very existence?”

She sighed and replied, “Did you really think that was what I was asking?”

“Of course not, but you seemed to desire some metaphysical statement.”

“So, we are cursed or not?”

“Unlikely. But there are potent defensive measures at play here. So I would advise caution.”

Leaning in, she whispered, “That advice is a little late.”

“As if you could say no to risk.”

Maxi laughed and said, “We are alike then.”

“We do share certain qualities.”

She smiled.

“Should we have drinks after this?” he asked.

“I know a marvelous little place near the oblique district.“

“The Font of Dreams?”

“You’ve been?”

“Not yet, but rumors suggest it is worth a visit.”

“In this case rumors are true. They make a wonderful 57.”

“Then we will go there and toast.”

Both of them continued downward, in silence. The prospect of an evening out seeming distant at the moment. Then, the sloping stairway came to opening, this time with no door, only an archway. Beyond were rows and rows of bookcases, filled of course, with books.

“This makes sense, given what we’ve seen, but I must confess that this is not what I expected.”

“No rare art, jewelry, or cash. Just all these books.”

“A peculiar place for a library,” said Arpin.

“These must be extremely valuable,” said Maxi as she peered at the shelves.

The scent of vinegar (pain) tickled Arpin’s nose and he moved deeper into the stacks. Maxi followed. About one hundred meters in, a well-dressed, older man was slumped at the bottom of a bookshelf. His face was bruised and he had an impressive black eye. Kneeling down, the Detective placed two fingers on the still figure’s neck.

“Alive?” asked Maxi in a soft tone.

“Yes.”

Taking a small vial out of her purse, she opened it and waved it under the older man’s nose. He awoke with a start, and gasped, “You mustn’t!”

“Monsieur, I am Detective Arpin, you are safe now,” said Arpin.

“Have you read anything?” demanded the older man.

“Are you Herr Alrick Renberg?” asked Maxi.

“I am, but please, please answer my question!” insisted Renberg.

“No, we have not,” reassured Maxi.

Renberg sighed with relief and told them, “From that then, you are safe.”

“Which is not to say you are safe,” said a voice behind them.

Turning they noticed a nondescript woman, dressed in a dark gray suit and overcoat. If she wasn’t holding a weapon in her hand, anyone might pass her on the rue without a second thought. She was neither tall nor short, thin nor fat. Her weapon, however, was very distinctive. It looked like a Morpheus, but the barrel was horizontal and flat with a brutalist design that suggested that suffering would follow its use.

“You are all awfully loud,” she said.

“And you are?” asked Maxi.

“The one holding all the high cards,” the woman said, “Please empty your pockets of any dangerous items, please.”

Arpin slid his Morpheus across the amethyst floor to her as well as a collapsing baton, and a knife he had in ankle sheath. Maxi handed over a small Morpheus, that was in her pocket.

“And your purse, if you would be so kind, Mademoiselle.”

With an annoyed look, she obliged. The woman knelt to pick them up while keeping her eyes and weapon, locked on Arpin and Maxi. She placed the items in a series of pockets on her coat and stood up.

“Well, I must say, I did not expect company so soon. And such esteemed figures,” remarked the woman.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” observed Arpin.

“True, but I know of Gendarme Detective Class Première Arpin by reputation alone. As well as the very clever Maxilline Couture.”

“So you are from of the League of-” began Maxi.

“Please,” interrupted the woman, “That name is a fabrication of the Fourth Estate.”

“Do you have a name you prefer?” asked Arpin.

“We’ve had so many names down through the ages, it’s hard to keep track,” she replied with a shrug.

“Very clever,” remarked Maxi.

“Praise from the Czarina!” exclaimed the woman.

“And who are you?” asked Arpin.

“A mad thief!” interjected Herr Renberg.

The woman tutted at this and said, “Hardly, I only wished to visit this remarkable library. Herr Renberg was unwilling to share, rather selfishly.”

“That’s a peculiar name,” said Maxi.

The woman’s smile faltered for a blink of an eye, then she said, “You may call me the Archivist.”

“Always a title, never a name,” said Arpin.

“Always the detective,” the Archivist replied.

“Let me ask you then, why break into this library?”

With a smile, the Archivist turned to Herr Renberg and asked, “They don’t know, do they?”

“No one should know,” muttered Renberg.

“What going on here?” demanded Maxi.

“This is THE Library,” the Archivist said.

“Well, it’s A library,” snipped Maxi.

“If you would please elucidate,” asked Arpin.

“Such manners! I see why the Old Man holds you in such esteem.”

Arpin sighed and said, “I thought it was my gift for critical reason that impressed him.”

“That too.”

“What do you mean, The Library?” interrupted Maxi.

“These volumes contain the sum total of knowledge. Herr Renberg and his associates have kept them locked away for countless years.”

Arpin and Maxi gave each other a sidelong look.

“That seems, on its face, impossible,” Arpin pointed out.

“This room would have to be larger than the Arrondissement,” said Maxi.

“If these were ordinary books, you would both be right,” replied the Archivist.

“For an archivist, you have a real flair for the dramatic,” observed Maxi.

“I so rarely have an audience, why not enjoy it? As for these books, I will explain. All you need to do is pick one up and think of a subject, such as the life of the renowned Detective Arpin, for example,” she said plucking a volume off the shelf.

Maxi was about to move when the Archivist pointed her weapon at her.

“Just so there is no confusion, I am perfectly capable of rendering you dead while reading aloud.”

Maxi threw up her hands.

“Now who’s being overly dramatic? Put your hands down, I’m not robbing you.”

“I’d like my purse back then,” Maxi remarked.

“Perhaps later. Let’s see what we can learn about Detective Arpin.”

Herr Renberg lunged at the Archivist who cracked him across the face with her weapon.

“I’ve been very patient Herr Renberg, but that is running low,” the Archivist, in a tone that suggested she was not above ending a life to make a point.

“Back to business,” she said, continuing to read.

After a moment, she looked at Arpin with a surprised expression, and said, “Why Detective! What a wild youth you were. No one would know by looking at you. I wonder what secrets Mademoiselle Couture has in her past?”

“It’s obvious why you and your organization would desire this place, but I fear you may not have thought it through,” mused Arpin.

“I admit,” confessed the Archivist, “I had anticipated having more time, your Gendarmes were not supposed to discover this door. But we can improvise. My associate, who has slipped past you-”

“How do you know he isn’t bound by law?” interjected Arpin.

“Or dead?” added Maxi

“Because both of you are still alive. He is currently sorting things out upstairs. Regrettable, but sacrifices must sometimes be made.”

Cocking an eyebrow, Maxi said, “Interesting how little you and your gang care for the lives of others.”

“An ethics lesson from the woman who stole the Inverse Sapphire?” sneered the Archivist.

“A feat I accomplished with loss of life,” she said turning to Arpin, “I recovered it from the original thief for the Museum des Merveilles Souterraines.”

“The Fourth Estate made a meal of that story, though, if I recall, your name was never mentioned,” said Arpin.

“I’m nothing, if not discrete,” she replied with a smile.

Clearing her throat, the Archivist then said, “You are all ever so charming, but it’s time to get to work. If you would each grab a rucksack, we’ll head up.”

“You can’t do this!” shouted Herr Renberg.

“And yet, here we are.”

No one moved.

“Do you need more motivation?” asked the Archivist as she pointed her weapon at Arpin’s head.

“No!” cried Maxi, “We’ll help you.”

Arpin, Maxi, and Herr Renberg each shouldered a heavy rucksack and ascended upwards with the Archivist bringing up the rear, ready to fire if given provocation.

“It seems unlikely that you will be able to empty this library with only our help,” Arpin pointed out.

“Clearly, but very soon we’ll have enough hands,” she replied.

“Don’t you think people will notice-” began Maxi.

“I think if you keep talking, I’ll have to shoot you,” said the Archivist in a chillingly mundane tone.

The rest of the journey upstairs was silent, save for their footsteps and the crackle of the lanterns. Soon, they turned one last time and came to the open doorway. Standing on the other side were Detective Martinique, Doctor Flandrin, and about a dozen Gendarmes. For a moment, everyone stared at each other. The Archivist moved as fast as a thought. Shooting her gun, which shot razor-sharp disks that buzzed as they flew through the air. Three Gendarmes fell, blood jetting out from their sudden wounds.

Everyone else aimed their Morbi at the Archivist but before they could fire, she crossed the threshold and crashed into several Gendarmes.

“You are bound by law!” yelled Martinique as the Gendarmes wrestled the Archivist into submission.

“Stop!” said Arpin in a commanding voice, “You will find she is quite dead.”

It was true. When they flipped her body over, she was gone, though a look of surprise was affixed to her face.

“Please, put down the bags,” said Herr Renberg.

They did. There was a flurry of activity. Doctor Flandrin had his work cut out for him. The three Gendarmes who were shot had been slain instantly, which Flandrin called cold comfort but passed his flask about and they all drank to their fallen companions. Then he patched up Herr Renberg, who insisted he was fine. The Doctor asked him where he studied to be a chirurgeon, and then told be quiet and let him do his job.

As always, at the conclusion of a case, there were procedures. Statements taken, evidence collected, and so on. Being a Gendarme Detective Class Première has some privileges, allowing Arpin to delegate the wrap-up to Martinique, who was thrilled to run the show.

Later, Arpin met Maxi at the Font of Dreams, a 57 was waiting for him. It was excellent.

“So…” she started, “What in l’ enfer was all that?”

“Apparently, Herr Renberg is a member of a society that preserves books.”

“A secret society.”

“Naturally.”

“What are they called?”

“He would not say.”

“Are the rivals of the League of Spiders?”

“Not by choice.”

“What’s going to happen to the Library?”

Arpin signaled the waiter to bring another round.

“They are going to have to relocate it.”

“Where? How? It’s massive? And then there’s the whole dying thing.”

“He assured me they had a safe method to do this, though he did not elaborate.”

“Why did the Archivist drop dead, she wasn’t holding a book.”

“It seems that the act of absorbing knowledge from one of those volumes was considered theft by the Library, no less grave than removing any of the books.”

“Worse than a late fee.”

“Knowledge and danger.”

Finishing her 57, just as the new round appeared, Maxi said, “I suppose you’re right. But so many unanswered questions.”

He shrugged and said, “Any answers I might learn could not be of greater worth than drinks with you.”

And they drank to that.

Posted in Adventure, Arrondissement, Magic, Mysterious, Short Stories, Urban Fantasy | Tagged Abusrdist, archivist, Arrondissement, Book, Books, burglary, case, Crime, Curse, Cursed, Death, Detective, Difficulties, Explore, Fantasy, fiction, Friendship, Gendarmes, hidden passage, investigation, Librarian, Library, Magic, missing, Mysterious, Mystery, Panic Room, Relationships, secret passage, Secret society, Short Stories, Short Story, Surreal, Theft, threshold, Urban Fantasy, Writing | Comments Off

Open and Shut-Part Two-A Tale of the Arrondissement

Posted on January 13, 2025 by jenicek

Detective Martinique insisted on going in with Arpin since a consultant was not qualified for a potentially dangerous investigation. Maxi stated that she was better qualified than some newly minted detective. After some vigorous conversation, it was agreed that two uniformed Gendarmes and Maxi accompany Arpin, while Martinique coordinated matters in his absence.

The two uniforms, Doumerc and Teulet, under Martinique’s orders, acted as the vanguard. As they descended the gently spiraling stairway, their reflections in the amethyst walls suggested as if there was something sinister, lurking deeper within.

“Detective Class Première, have you seen anything like this before,” asked Teulet, who hoped he had.

“Exactly like this? No,” replied Arpin, “But I have encountered some unusual things. And Detective will suffice.”

“You were involved with the League of Spiders case, were you not?” asked Doumerc.

“He was the one who solved it!” interjected Maxi.

“You will find, that investigations are very rarely solved by one person. I was fortunate to have an excellent team working with me,” said Arpin.

“He’s being very modest,” added Maxi with a smile.

“Our consultant here was instrumental in that affair. I’m sure she could tell a tale or two.”

Doumerc & Teulet asked a dozen, rapid-fire questions to her, ranging from ‘What happened to the League of Spiders?’ to “Did they work with the Ministry of Chronology?’

Maxi shot Arpin a look and then said, “I’m afraid that modesty prevents me from revealing details of the affair, for the safety of the Arrondissement.”

“That and many, binding legal documents,” added Arpin.

“But mostly modesty,” Maxi said, determined to get the last word.

The Gendarmes were disappointed but understood.

Arpin sniffed the air, the faint scent of sharp pepper. Surprise.

“I suggest you unholster your morbi,” said Arpin.

Doumerc and Teulet did so as they continued down. Maxi kept her hand in her pocket but did not draw anything out. Winding down the staircase, they came to a large copper double door, which was open at the landing below them. In front of the doors, a figure crouched.

Snapping their Morbi up, the Gendarmes shouted, “Hands up! You are bound by law!”

The figure remained still.

“You have until the count of trois!” said Teulet.

No reaction.

“Un, deux-” began Doumerc.

“Hold!” declared Arpin.

They obeyed, but still aimed their morbi at the figure. Arpin slowly walked to the crouched form and gently nudged it. There was no response. Kneeling, he felt for a pulse.

“This person is no longer a threat to anyone,” said Arpin.

Morbi were lowered and Maxi withdrew her hand from her jacket pocket.

“What killed them?” asked Maxi.

“Difficult to say, there are no visible wounds that I can detect. Whatever did this, I believe it was unexpected.”

Doumerc & Teulet knew of Arpin’s reputation as a solver of crimes and did not question his insights.

“I’m reluctant to disturb the body, and face the wrath of Doctor Flandrin,” said Arpin.

The Gendarmes agreed, the temper of the chirurgeon des morts was well known.

“Doumerc, if you would ascend and have Detective Martinique request the good doctor’s presence,” asked Arpin.

“At once sir!” she said, clicking her heels then headed up.

“Surprised to death?” mused Maxi.

“Or just surprised to be dying.”

Teulet, who had moved forward peered through the open doors.

“Detective Arpin, I see something.”

Arpin and Maxi stood and gazed at what Teulet was pointing at. It looked like a book.

“Why build such an elaborate protection for just a book?” the Gendarme asked.

“Some books are quite valuable, to the right buyer,” answered Maxi.

“Books can also be quite dangerous, depending on what is in them,” added Arpin, “Knowledge is perhaps, the most deadly thing anyone can have.”

Teulet wrote that down in his notebook and underlined it three times.

“I’ll get the book,” said Teulet.

“Wait Teulet!”

But the Gendarme had already crossed the threshold. He turned back to look at Arpin and Maxi, his eyes wide.

“Apologies Detective,” said Teulet.

“Are you unharmed?”

Checking himself, the Gendarme nodded.

“I’m happy to hear that. Please look at the book, what is the title?”

Teulet moved over to the dropped tome.

“The cover is face down. Should I pick it up?”

Arpin glanced at Maxi, who asked, “Do you have gloves?”

“Yes, mademoiselle.”

“You should put them on right now,” she suggested.

“I would follow her advice, Gendarme.”

Pulling on his gloves, Teulet cautiously lifted the book and turned it over.

“The cover reads, Volume CCCLVII,” he said.

“Is there anything on the spine?” Maxi asked.

“Just the numerals,” he said.

Before Arpin or Maxi could speak, he opened the book. They both froze in place, waiting for something terrible. However, terrible was oddly absent.

“Interesting,” said Teulet, “Here, look at this.”

As he said that, he stepped back over the threshold and crumpled on the landing. Arpin rushed to his side, but it seemed, that terrible was only late.

“Merde,” he sighed.

“I’m sorry,” she said as she lay her hand on his shoulder.

“He was a promising young Gendarme,” murmured Arpin, “What a waste.”

They sat there for a moment, the only sound was the faint crackle of the copper lamps.

Maxi looked up and saw that Volume CCCLVII lay on the other side of the doorway, face down. She cleared her throat and pointed. Arpin’s whiskers quivered and he said, “It seems as though this book does not wish to leave.”

“That’s new,” said Maxi.

Arpin took out his notebook and quickly wrote something. He tore it out, folded it, and slid it into Gendarme Teulet’s tunic. Doctor Flandrin’s name was on the top in large letters.

“Are we not waiting for the doctor?” asked Maxi.

Arpin’s whiskers twitched as he replied, “Even if we do, he will likely complain. I believe his reaction is unavoidable. I suggest we press forward.”

“Very bold!” she said with a smile.

“Here all we have are questions. Below I believe, are the answers.”

With a nod, they stepped over the threshold and continued downward, both of them giving the book a wide berth. Knowledge was, as Arpin said, a deadly thing.

Posted in Adventure, Arrondissement, Magic, Mysterious, Short Stories, Urban Fantasy, Writing | Tagged Abstract, Abusrdist, Arrondissement, Book, Books, burglary, case, Crime, Death, Detective, Difficulties, Explore, Fantasy, fiction, Friendship, Gendarmes, hidden passage, investigation, Magic, missing, Mystery, Panic Room, Relationships, secret passage, Short Stories, Short Story, Surreal, Theft, threshold, Urban Fantasy, Writing | Comments Off

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