Ideworld Chronicles: The Art Mage

I arrived in tandem with Alex in the hotel's lobby just as Penrose returned from the front desk to the site of the battle. We'd had a view of the entire area through the paper spiders the whole time, so it was easy to choose the right moment.

“Phillip,” I addressed him the moment my feet touched the wet ground. Hotel’s stuff begun the cleaning effort at a point not so long ago. “Good to see you again, sir.” I decided an honorific would make for a better conversation starter.

He froze only briefly at my appearance. Thomas, standing beside him, instinctively aimed one of my pistols at me, only to stare at his suddenly empty hand when I teleported it back into my own. I still had the anchors I'd prepared for each of my new weapons.

“Gertrude?” Penrose asked, his voice cracking slightly before he steadied himself, straightening from his slumped posture. He lifted his chin and shifted his gaze from Alex back to me. “Likewise.”

“It seemed to me you were in dire need of some logistical help.”

Some of the people who had entered this place a few weeks ago were now sitting on benches scattered throughout the lobby, while Ramirez walked from one group to another, taking reports and explaining the situation. Apparently, they'd been trapped in various rooms and were only now being released, along with their returning lucidity.

“That would indeed be a desirable outcome. How are you alive? Is this a trick?” Phillip asked. Very carefully, and with uncanny elegance, he slipped a stack of banknotes from beneath his suit and concealed them behind his back with sleight of hand. He did it so quickly I would've missed it completely if not for the spider eyes hidden in the corners of the hall.

“If I said it wasn't, what would that even change? Only my actions from this point onward will convince you, so we either skip straight to whatever test you have in mind, or assume I've already passed it.” I carefully balanced on the soles of my feet, ready to face any examination his wicked sense of worth and truth required.

“He cried for you,” Alex whispered, covering his face with a hand. “You could be a bit kinder.”

“Excuse me?” Phillip asked, raising but one brow up. His fingers did a wave, stretching and reading for whatever action would he come up with.

“He told me to be nicer. I'm alive because of him. He's an archmage of the Domain of Strings, Mr. Weatherlight. A friend I made during one of my Ideworld escapades. His music is fucking metal enough to wake the dead. Or so it seems.” I smiled toward Alex, who answered with a polite bow.

“At your service,” he said.

“An archmage?” Phillip's both brows rose and his posture relaxed while Thomas's muscles tensed instead. Funny how they both reacted to figures of authority in entirely opposite manner, Phillip turning on the sweet-talker, while Thomas resorting to caution and restraint.

I figured it was better to start spreading rumors about my Personas' grandeur now, so they'd be treated with what Thomas was showcasing by other mages. While my true, born identity remained hidden behind a veil of secrecy, suggesting someone far less impressive than Alexandra really was, Alex's identity would become the sun created to outshine the truth, until people’s belief enough would become the will to make it happen regardless. Or at least quicken the process.

“Happens when you pull the right strings,” Alex replied nonchalantly, with a twirl of his hand.

“You spared us when you could've killed us. I appreciate the self-control.” Phillip took a step toward us, paused when Thomas failed to follow the cue, then continued walking once Torque once again became his shadow. “I think it's safe to say we've made it through.” Penrose gestured toward the people they'd recovered. “The team we came to find is here, and we'll begin rearranging the hotel to better suit my needs shortly.”

“Glad to hear it, boss man.” I set my free hand on the hip.

“Did you come for the payment?” Phillip asked, while Thomas shifted uncomfortably. He still hadn't come to terms with being someone I'd fought to free.

“You could say that.” I rolled the gun over my finger like cowboys used to and pretended to holster it before sending it away into the Domain.

Penrose reacted on instinct, throwing the money in front of himself and shaping it into a shield.

Alex laughed at that, and calm music began playing from the speaker on his back. There was no Authority woven into it yet.

“Why so tense, sir?” I mocked him. I enjoyed the fact that the power dynamic between us had become far more even, and I intended to keep taking advantage of it.

“I assume Sophie and Peter are dead because of my actions.” He took a step back, hiding fully behind the barrier he'd created.

“You got lucky, Penny,” I replied, and Alex's music stopped. “Peter's so far down the rabbit hole I doubt any of your assassins could find him, and Sophie survived your attempt on her life. So if you have any more hitmen lying around waiting for future jobs, I'd advise hiring better ones.” I strolled toward the drunkard sleeping on the bench in the corner and stopped just few feet away.

“And drop any future attempts on Miss... Gertrude's friends.” Alex whispered, playing his part perfectly. His jaw was clenched, his eyes focused, and with all those scars he looked like the scariest motherfucking archmage around. Someone who, despite his calm demeanor, would mince you in seconds if you crossed him.

“Of course, Mr. Weatherlight,” Phillip replied.

“I will leave a few of my spiders here, Phillip, so if you need a lift back home, just speak aloud and I'll try to come as soon as possible to pick you up. Travel back and forth between worlds might become an obstacle for the foreseeable future, though.”

“How so?” Penrose asked, while his money fell back onto the ground.

“All of the Guild gates were destroyed while you were absent. There was a terrorist attack, and right now only Gertrude and I can travel between worlds with ease. At least among the people I know.”

“That's a development I did not anticipate, but it may become an opportunity. I'll definitely call in that favor when I'm ready to leave this place.”

“I know,” I replied. “And about the payment. I'll expect the money as soon as you can wire it.”

“And Thomas?” Phillip asked, and the two men exchanged glances.

“I'll leave that up to you, Tommy,” I said, addressing the man in question. Phillip didn't like that one bit. The corner of his mouth twitched. “If you decide to remain associated with our lovely boss, then that's your funeral, judging by how well our last joint endeavor went. If you choose to do something else entirely, I'll keep my fingers crossed for you. And if you'd like to work for me, you're free to do so as well. Just know that it'd most likely also lead to your funeral.” I smiled. “I will, however, bring flowers when that happens.”

“Lovely choices,” Torque replied. “Every single one of them. I'll think them through.”

I waved him off and sat down on the bench beside the sleeping, filthy man. Somehow, he still held onto the bottle with the hand dangling over the edge of the bench.

This passage traces back to the NovelPhoenix site and was copied without the author's permission. Reading it there supports the creator.

“That’s all from me,” I told them. “If you need anything else.”

Penrose responded with a shake of his head but never took his eyes off Alex. He and Thomas headed over toward Ramirez, though I knew Phillip was just as interested in the sleeping man beside me. If anything, he'd proven himself a potential problem for future development if he decided to stay.

I poked the man while Alex positioned himself in front of him.

“Not waking up,” he noted.

“He is fucking wasted,” I said, shoving him a little harder. He grunted, mumbled something through his snores, rolled over, and fell off the bench onto the wet floor.

“It’s a miracle he isn’t dead already. Maybe we should dispose of him while he sleeps?” I asked thinking about Penrose slicing his throat.

“I don’t like it.”

“You're a wuss,” I said, pulling Noxy straight out of the Domain and prodding the unconscious drunkard with the barrel, pressing it a few times into his ribs. “Fuck it.” I laid Noxy on the bench beside me and gave him Authority to move.

His spider-like limbs unfolded from the frame in a brilliant display of settling rainbow-colored shadowlight, and he dropped onto them, the grip now pointing upward. His eye remained closed, but he responded to the plea of my soul. Darkness gathered around him, drawn out of the air and into the canvas wrapped around the barrel.

A second later, a shot tore through the hall. It sounded like the fucking gates of Hell being ripped off their hinges. A thin crevice split reality itself, lingering for the briefest instant between the spent casing that bounced across the floor and Rei's ruined corpse. Where Noxy struck him, his torso exploded into a spray of blood and shredded flesh, leaving only his head impaled on the spike.

The blast was so loud that everyone in the lobby jumped to their feet and looked toward us, including the drunk. To his credit, he was already crouching with an ornate, long, serrated knife, still surrounded by settling shadowlight, pressed against my throat.

“Shiet,” he mumbled, one finger stuffed into an ear. “You think that's funny?” His voice was groggy, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused, yet despite the state he was in, he sounded surprisingly coherent.

“I tried to be more subtle, but you weren't waking up, so I improvised,” I replied slowly, each word pressing my skin a little harder against the blade. A thin line of red flowed along its edge.

“That... might be a clue.” He gulped mid-sentence, then withdrew the knife. “The fuck you want?”

“I wanted to thank you for getting rid of whatever that thing was we fought.”

“Whatever. You weakened it enough to make it want to go away. You are mentally ill, lady. I told you.” He dropped the knife onto the ground and covered his mouth for a heartbeat, which resulted in him vomiting all over his hand and onto the floor. The rest of his stomach contents slowly dripped from his fingers as he waved the hand in front of his face before flicking it toward the ground in disgust. The blade disappeared into thin air almost the moment it left his palm. “So... sorry. I told you you'd die if you called it.” Deeper in the hall Thomas pinched on his nose, while his own cheeks bulged for a second. He held it in.

“I didn't die... technically. Which is, arguably, the most important part of not dying.”

“Because I helped. And I didn't want to. It was nice forgetting, over and over again.” He pressed his back against the backrest.

“Then why did you help?”

“Because I fucking remembered why I started drinking in the first place. Shiet.” He spat onto the floor. Part of it hung from his lower lip, caught in his long, tangled beard. “Didn't want to have you on my conscience too. When I could help.”

“You're a mage.”

“Obviously.” He tried to stand but lost his balance. Alex caught him and helped him back onto the bench. The man answered with nothing more than a nod toward my male self. “You need something besides being grateful?”

“Being even more grateful? I can get you out of here.”

“But I want to be here. Booze is free and never-ending. It's easy to forget yourself with it, when you're not fighting an eldritch godling, that is.”

“The man over there,” I said, pointing toward Penrose, “is going to change this place. I have a feeling it won't stay as welcoming, and with you being wasted most of the time... let's just say he might want you gone sooner or later.”

“But I'm just a harmless old man,” he whispered, staring at the floor before burying his head in both hands.

“Old, maybe. Harmless, not so much. And unfortunately, Penrose knows that.”

“Fuck. I should never have helped you. It was fucking peaceful in here.”

“That isn't exactly the word I'd use to describe this place. Care to tell me how you ended up here?” I assumed that even the bitterest person sometimes wanted to share something, if only to lighten the burden of carrying their own story. He had definitely been a good man once, even if he no longer believed it himself. He'd had the chance to kill Penrose back at the bar and walked away instead. He'd chosen to help us against that creature, despite genuinely liking the strange peace he'd found here, simply to save me. And he'd tried to warn me again and again before any of it happened.

“Not really. What are you, some kind of therapist mage or something?” he asked and I couldn't hold back a laugh. I also couldn't help noticing Penny shooting a glance back at us.

“Far from it. You use the Domain of Alcohol?” Now he was the one that chuckled.

“No. Booze helps, though. Helps a lot.” He nodded toward Phillip. “This old guy... is he an archmage or something? Should I obey his requests?”

“Are you one?”

“Hasn't exactly made my life any easier.” He leaned back until his temple rested against the wall, his face turned toward the ceiling. “Where can you take me? I don't fancy any more fighting.”

“I can take you to Ideworld's New York. Chinatown, for example. Or back to Earth. Mind you, the Guild gates are gone, so if you want to return later, you'll have to go Opening hunting.”

“And what do you want in return for that favor?”

“Nothing,” I lied, working on the assumption that he really was a good man. If he was, asking for nothing would leave him feeling more indebted to me than any payment ever could.

“Good-hearted lass, huh?” He squinted at me, as if he could not believe it. “Gonna get yourself hurt or killed next time you decide to challenge an Aether's denizen.”

“Is that what Eldritch beings are?”

“Yeah... This one was just a child though.” He fell silent for a moment. “I haven't seen Earth in so long I've forgotten what it looks like. Wouldn't mind taking a peek.” Then he pissed himself and groaned in relief. “Sorry,” he added a moment later, remembering he wasn't alone. Urine kept on flowing on the ground from one of his leg sleeves, then it slowed just to a drip.

“Fuck!” Thomas shouted somewhere.

“It's understandable. Doesn't really make you smell any worse.”

“I imagine.” He took a long, tired breath. “I owe you.” His eyes settled on me, carrying so much sadness. They glistened with moisture from long-forgotten tears that had overstayed their welcome. “If we meet again, I'll try to repay you somehow, lass.”

“No need,” I replied, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Now don't resist. I'll get you out of here.”

“They call you Gertrude,” he said, meeting my eyes for an instant, then turning away. The gesture stopped me from immediately getting us out of here and onto Times Square.

“Yes. Gertrude Monkey.”

“My name is David Taylor. It has only now occurred to me that I should have introduced myself properly. I might not be much help to you, and I certainly will not promise to be, but I will try to get to Boston in time. I had a place of my own on the Guild grounds there, so if you—”

“Harvard?” I interrupted, shifting my weight from one leg to the other.

“Yes.”

“Say no more,” I replied, and focusing on the familiar memory, captured in watercolor painting within the spellbook I forced the world to move us to the front of the Solomon Gate. The same gate that was decorated with various Alice in Wonderland references and led to Boston’s famous university campus. And where the permanently anchored gateway quietly hummed in the air. Alex chose to vanish into the Domain instead.

“Full of surprises, aren't you?” he asked, then vomited onto his own feet. “Apologies. Your method of transportation does not agree with my stomach.”

“Accepted.” I began thinking about Thomas and his aversion to that particular smell and how in some peculiar manner it connected to this place too. “Will you be fine on your own?”

“Yes... shiet. Maybe?” He wiped the freshly returned contents of his stomach from his beard.

“Doesn't really fill me with confidence.”

“It's difficult, returning home after so much time. What year is it, by the way?”

“2026. January. Almost February, actually.” His eyes opened wider. The street was quiet, with only a few patches of snow and dirt refusing to give up here and there.

“Is time not in your favor, old man?”

“We'll see about that. I was gone twenty-five years.”

“You might want to get your liver checked. Might find a few surprises and unwanted guests in there. Better to deal with that early.” His face, difficult to read beneath the overgrown, stained beard, still showed signs of sorrow. His eyes especially.

“I don't fear illness. I fear people.”

“Good call. They weren't exactly forthcoming and friendly the last time I was here, so be careful about using magic over there.”

“I know the rules, but thank you.” He smiled, if the movement of his beard and mustache hadn't deceived me. His eyes, however, didn't match the expression on his mouth in the slightest.

“Why are you afraid?”

“I once held an important post. And I abandoned it when it demanded abuses I couldn't live with. I hope that, with time, my peers learned some understanding.” He looked at the Opening shimmering just a few feet away, casting its unnatural light across the metal bars of the closed gate inside it.

“I will keep my fingers crossed, but won’t hold my breath.”

“Shiet. Fear never stopped me before.” He looked back at me, then twisted his body toward the portal. The movement threw him off balance, and he stumbled, catching himself against a nearby wall. “Fear unanswered is...” he mumbled something.

“Excuse me? I didn't catch that last part.”

“Oh, it's just a mantra I like to repeat. Fear unanswered is a prison we build for ourselves.”

“Prisons can be safe sometimes. Safer than what's outside.”

“And yet, they're prisons all the same.” He turned his head, bowed to me, and stepped into the Opening, which swallowed him whole.