Lady Luck Casino Black Hawk - Casino and Hotel in Colorado

Continuing… (It's Part 6 in the saga, I fucked up. Sorry.)
So, after a few re-fueling and impromptu cigar-purchasing stops in South and Central America, we wheel up to the deserted jetway at LAX.
“Thought we were going to Elmendorf?” I asked.
“This isn’t it?” the pilot replied, feigning worry.
“No.”, I replied, “Looks like California. Fruits and nuts. All around. What’s going on? One minute we’re off to Texas, then Cali, then Texas again, now we end up here at the California airport of the iconic tower.”
“Yeah, it’s confusing enough haulin’ civilians around. But when we get a call from Virginia, we tend to comply without any questions,” the pilot explains.
“Aw, shit!”, I sort of exclaim, “Rack and Ruin called?”
“Yeah”, the pilot replies, “Figures you’d know these guys. They said they were closer to LAX rather than Texas and had us divert here. In fact, you look over there, see that dark blue Chevy? That’s them; and evidently, your ride.”
I tipped the airman from earlier a couple of cigars as he helped me with my gear off the plane and into the trunk of Rack and Ruin’s plain-Jane blue late modeled Chevy. Had to move the Sidewinder Missiles off to one side, though.
“Most honorable Agents Lack and Luin!” I quipped in my faux-racist greeting. “What the hell, guys? I’ve got to get to Japan and get some newly rigidified digits.”
“Let’s see your hand”, Agent Rack asks. “Nasty.”
“Yeah”, I sigh “And with the medicos in South America and their penchant for plaster, I don’t so much have a left hand as more of an ankylosaur tail.”
“Or Thagomizer”, Agent Ruin tittered. “Anyone gives you grief, and one upside the head should set them right. Or dead.”
“You’re a riot, Ruin.” I replied, “But not entirely incorrect.”
We all agreed that I really didn’t need any extra accouterments to make myself look more dangerous. I mean with my severe haircut, stern beard clip, and perpetual ‘Go fuck yourself’ scowl.
“Yeah”, I replied, stroking the aforementioned beard, “I just can’t get that. I’m such a people person.”
After Agents Rack and Ruin finished drying their eyes from laughing what I thought was en extremis, we finally got down to business.
“So, what’s the skinny, guys”, I asked. “New marching orders?”
“No. Not as such”, Agent Ruin said, still sniggering over my ‘people person’ comment.
I see we’re moving. Agent Rack is just driving casually, like Chewbacca when they were waiting to see if the Empire went for that expensive Bothan code.
“Then, what?” I asked, getting a slight bit piqued.
“Well”, Agent Ruin noted, “When you went to South America, you took some of your artillery collection with, correct?”
“You know I did. You even made some snide comments about my personal choice of sidearms and their ‘excessive’ calibers, if memory serves”, I reiterated.
“And if you are proceeding normally, as you always do, they’re all nestled in the trunk of this very car. All cleaned, quiet, unloaded, and smelling sweetly of Hoppe’s Number 9 and WD 40, correct?” Rack inquired.
“Yes?” I cautiously venture.
“Well, ya’ big dummy, do you think they’re going to let you saunter into Tokyo armed like the Third Fleet?” Agent Ruin chuckled.
“Um…well…I do have a Diplomatic Passport.” I ventured.
“That’s not going to work this time.”, Agent Ruin said, shaking his head. “They’re tighter than Dick’s Hatband about sidearms. Want to bring in your Rigby SXS .500 Nitro Express double rifle? Not a problem. Sidearms, especially in your alien hunting calibers, nope.”
Well, that’s just….*dandy!”, I reply, semi-put out. “Now what the hell am I going to do?”
“Ever think that’s why Ruin and I are here, now?”, Rack asks.
“And here I thought it was just so you could bask in the warm glow of my fucking wonderful personality. Or that you actually cared about me as a real goddamn human”, I joshed.
“Ummm…yeah”, Rack replies, “There’s no way we can answer that without going on some Deadpool list. “
I agreed.
“OK, here’s the deal: you get your sidearms, ammunition, speed loaders, brass knuckles, Asp, laser range finders, Sap, Zeiss scopes, Kukri, Wisconsin Cheese Whittler, Buck folding skinner, Marine K-Bar, those two ultra-illegal Cheburkov Cobra titanium switchblades...”
“Three. Olga the KGB lady sent me one for Geologist’s Day.”
“Ahem. Those three ultra-illegal Cheburkov switchblades, that Wyoming Speedholer, your MASER Time-Distance Computer, garrote, pocket rail gun and whatever else lethal you carry and deposit it in the iron box in the trunk. We’ll ensure that it’s delivered to Esme post-haste. And by post-haste I mean one of our guys will deliver it personally.”
“Well…I suppose”, I conceded, “But best send someone who’s been to the house recently. I don’t know how much bigger Khan has grown since I left on this little fantasy trip. Wouldn’t want a star on the wall in Langley for someone eaten by a mastiff. Want to see a picture….Oh, bother. That’s right. My phone’s at the bottom of fucking Lake Maracaibo.”
“Good point”, Ruin interjects, “Guess we’ll do a little road trip and deliver it ourselves. Best call Esme and let her know what’s going on.”
“I have no objections to your proposals. Please give Esme this when you see her. I had some luck in the Calaveras Casino and if I don’t send her some mad money. Ouch. She’ll never forgive me for not taking her along to Japan.” I asked.
“But I thought Esme hated Japan? Too crowded and too ‘fussy’, I believe was her estimation.” Ruin asked.
“Yes, but once she saw the Ginza, all bets were off. Shopping the likes of which even Allah himself hasn’t seen.” I replied, slowly shaking my head.
“I see”, Ruin said, “Well, since you’re off to Sapporo, perhaps you can do a recon for Esme on the shopping there.”
“Not bad. Not bad at all.”, I smiled, “Now I know why I let you guys hang around with me.”
So, as advertised, I am now standing on the tarmac at LAX, basically feeling naked.
“Can’t I keep just one switchblade?” I moaned to Agent Rack.
“Go ahead, if you’re really keen on donating it to Japanese customs”, he replied.
“Fuckbuckets.” I groused.
“There, there now. That’s the usual Dr. Rocknocker of which we’re all so fond.” Agent Ruin chuckled.
“Remember, you do have that wallet-sized credit card gizmo from the Company. So you’re not entirely ‘naked’. Think of it as an emergency breechcloth.” He smiled.
“I’d like a larger model if you don’t mind. It’s chilly out here.” I joshed.
After Agents Rack and Ruin stripped me metaphorically naked as they de-weaponized me, they handed me a Business Class ticket to Tokyo, and a pass to the Japan Airlines Hospitality Suite and Lounge.
“So sorry you guys can’t hang around and have a few farewell snorts”, I chided, “But you’ve got a bit of a drive, so best be off before the weather turns to shit.”
“Who says we’re driving?” Agent Rack asked as he hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the ready and waiting C-130 cargo plane currently taxiing slowly in our direction.
“Well, in that case”, I smiled even more broadly, “Let’s invite the flight crew to join us. That’ll make the flight home all that much more interesting.”
After near tear-jerking farewell sentimentalities, i.e., “Piss on you”, “Get stuffed” and “Take a fuckin’ hike”; Agents Rack and Ruin, my weapons and the Agency’s plain-Jane Blue Chevy were all nestled snugger than buggers in ruggers in the belly of the thundering C-130.
Now truly on my own, I trudge the hundred thousand or so centisteps to my departure terminal, make a quick recon that my flight’s still slated to go in a generally westward direction, and hightail it to the nearest courtesy desk to ask for a motorized cart to take me and my remaining luggage to the JAL Hospitality Suite.
Hey. I’m old, infirm, and currently among the walking wounded.
Anyone that disagrees risks an Ankylosaur tail club swat or Thagomizer to the skull.
Finally ensconced in the JAL Hospitality Suite, Polo Lounge of course; I was drinking Tokyo Teas (3 oz. vodka, 2 oz. gin, 2 oz. rum, 1 oz. triple sec, 1 oz. Midori, good splash of lime juice, a slight splash of 7-Up (diet, of course), over ice with a lime wheel) with Pabst Blue Ribbon Extra 1844 chasers and Hangar One’s “Fog Point” vodka on the side, hiding from the brutish realities of this foul year of two thousand and twenty-something, Common Era…
I’ve already called Esme and we’ve had a good, long chat. She still managed to give me her shopping list for whenever I find myself bored on the Ginza.
She’ll be shocked when she learns that I’m not going to be in Tokyo long, but have 1st class tickets on the Bullet Train to Sapporo. Still, I’ll probably find myself in Pole Town or the Stellar Place there, trading piles of US greenbacks for locally produced Japanese curios and clothing.
I can hardly wait.
I order another round of drinks, as the wonderful attendants in the Hospitality Suite were bored out of their skulls because of the COVID-induced drop-in customers flying anywhere that requires a hospitality room stay, and I was virtually the only one around. They tried their level best to outdo each other when it comes to Japanese efficiency and friendliness.
After a couple of hours, they ask if I would like something from the grill, as the day chef had “the COVID” and the night chef just arrived. A quick perusal of the menu and I chose a 28-ounce dry-aged Porterhouse and another round of drinks.
I usually don’t like to eat too much before I fly, but JAL tells me the flight is going to be virtually empty, something like <121 pax, all told, so restroom availability shouldn’t be too much of a concern.
Plus, who am I to say no to a free, blue 28-ounce dry-aged Porterhouse?
There was a bit of difficulty conveying to the chef through the intermediaries of the hospitality just how I wanted my steak.
“Blue,” I said.
“Brue?” was the reply.
“Rare. Very, very rare.” I continued.
Look of total bewilderment.
I drag out my Personal Language Pro, speak “Steak, very, very rate” into the infernal gizmo, and hand the contraption to the attendant.
“珍しい、非常に珍しいステーキ?”[ Mezurashī, hijō ni mezurashī sutēki?]
“Raw! Nama!” I say, louder than need be.
They toddle off to find the chef.
“How is it sir, that you would like your steak cooked?” he asks.
“Very rare. Just a minute or two per side. Inside still cold.” I instructed.
All I got for the trouble was a puzzled smile.
“Give me the language gizmo…” I type in a few words…
“お尻を洗い、角をノックオフして、ここから出してください”
[O shiri o arai,-kaku o nokkuofu shite, koko kara dashite kudasai.]
“Wash its ass, knock its horns off, and walk it out here.”
“OH!” as the lightbulb pops. “Rare. Got it! Excellent!” the chef laughs and zips back to the kitchen.
Like I always say, I’m nothing if not the international ambassador of amity and goodwill.
“Crack tubes!”
Dinner was fantastic. I do wish I could have somehow mailed the Porterhouse bone back home for Khan. After that hambone incident, he might even taste it.
Finally on the plane, in an almost empty Business Class, the flight captain informs us that we’re headed to Haneda Airport Tokyo and anyone not headed in that direction better ‘haul ass off’ the flight or forever hold their peace.
Late-night international flights tend to be a bit more wooly than your average Chicago to Omaha gig.
Especially when the flight’s damn near empty and we have the next 12 hours or so to be best friends.
We taxi, turn and head into the wind. I’m doctoring up a couple of dossiers and keeping my personal cabin attendant, Luna since there were two of us in Business and two business flight attendants, busy with her trying to play ‘Stump the Geologist’.
“I’ll bet you never had this before.” She beamed and handed me a tumbler of very dangerous-looking brown liquor.
I cautiously sniff, take a modest gulp, swirl and glug the rest down.
“Ohishi Single Sherry Cask”, I say with a muffled belch. “Light. Fruity. An Englishman’s drink.”
“Oh. You knew. Let me try again.” She smiles beatifically.
“I have no objections to your proposal.” I smile as nicely as this crotchety old Komodo Dragon could.
She returns with another flagon of spirits; it smells of obsidian, leather, and earth.
I just had some of this back in LAX. I take a snort, smile, and shotgun the rest.
“Hibiki Japanese Harmony…lovely stuff.” I smile. “A little light for my jaded palate, but I’d never turn it down if it were free.”
“Oh, you win again. Wait. One more.” She smiles and skitters off to the galley.
She returns with another soupçon of some more dangerous brown liquor.
“Here, try this. It will make you very popular at social gatherings”. She smiles.
Sniff. “Splendid.” Snort. Swirl. Smile. Shotgun.
“Kanosuke New Born, if I’m not mistaken.” I smile back. “Very nice. I really do like this one.”
“You too good at this. One more!” she stands and stomps off defiantly. She returns in a trice and hands me the glass.
“Hmm…brown. Light notes of earth, leather, dating your daughter, and Kentucky…
“Beam Suntory, right?”
“You know them all!” she says, feigning irritation.
“And I thank you. Those were all excellent. Now, anything in the dangerous clear liquor category? I asked.
Luna smiled as I palmed off a 20k yen tip.
“Oh, no sir. Wait until we land.” She demurred, referring to the gratuity; which is know is not de rigueur in the Orient, but she didn’t seem to mind.
“Just in case we never make it to Tokyo”, I laughed, unknowingly presciently.
We both chuckled about that last line as she tried out various sakes and shōchūs and an actual Japanese ‘White Liquor’ (ホワイトリカー), which were all excellent as was the company.
I tell her that I need to get some work done and could she bring me a tall Rocknocker. After explain the origins and construction of the eponymous drink, she brings me one that must tip the scales at 1 or so liters.
She settles down to an empty seat and I get after the work that I need to finish before we land. I’m about ½ way through my drink when it felt as if the plane hit a brick wall. She quivered and quaked and clutched at herself while I made some comments about the pilot’s mental health.
We dropped like a paralyzed falcon, then just as suddenly, felt like it was an express elevator to Angel’s 11. The plane bucked and shimmied, wickedly. Then we slam-danced right and fell a few more stories. It was like we were in a Mixmaster and the owner was trying out every speed.
The emergency lights in the 777-300ER popped on, and the fasten seat belt sign barked loudly so even sleeping travelers could enjoy the show.
Rinse. Spin. Shudder. Repeat.
Finally, the ride smooths out and we hear the captain on the blower.
“This is your captain speaking…ah, we seem to have hit some uncharted turbulence back there.”
“Thanks, Captain Obvious”, I muttered.
“Everything’s A-OK. “ he reports.
“That’s good”, I note.
“But…”
“There’s always the but…” I groan.
“…we have a couple of warning lights for which we can’t quite account. So to just be safe and certain, we’re going to divert to Hawaii, get a clean bill of health and resume this flight once we make sure everything here is hunky-dory.”
There were scattered groans and applause. Add them together and divide by two and the average response on the flight was “Meh. Whatever.”
Except for the other guy in Business, with whom I hadn’t shared two words. He began to absolutely lose his shit.
“Oh, man! We’re so screwed! Mechanical malfunction? What does that mean?” he positively fizzed with fear.
The flight attendants tried to calm him down, to no avail. They basically gave up and said they’d report his misgivings to the Captain.
I motioned over to my personal flight attendant, Luna, and asked if I could be of service.
“Oh, Doctor Rock”, she smiled at me, “If you could speak with him. You are so calm, and he is…”
“Losing his bloody mind”, I chuckled as I finished her sentence for her. “Of course, I’ll take a stab at it.”
So, I grab my drink and ease over to my Business Class partner and introduce myself.
“Hey, pal. How’s it going? I’m Dr. Rock, gentleman, scholar, and connoisseur of cigars and things alcoholic. You doing OK?”
He looks at me with an ashen face and his eyes the size of bloodshot dinner plates.
“Yeah. I’m Todd Schotts. I’m flying to Japan for business.” He mumbles
“No surprise there,” I reply calmly and take a slug of my drink.
“But now we’re all going to die. The plane is busted and we’ll crash…” he started off again.
“So, Todd is it? Good. You drink?” I asked.
“Yeah?”, he stammered back.
I asked Luna to make us a fresh batch of my eponymous cocktails.
“OK, Todd, listen up”, I began after the drinks were served, “I have flown literally millions of miles over the last 4 decades. On Aeroflot when it was still the USSR. On TACA (Take A Chance Airways), on Chalk’s in the Caribbean, on Bob’s Verrifast Plane Company in Rhodesia, on regional carriers that don’t even exist anymore. All over the world. Had some bad experiences flying, and me ol’ mugger, this ain’t one of them. This is nothing more than the glitch for this mission.”
I chuckled lightly and complimented Luna on a fantastic drink.
“Yeah…yeah…yeah…but we have to land and check out some lights…” Todd squealed.
“Well now, Todd. It would be rather difficult to do any external assessment while in flight, don’t you agree?” I asked.
“But we’re diverting. We have to land and that adds more risk. We’re going to crash and die!” he was coming more and more unglued.
“I will bet you every cent you have on your person and home bank accounts that that will not happen”, I chuckled.
That took him by surprise. At least it shut him up for a while.
“Look, Todd. This is Boeing’s latest model. They have the most incredible safety record. And if a little clear air turbulence were to be knocking planes out of the sky, don’t you think we’d hear about it as the press went berserk?” I asked.
“But they don’t know what the lights mean! What if one of the engines’s out? How far can we fly on one engine?” Todd stuttered.
Having my fill of a supposedly grown man with inane childlike fears, I calmly replied,
“All the way to the crash site.”
He went white.
“...hope we hit something hard. I don’t want to limp away from this.”
He went limp.
Then I went to my seat and motioned for Luna to prepare a reload.
Of course, 45 minutes later, we land without incident at Daniel K. Inouye International Airport, Honolulu Hawaii.
We were told to just wait around until they figure out what the problem if any, was.
They had officials waiting at the end of the jetway to check our COVID status and passports before they let us loose in the terminal.
I asked Luna if she knew this airport. She noted that she did.
“Is there a JAL hospitality room here at this airport? I asked.
“Yes, Doctor. It’s the Sakura Lounge. It is located on the third level above The Local, Terminal 2.” She replied.
“Please notify whoever needs to know that that’s where I’ll be for the duration”, I smiled and handed her my business card. “See you soon, I hope.”
“Oh, Dr. Rock”, she replied, “I am sure it is nothing much. We’ll be back in the air within mere hours.”
“Well then”, I smiled, “Guess I’d better get ready to hoof it to the lounge.”
“Oh, Doctor Rock”, she smiled, “No rush. I will call for you a courtesy cart. You are injured, you are Business, you are priority.”
“I love that Asian efficiency.” I smiled back and toddled down the jetway.
At the terminus of the jetway, I show my COVID-clear papers, dates and times of my Anti-Virus vaccine administrations, the letter from Virginia clearing me of all detention, and my red Russian diplomatic passport.
While in the cart, whizzing our way to the JAL lounge, the driver said “Man! You must be some kind of VIP. You were through that welcoming committee in less than two minutes!”
“Me? Nah!”, I chuckled, “Just an old phart of a geologist that they didn’t want to mess with. Not on such a bright, sunny day as this.”
“I see you’re not wearing a mask.” The driver quipped.
“Very observant. There are reasons for that.” I replied.
He careens around a corner and if this were a normal pre-Covid day, I’m certain we’d have killed hundreds. However, the airport, as I’ve come to grow accustomed to, was virtually deserted.
“Yeah? Like what?” he asks.
“Well, Scooter, 1. I have an active and hardworking immune system that I let off the chain every once in a while for exercise. Got to let it know what it’s up against, right? 2. I’ve had all my shots and some that were experimental. They seem to have worked. And 3. I find it difficult to drink and smoke cigars while wearing a mask. However, if you’d prefer, I will mask up. No problem, though it still is optional.”
“Nah, man”, he said, “I was just wondering if you were one of those religious idiots or conspiracy nuts.”
Nope”, I smiled back, “Just another geologist out in the world plying his trade for cash. Y’know, whorin’ around for money.”
He laughs aloud as we skid to a stop right in front of Lounge.
I slip the guy a $20 and ask if he’d listen for the JAL flight I was just on. If we’re going on ahead today, I’d need him to scoot by and putt-putt me back to the plane.
He laughs and pockets the $20 as quick as a mink ruts.
“No worries. I’ll just hang around this area. I hear anything about the flight, I’ll come and let you know.” He grins.
“Good man”, I say, as I hand him my card. “I’m Dr. Rocknocker. Call me Rock”.
“And I’m Kapula Mano, call me Kap” he replies.
“Good man”, I say again, “Hope to see you in a while.”
He grins, floors his electric cart, and peels out at speeds approaching 4.5 MPH.
I wander into the lounge, show my credentials, and am escorted to a post up on Mahogany Ridge.
The bar is very quiet. Besides the bartender, I can’t see anyone else in the darkened and Smooth Jazz-infused drinking emporium.
I order a local drink, a Mai Tai, just for the experience and something a bit different.
It’s served in a goldfish bowl on a stem, bedecked with a slice of lime, a sprig of mint, a stick of sugar cane, a polychromatic orchid, and the obligate paper umbrella.
“Ah. Mai Tai. I will enjoy it.” I said to no one in particular.
One was enough, and I decided to go back to the old standard. Once I explained to the bartender what that was, he made them heroic and enthusiastically.
I’m reading up on a random dossier, making notes in a new file, and puffing away on a Fuentes Onyx double Maduro Churchill cigar.
I hear a slight cough coming from my right, and this here lovely lady, she sat to my immediate starboard and looked at me semi-quizzically.
Not in the mood for shenanigans of any stripe, I give her the obligate Baja Canada nod and tilt of the drink. I return to my dossiers and continue to read and take notes.
“Excuse me!” I hear.
Fearing the worst, either the woman is Karen-oid anti-smoking or a religious fruit-and-nutburger, I slowly turn to face her and reply, somewhat glacially, I have to admit.
“What?”
“That cigar…”
“Here we go…” I mutter, eyes rolling northward.
“Smells exquisite. Could you tell me the brand? My husband would enjoy some like that.” She notes.
Instantly my demeanor switches 180^0.
“Yes, ma’am. It’s an Arturo Fuentes Onyx. Churchill size, or 60 ring x 7” length, double Maduro. Here, take one for your husband. I have an ample supply.” I smile.
“Oh, no. I couldn’t. Could I?” she asks.
“Please. I insist.” I smile the best I could given the circumstances.
“Thank you. You’re too kind…umm…Mr….?”
“Doctor. Doctor Rocknocker. World traveler, oilman, and international ambassador of amity, good drinks, and fine cigars. Call me Rock” I said.
“Oh! A Doctor?” she brightens.
“Yes, of Petroleum Geology and Engineering. Not medicine.” I chuckle.
She chuckles back.
“And I am Hella Aaberg”, as she offers her hand for a quick shake.
“Interesting name, Hella. Scandinavian or Old German heritage?” I ask.
“On my father’s side. He’s Finnish.” She replies.
“But I’ll wager your mother is not Scandinavian, correct?” I ask.
“She was from Truk, an island…”
“In the South Pacific, Micronesia. Was she from Weno city?” I asked.
“Why yes. How could you possibly know that?” she asked.
“Oh, I’ve been there. Great diving amongst the WWII wrecks. I think it’s actually called ‘Chuuk Lagoon’ or something like that now.” I said.
“That’s right! Amazing. Where else have you been?” she asked.
“Anywhere there’s oil, strife, booze, cigars, heavy explosives and typically long distances from whatever most normal people call civilization,” I replied with a chuckle.
Suddenly, I hear a voice booming out behind me.
“Why don’t you save that rapier-like wit for those musky-fuckers back home, Rocko?”
My expression changes. My eyes pop fully wide open.
“Hella?” I asked.
“Yes?”
“May I ask you a favor?”
“You can ask…”
“Thank you. Now, looking over my shoulder, is there a hulking goon of a person, thin up top, paunchy halfway down with the most ridiculously tiny sized shoes you’ve ever seen for a so-called grown man?” I ask.
“Yes. Yes, there is.” She replies.
“I thought so. Many thanks.”
I spin and launch off my barstool and grab Toivo by the hand. He hadn’t seen my left-hand Thagomizer yet.
“Toivo! You old sumbitch. What the flying fennec fox fuck are you, of all people, doing in Hawaii?” I laughed.
“Just keeping an eye on you, Rock!” he laughed equally as loud.
“No, fucking-A, seriously. What the actual fuck? What are you doing in this actual nice place?” I asked.
“Just headed to Tokyo to conduct a bit of service company business. I walked into the lounge and smelled a foul cigar. I figured it can’t be the venerable Dr. Rocknocker. He’s back at some school up north terrorizing geology and engineering grads and undergrads.” Toivo laughed.
“But there I was. Surprise!”, I laughed and pumped his hand.
“What the fuck, Rock. Now what did you do?” he asks, referring to my Ankylosaur tail club left hand.
“Ah, fuck. Long story. Oh, pardon me. Toivo, this is Hella. We were just talking about the South Seas Islands.” I said.
“Planning on running off together?” Toivo laughs, to the amusement of neither party.
“Oh, and this idiot is Toivo, a man with a congenital foot-in-mouth disorder. He’s mostly harmless.” I noted to Hella.
Greetings were shared all around. Hella made some small excuses and said she needed to depart. I gave her another cigar for her husband, shook her hand, and wished her well.
“Here’s my business card. If your husband has any questions, have him drop me a line.” I noted.
Hella smiled beautifully. She said she would. Then she thanked me shook our hands, and like that, there she was, gone.
“Well Toivo, you old bastard. Don't just stand there in the doorway like some lonesome goddamn mouse shit sheepherder, get your ass over here and have a drink.” I motioned over to my perch on Mahogany Ridge.
“Don’t mind if I do”, he says as he deftly winds his way to a seat to my left, snagging a cigar out of my pocket on the way over.
“You might want these”, I say in an exasperated tone, and hand him my gold Dunhill Hobnail lighter and V-cutter gizmo.
He cuts and fires up his heater.
“What you drinkin’, Rock”, he asks.
“Anything with alcohol, as usual. You know that Toiv.” I reply.
“No. I mean right now.” He clarifies.
“Well, I had a Mai Tai. Very nice if you like fruity, flowery drinks. It’s the locals’ favorite.” I reply.
“Sounds good. I’ll have several. And you?” Toivo asks.
“My usual. The bartender is already apprised of the situation.” I reply.
Toivo smiles the smile of one knowing his sobriety is going to be taken out for a swim. Hell, taken out and tossed into the deep end.
Toivo and I sit there, swapping lies, smoking cigars and sipping at our toddies.
Hell, Toivo was slurping them like a sump-pump during an extra-wet summer.
We chattered about family, work, whether or not Tokyo was going to host the Olympics or if the COVID-boogie man scared everyone off.
Toivo, always one afflicted with TB (“Tiny Bladder”) got up to go to the loo for the third time that hour. He left his pocket organizer on the bar and I swear on a stack of Origins of Species, I didn’t touch it.
I reached over to his vacated seat to retrieve my cigar lighter when I looked down and saw in his organizer a tab that reads “Rack & Ruin”.
“Oh. No. Fucking. Way.” I recoiled as I’d just reached out and petted a 6-foot hungover scorpion.
“One of my best friends? Secretly allied with the Agency? No. Not possible.” I drained my drink and called for another.
“No. No. No. It can’t be. No. No fucking way…” as doubt began to dissolve when I thought back to all those times I had just ‘run into’ Toivo.
“But he’s oil patch as well. That could be chalked up to coincidence.” I ruminated quizzically in my brain.
I quickly reflected back on J.M. Darhower: “Yes, you see, there’s no such thing as coincidence. There are no accidents in life. Everything that happens is the result of a calculated move that leads us to where we are.”
She may be the author of the execrable New Adult Sempre series, which Esme likes and I loathe, but she might just be right on this occasion.
Toivo return, lighter in the bladder and good sense. He never even noticed he’d left his organizer out in broad bar light for all to see.
“So, Toivo, when’s your flight?” I ask.
“Oh, man. Was I lucky. The JAL flight to Tokyo from Los Angeles had mechanical trouble and had to divert here. I got a ticket on the plane for that flight, when it continues.
“You mean ‘if it continues’,” I replied.
“Yeah. Yeah. That’s what I meant. Hey! Was that your flight?” he asks innocently. He’s really innocent of fieldcraft.
I decide to have some fun at my old friend’s expense.
“Yep. Hit some CAT (Clear Air Turbulence) and the JAL pilots reported some lighting problem. No apparent ruin to any of the systems. They relay racked their brains to figure it out, but they couldn’t that’s why I here.” I said, waiting for the words to swim upstream in Toivo’s coconut and make some sort of connection.
“Yeah. Double lucky. No problem with the plane and I get to go to Japan early.” Toivo crookedly grins.
“So, no trouble with the plane? Then why haven’t I heard that the flight’s going to resume?” I asked as I pushed a fresh, seriously strong drink to Toivo.
“Oh, must have heard it in the john.” Toivo countered and tried to cover his tracks by taking a huge gulp of his drink and damn near dying coughing.
I pound on Toivo’s back.
“Heimlich time?” I ask.
Toivo signals ‘no’.
“Jesus Christ, Rock. What was that?” he asks.
“Just my usual”, I innocently replied.
“Holy fuck. No wonder you have the reputation of…” Toivo realizes too late that he’s said too much.
“Yeah. They can rack you out. Really ruin a person if they’re not careful.” I reply icily.
“Why, Rock. Whatever do you mean?” Toivo slurred as he realized he’s been caught out.
“The jig is up, you turncoat. You know Agents Rack and Ruin from the agency. Right? You keeping tabs on me for them? You Quisling! You Benedict Arnold!” I almost was on the verge of losing my cool.
“It was nothing. They approached me years ago as I kept being mentioned in your reports. They asked me for some information. One thing leads to another…” Toivo was ready for an Ankylosaur tail club swat to the bean.
“Oh, put your fucking hands down, you asshole.” I smiled and chuckled.
“You’re not mad?” Toivo slurred badly. I had the bartender make him another special drink.
“No, Toivo. Not mad. Just disappointed.” I said, smiling like a Komodo Dragon just finishing up a fortnight-old wildebeest.
Toivo sat there and puzzled and puzzled until his puzzler was sore.
“You’re not going to kill me or anything rude like that?” Toivo asked, half-assedly trying to inject humor into the proceedings.
“Nah. The paperwork’s too ridiculous for me to do another liberation. But, Jesus Fucking Christwagons, Toivo; you could have mentioned it to me. Fuck, I thought we were friends to the end?” I said, dejectedly.
I was really getting through to Toivo. I could tell he was loaded; feeling like shit and massively deplorable.
Great fieldcraft, indeed.
I told him things “are what they are” and that I won’t blow his cover nor his honorarium.
He began to feel better. I often wonder if he was serious about the sanctioning thing.
Then I delivered the strategic missile strike.
“Just remember, Toivo. I wrote your dossier for the Company…”
He swivels to look at me.
“And one for the KGB. Olga says ‘howdy’.” I grin evilly.
Toivo short-circuited at that. Russia is his company’s bread and butter. Now he has the KGB as well as his best buddy looking over his shoulder at every move.
I bought him a few more drinks and continued to needle him about his ’leading a double life’. He was well and truly fuckered when the electric tap-tap driver from before came looking for me to whisk me back to the plane.
Seems it was simply some knocked-out wires on the plane, or slammed bulbs that were generating a false positive, indicating something other than the system that alerts one to something haywire went haywire.
Toivo was pretty much down for the count. I got him sober enough to hand them his ticket and ensure that he was really supposed to be on this flight. Thing was; h e was in Economy, and I was, as always, in Business.
I spoke to Luna, and the plane was going to be even less crowded than previously because some folks could or wouldn’t wait, or didn’t want to go on with the rest of the trip on a ‘damaged’ aircraft, or were just stupid and superstitious.
“Luna, could I pay for the difference between Business and Economy for my less than 100% conscious friend here? He’s had a rough day.” I asked.
“Dr. Rock. Just put him into Business. No one will be the wiser. Luna says so.” As she gave us a grand smile.
“Luna, I owe you. Thanks so much.” I said.
“Now get on board. Your friend looks like he needs all the downtime he can get.”
“Yes, ma’am!” I said and saluted here be best I could which dragging a schnozzled Toivo down the jetway.
I dumped Toivo in a window seat well away from my seat. I know Toivo. He snores like a semi-load of live hogs rocketing downhill locking up the brakes at 88 MPH.
Surprise! There was no one else in Business. Luna looked at me, at Toivo, and gave me a thumbs up.
Whatever I can write to further her career at JAL, she’ll have it before I deplane.
We finally get everyone settled, and with Captain Kangaroo at the helm, we bounced gracelessly off the tarmac, into the warm, tropical Hawaiian air, finally headed for the Land of the Rising Sun.
Toivo was snoring like a chainsaw hitting rusty nails as I worked on the various letters, communiques, and dossiers which needed updating before we reached touchdown. I gave Luna a thick letter with instructions not to open it until we were on the ground and Toivo and I were well off and away into the terminal.
We left Hawaii at 1300 hours, so we should arrive at Tokyo Nareda around 4:00 pm, the previous day. I was so bereft of time and time zones, I couldn’t figure out what time it really was, as judged by my biometric rhythms, so I asked Luna for a stiff drink as I was kicking off my boots and going to attempt to get some kip.
She brought me another liter or so eponymous drink. I was sawing logs by the time I slurped the last swig of that nifty drink.
Suddenly, or later, I have no idea really, some loudmouth drunk asshole from way-the-fuck-back in economy-land toward the ass end of the plane staggered into Business demanding free drinks.
Luna was nothing but civil, and asked him to both shut up and return to his seat. His air cabin hostess, or whatever the fuck they’re calling them these days, will attend to his needs.
“Naw they won’t! They want me to pay for more drinks! I’m broke but I demand more booze! You fucking owe me.” railed the asshole. “I sat at the bar in Hawaii for four hours. Them fuckers charged me an arm and a leg!”
“No, they don’t owe you shit”, I said in a voice that unmistakably loud and clear.
“Fuck you, old man! You stay the fuck out of this!” he bellowed. “Shut up or I’ll do ya’!”
“’Old man’? ‘Do me’? Excuse me. Luna, may I have a word alone with this individual?” I asked sweetly.
Luna shook her head in the affirmative, and I stood up to confront this flagrant asshole.
“Now look, Scooter. You have gone way, way over the fucking line. You are loud. You are abusive. You are obnoxious. And you stink. Plus you insulted a person who is just barely containing his righteous wrath right now. So, I’m giving you one and one only chance to shut up, sit back down before your body spontaneously develops all sort of bruises, contusions, broken bones, and unconsciousness.” I said calmly, evenly, and threateningly.
“What da’ fuck you think you’re going to do…old man?” he screeched, trying to inflate himself into full mammalian threat posture, all 5’ 9” of it.
He didn’t notice Toivo walking up quietly behind him, as Toivo was returning from the head, quiet as a moose.
“Well, Scooter, I am an Air Marshall. Duly appointed, fully trained, and properly pissed off. Right now, I can arrest you, physically detain you, turn this flight around and take you to the Hawaiian police, at your cost for the inconvenience of the entire flight. Or I could arrest you, physically detain you, and turn you over to the Japanese authorities when we land. It’s really your choice. Choose wisely.”
To be continued…⇝

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alarm,lawn mower,nail polish,Band-Aid,Star Wars,clothes hanger,toe,mud,coconut,jaw,bomb,south,firework,sailboat,loading,iPhone,toothpick,BMW,ketchup,fossil,explosion,Finn,Einstein,infinite,dictionary,Photoshop,trombone,clarinet,rubber,saxophone,helicopter,temperature,bus driver,cello,London,newspaper,blackberry,shopping cart,Florida,Daffy Duck,mayonnaise,gummy worm,flying pig,underweight,Crash Bandicoot,bungee jumping,kindergarten,umbrella,hammer,night,laser,glove,square,Morty,firehouse,dynamite,chainsaw,melon,waist,Chewbacca,kidney,stoned,Rick,ticket,skateboard,microwave,television,soil,exam,cocktail,India,Colosseum,missile,hilarious,Popeye,nuke,silo,chemical,museum,Vault boy,adorable,fast forward,firecracker,grandmother,Porky Pig,roadblock,continent,wrinkle,shaving cream,Northern Lights,tug,London Eye,Israel,shipwreck,xylophone,motorcycle,diamond,root,coffee,princess,Oreo,goldfish,wizard,chocolate,garbage,ladybug,shotgun,kazoo,Minecraft,video,message,lily,fisherman,cucumber,password,western,ambulance,doorknob,glowstick,makeup,barbecue,jazz,hedgehog,bark,tombstone,coast,pitchfork,Christmas,opera,office,insect,hunger,download,hairbrush,blueberry,cookie jar,canyon,Happy Meal,high five,fern,quarter,peninsula,imagination,microscope,table tennis,whisper,fly swatter,pencil case,harmonica,Family Guy,New Zealand,apple pie,warehouse,cookie,USB,jellyfish,bubble,battery,fireman,pizza,angry,taco,harp,alcohol,pound,bedtime,megaphone,husband,oval,rail,stab,dwarf,milkshake,witch,bakery,president,weak,second,sushi,mall,complete,hip hop,slippery,horizon,prawn,plumber,blowfish,Madagascar,Europe,bazooka,pogo stick,Terminator,Hercules,notification,snowball fight,high score,Kung Fu,Lady Gaga,geography,sledgehammer,bear 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code,clickbait,star,girl,lemon,alarm,shoe,soap,button,kiss,grave,telephone,fridge,katana,switch,eraser,signature,pasta,flamingo,crayon,puzzle,hard,juice,socks,crystal,telescope,galaxy,squid,tattoo,bowling,lamb,silver,lid,taxi,basket,step,stapler,pigeon,zoom,teacher,holiday,score,Tetris,frame,garden,stage,unicycle,cream,sombrero,error,battle,starfruit,hamster,chalk,spiral,bounce,hairspray,lizard,victory,balance,hexagon,Ferrari,MTV,network,weapon,fist fight,vault,mattress,viola,birch,stereo,Jenga,plug,chihuahua,plow,pavement,wart,ribbon,otter,magazine,Bomberman,vaccine,elder,Romania,champagne,semicircle,Suez Canal,Mr Meeseeks,villain,inside,spade,gravedigger,Bruce Lee,gentle,stingray,can opener,funeral,jet ski,wheelbarrow,thug,undo,fabulous,space suit,cappuccino,Minotaur,skydiving,cheerleader,Stone Age,Chinatown,razorblade,crawl space,cauldron,trick shot,Steve Jobs,audience,time machine,sewing machine,face paint,truck driver,x-ray,fly,salt,spider,boy,dollar,turtle,book,chain,dolphin,sing,milk,wing,pencil,snake,scream,toast,vomit,salad,radio,potion,dominoes,balloon,monkey,trophy,feather,leash,loser,bite,notebook,happy,Mummy,sneeze,koala,tired,sick,pipe,jalapeno,diaper,deer,priest,youtuber,boomerang,pro,ruby,hop,hopscotch,barcode,vote,wrench,tissue,doll,clownfish,halo,Monday,tentacle,grid,Uranus,oil,scarecrow,tarantula,germ,glow,haircut,Vatican,tape,judge,cell,diagonal,science,mustard,fur,janitor,ballerina,pike,nun,chime,tuxedo,Cerberus,panpipes,surface,coal,knot,willow,pajamas,fizz,student,eclipse,asteroid,Portugal,pigsty,brand,crowbar,chimpanzee,Chuck Norris,raft,carnival,treadmill,professor,tricycle,apocalypse,vitamin,orchestra,groom,cringe,knight,litter box,macho,brownie,hummingbird,Hula Hoop,motorbike,type,catapult,take off,wake up,concert,floppy disk,BMX,bulldozer,manicure,brainwash,William Wallace,guinea pig,motherboard,wheel,brick,egg,lava,queen,gold,God,ladder,coin,laptop,toaster,butter,bag,doctor,sit,tennis,half,Bible,noodle,golf,eagle,cash,vampire,sweater,father,remote,safe,jeans,darts,graph,nothing,dagger,stone,wig,cupboard,minute,match,slime,garage,tomb,soup,bathroom,llama,shampoo,swan,frown,toolbox,jacket,adult,crate,quill,spin,waiter,mint,kangaroo,captain,loot,maid,shoelace,luggage,cage,bagpipes,loaf,aircraft,shelf,safari,afterlife,napkin,steam,coach,slope,marigold,Mozart,bumper,Asterix,vanilla,papaya,ostrich,failure,scoop,tangerine,firefly,centaur,harbor,uniform,Beethoven,Intel,moth,Spartacus,fluid,acid,sparkles,talent show,ski jump,polo,ravioli,delivery,woodpecker,logo,Stegosaurus,diss track,Darwin Watterson,filmmaker,silence,dashboard,echo,windshield,Home Alone,tablecloth,backflip,headboard,licorice,sunshade,Picasso,airbag,water cycle,meatloaf,insomnia,broom,whale,pie,demon,bed,braces,fence,orange,sleep,gift,Popsicle,spear,zebra,Saturn,maze,chess,wire,angel,skates,pyramid,shower,claw,hell,goal,bottle,dress,walk,AC/DC,tampon,goatee,prince,flask,cut,cord,roof,movie,ash,tiger,player,magician,wool,saddle,cowboy,derp,suitcase,sugar,nest,anchor,onion,magma,limbo,collar,mole,bingo,walnut,wealth,security,leader,melt,Gandhi,arch,toy,turd,scientist,hippo,glue,kneel,orbit,below,totem,health,towel,diet,crow,addiction,minigolf,clay,boar,navy,butcher,trigger,referee,bruise,translate,yearbook,confused,engine,poke,wreath,omelet,gravity,bride,godfather,flu,accordion,engineer,cocoon,minivan,bean bag,antivirus,billiards,rake,cement,cauliflower,espresso,violence,blender,chew,bartender,witness,hobbit,corkscrew,chameleon,cymbal,Excalibur,grapefruit,action,outside,guillotine,timpani,frostbite,leave,Mont Blanc,palette,electrician,fitness trainer,journalist,fashion designer,bucket,penguin,sheep,torch,robot,peanut,UFO,belt,Earth,magnet,dragon,soccer,desk,search,seal,scribble,gender,food,anvil,crust,bean,hockey,pot,pretzel,needle,blimp,plate,drool,frog,basement,idea,bracelet,cork,sauce,gang,sprinkler,shout,morning,poodle,karate,bagel,wolf,sausage,heat,wasp,calendar,tadpole,religion,hose,sleeve,acorn,sting,market,marble,comet,pain,cloth,drawer,orca,hurdle,pinball,narwhal,pollution,metal,race,end,razor,dollhouse,distance,prism,pub,lotion,vanish,vulture,beanie,burp,periscope,cousin,customer,label,mold,kebab,beaver,spark,meme,pudding,almond,mafia,gasp,nightmare,mermaid,season,gasoline,evening,eel,cast,hive,beetle,diploma,jeep,bulge,wrestler,Anubis,mascot,spinach,hieroglyph,anaconda,handicap,walrus,blacksmith,robin,reception,invasion,fencing,sphinx,evolution,brunette,traveler,jaguar,diagram,hovercraft,parade,dome,credit,tow truck,shallow,vlogger,veterinarian,furniture,commercial,cyborg,scent,defense,accident,marathon,demonstration,NASCAR,Velociraptor,pharmacist,Xerox,gentleman,dough,rhinoceros,air 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Giant,floodlight,pear,sad,paw,space,bullet,skribbl.io,shirt,cow,worm,king,tea,truck,pants,hashtag,DNA,bird,Monster,beer,curtain,tire,nachos,bear,cricket,teapot,nerd,deaf,fruit,meteorite,rice,sniper,sale,gnome,shock,shape,alligator,meal,nickel,party,hurt,Segway,Mr. Bean,banker,cartoon,double,hammock,juggle,pope,leak,room,throne,hoof,radar,wound,luck,swag,panther,flush,Venus,disease,fortune,porch,machine,pilot,copper,mantis,keg,biology,wax,gloss,leech,sculpture,pelican,trapdoor,plague,quilt,yardstick,lounge,teaspoon,broadcast,uncle,comedian,mannequin,peasant,streamer,oar,drama,cornfield,carnivore,wingnut,vent,cabinet,vacation,applause,vision,radish,picnic,Skrillex,jester,preach,armadillo,hyena,librarian,interview,sauna,surgeon,dishrag,manatee,symphony,queue,industry,Atlantis,excavator,canister,model,flight attendant,ghost,pig,key,banana,tomato,axe,line,present,duck,alien,peas,gem,web,grapes,corn,can,fairy,camel,paper,beak,corner,penny,dig,link,donkey,fox,rug,drip,hunter,horn,purse,gumball,pony,musket,flea,kettle,rooster,balcony,seesaw,stork,dinner,greed,bait,duel,trap,heist,origami,skunk,coaster,leather,socket,fireside,cannon,ram,filter,alpaca,Zelda,condiment,server,antelope,emu,chestnut,dalmatian,swarm,sloth,reality,Darwin,torpedo,toucan,pedal,tabletop,frosting,bellow,vortex,bayonet,margarine,orchid,beet,journey,slam,marmalade,employer,stylus,spoiler,repeat,tiramisu,cuckoo,collapse,eskimo,assault,orangutan,wrapping,albatross,mothball,evaporate,turnip,puffin,reeds,receptionist,impact,dispenser,nutshell,procrastination,architect,programmer,bricklayer,boat,bell,ring,fries,money,chair,door,bee,tail,ball,mouse,rat,window,peace,nut,blush,page,toad,hug,ace,tractor,peach,whisk,hen,day,shy,lawyer,rewind,tripod,trailer,hermit,welder,festival,punk,handle,protest,lens,attic,foil,promotion,work,limousine,patriot,badger,studio,athlete,quokka,trend,pinwheel,gravel,fabric,lemur,provoke,rune,display,nail 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This chapter was a labour of love, heists are hard. Big thanks to u/eruwenn for helping tidy up this bag of snakes.
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“Ranjaz K’Lua, you thieving scumbag!” the Kah’Ree in the purple suit exclaimed loudly as he spotted them across the busy room. “As I live and skral, I never thought you would have the Jolos show your face here again!”
Two J’Rami in suits detached themselves from the lobby wall, walking towards the Kittran and his friends. “Alfor, my old friend!” Ranjaz smiled broadly. “No need for the welcoming party, I’ve got your credits” —he gestured to Cygna— “and a sweetener, for all the trouble I caused last time.”
Alfor paused, lecherous eyes assessing the Fae’Dan. “You know I have a thing for purple.” He chuckled at his own joke and waved the guards back to their posts. “How about we have a drink, and discuss your forgiveness.” He pointed to Thor and Eruwenn. “Brought your own security, or are these Gal. Fed. goons? Everyone knows about your probation.”
The Kittran gave a broad grin. “I got a Tulseria-damned pardon, a new ship and a very lucrative opportunity.”
The Kah’Ree smiled. “How’d a thieving cat like you get a pardon?” He gave Ranjaz an appraising look up and down. “Oh? Now, let me guess, you need something from me and my brother?”
Ranjaz fired his finger guns. “You were always the smart one Alfor, that’s why you run the casino floor.” The Kittran stepped in close. “The item, do you still have it?”
Alfor tilted his head back and away from Ranjaz. “Your little guarantee?” He looked back down at Ranjaz. “We have it somewhere safe. Had some unusual people come by after you got caught. Asked a lot of questions. Made a lot of threats.” His face contorted in anger. “We got audited thanks to you.”
The Kittran smiled. “If only they knew you better, they could have simply paid you for the information.”
“We give nothing for free.” The Kah’Ree gave a sinister smile. “House rule.”
Ranjaz walked forward to put his his arm on Alfor’s back. “Let’s go see your brother. Have a few drinks, maybe gamble a little, and discuss our future riches.”
 
 
Ripley stood in the shadows of the staff shuttle bay, watching as the numerous employees of assorted races came and went. Loud laughter caught her attention, and a very strangely dressed Niham broke away from a small group and walked towards her. Ripley tried to maintain her low profile as the scantily clad female strutted towards her in long black boots with pointed heels that clacked loudly with every step.
Deliberately avoiding eye contact the Awakened tried to will herself into the wall but it was too late and a voice called out to her. “Hey Darling! You must be the one I’m looking for.”
Ripley shook her head. The Kittran had said the contact was an Ashi pirate captain, a master gambler and expert in procuring the unusual. “I don’t-”
“Listen cutie,” she interrupted, “you’re the one lurking in dark corners drawing attention to yourself. I’ve got your security card. You tell that fluffy little stud he owes me. And more than a bottle of Fae’Dan wine and a good time, if you know what I mean.” She held up the card between her fingers, just a little out of Ripley’s reach.
The Awakened considered the phrase ‘fluffy little stud’ and decided that, despite her hopes, this was probably her contact. “You’re Captain Whiplash?”
The Ashi laughed genuinely, the jiggling of tightly squeezed breasts bursting at shiny black restraints making Ripley nervous. “Oh, Darling! Only my little pets call me that! You may call me Sho’Na.”
Ripley was momentarily confused. “So, you aren’t a pirate captain?”
“I’m anything they pay me to be.” She smiled at the silver-haired woman's naivety. “You really are new to this.”
Ripley, caught off guard, simply nodded, then replied, “I’m a quick learner.”
“Good for you, Darling.” Sho’Na handed over the card. “Just make sure you get paid up front, and don’t use your real name with clients. Ruins the mystique.”
Ripley was unsure of what was being said. Turning the card over in her hands she saw that the holo-image on the front was of a male Arkellian. “This isn’t me?”
“Honey, I was given half a cycle to get you a level three security card. Just be glad it’s a biped.” Sho’Na looked Ripley up and down. “Our mutual acquaintance told me you were some sort of master of disguise who could even trick Selva Blaster.”
Ripley paused, then smiled. Her appearance had become such an integral part of her identity she had forgotten that it was entirely optional. “It won’t be a problem.” She looked at the card again. “Unless the owner comes looking for it.”
Sho’Na gave another bosom-trembling laugh that threatened to spill out at any moment. “Oh, don’t worry, he’s tied up at the moment.”
The Awakened considered the risk. “Hmmm, but for how long?”
The few strips of shiny black material that comprised Sho’Na’s revealing outfit strained under her amusement. “Don’t you worry, Darling. He paid for the whole night.”
 
 
Eruwenn had reassessed her opinion of Ranjaz many times since meeting him. The criminal. The loyal friend. The lazy trouble-maker. All were true, but now she was seeing something new. He sat opposite Toran, the brother of Alfor, in a game of dalcho she wished she could have taken part in, but was equally glad she did not.
At first she had thought the Kittran was outmatched, a few reckless mistakes costing him dearly as the Kah’Ree deftly selected his tiles. Toran was clearly a seasoned gambler, using a blend of the Remee Le’Bow Gambit and the Kowals’Kee Analysis she hadn’t seen before. It seemed to be dismantling Ranjaz’s tiles before he could even prepare his cards. A few fortunate dice rolls and he had taken a strong lead from the outset. The Kittran appeared desperate, playing any tile available to try and slow the defeat.
It had all been a ruse, she saw it; Ranjaz had saved his best tiles and carefully thrown hands to manipulate the cards. In just a few rounds he would be able to dominate the board and raise the stakes, recouping his losses and changing the course of the game entirely. She had encountered few players who could manipulate the game so deftly, using memory and layers of strategy to corner their opponent. It was magnificent.
Eruwenn couldn’t tear her eyes from the board as she stood beside Thor. The Awakened had shown no interest in the game, studiously watching the opposite door as Toran’s staff came in and out. When a waiter entered and began preparing drinks at the small private bar in the executive gambling room, Thor coughed. It was a strange thing for an Awakened to do, and Eruwenn finally looked up from the table. “Are you ok?”
Thor nodded. By the time he had looked towards her, she had returned her attention completely to the game. “You don’t seem concerned about your friend?” he asked.
The Anatidae watched as Ranjaz used a blind double feint, and the sheer audacity of such a move made her swallow hard. She didn’t look back to Thor, but mumbled a response. “I’m very confident in her abilities.”
The waiter was methodically placing drinks by each of the players, but when they stood behind Ranjaz the Kittran surged to his feet, shouting, “Hey! No cheating Toran! Getting your waiter to look over my shoulder? That’s a dirty move I’d expect from your brother!”
Thor had reacted faster than Eruwenn, pinning the arms of the Arkellian waiter in a vice-like bear hug. Toran slowly stood. He was big, heavily muscled, and the veins on his neck bulged as his anger rose. “Don’t accuse me in my own place.” He cracked his knuckles and glowered down at Ranjaz. “I run a straight game.”
Fearlessly the Kittran walked right up to the Kah’Ree and stared up into his face from waist height. “Don’t try and intimidate me, you son of a Vogel.” Ranjaz puffed out his chest and began pushing the burly casino owner. “Nobody cheats me!”
The blow caught Ranjaz across the cheek and sent him sprawling across the room. Eruwenn winced at the impact, but maintained her composure. Toran laughed. “Watch your tongue or I’ll add it to my collection.” He walked round the table and kicked Ranjaz in the stomach, glaring at Thor and Eruwenn, daring them to act. “Know your place trash. You’re at this table because you put credits up front. You are a dishonest thief, begging for scraps, and cosying up to me any my brother to get your little trinket back.” He returned to his seat. “Why would I need to cheat against the likes of you?”
Ranjaz stood, brushing himself off. “Fine, fine.” He waved a hand and Thor dropped the Arkellian. Ranjaz tapped him on the chest. “My mistake.” He sat down and picked up his cards once more. “You’re right Toran, you run a clean game. I’m just a sore loser.” He shuffled the order of the tiles that were still face down on the table. “To show my sincerity, how about we double the buy for the rest of the game?”
Toran snorted. “Double?” He looked at the Kittran, scrutinising his opponent. The game was already over; he had control of the board and his tiles occupied the three prime positions. Was the thief trying to buy his favour, he wondered? How much was the trinket he wanted truly worth? He decided it was worth testing. “Triple, and I’ll forget you dared touch me.”
The Kittran swallowed hard, his ears flat to his head. Toran momentarily worried he’d pushed for too much but a decision seemed to be reached. “Fine. Triple.” The look of defeat was delicious to the Kah’Ree.
 
 
Cygna had done her part and lured Alfor to a private room away from his security. She had danced, skipped and side-stepped his groping hands so far, maintaining a playfulness that ensured he complied. This sort of thing was not new to her; she had spent time undercover in the past. Fortunately, there had been little call for it since she had joined forces with Eruwenn.
Alfor’s eyes scanned her body once more. “The Kittran has very good taste.” He licked his lips, a small amount of drool escaping and running down his chin. He wiped it on his sleeve. “Now, I brought you somewhere quiet. How about you show me how sweet you can be?”
The Fae’Dan smiled coyly and continued her dancing just out of reach, glancing to the doorway where Alfor’s two guards stood watching her. “With an audience?” She raised her eyebrows expectantly.
With a sly grin he waved the guards out of the room. “Now come here and let me satisfy you like only a Kah’Ree can.” His eyes wandered over her body once more.
Cygna smiled, her own eyes moving from the Kah’Ree’s hands to his shoulders, then up towards his neck. An interesting fact about the Kah’Ree was the thick blood vessels on the side of their neck. They often bulged when a Kah’Ree was angry or excited, like Alfor’s were as he leered at her. She danced closer. Another interesting fact was that their brains were not as efficient as those of other species, hence the requirement for additional blood flow; more oxygen per limited thought.
He leaned forward, his eyes locked to her swaying hips. Cygna turned slowly, and his head tilted to appreciate her assets. The third, lesser known, fact about the Kah’Ree was that an interruption to the blood flow while they were in this excited state caused them to lose consciousness rapidly as their brain burned through the available oxygen. “My eyes are up here.” She smiled as he looked up at her with his head still tilted.
He sneered. “Who ca-”
The Fae’Dan struck the side of his neck with the edge of her hand, targeting the throbbing blood vessel with a powerful blow. The interruption to his brain's oxygen supply worked perfectly and he fell face forward onto the ground at her feet. She let out a sigh of relief and looked down at his unconscious body. “Thank you, that was particularly satisfying.”
She walked over to the door and peeked out, finding the guards standing either side. “He said to order us some drinks.” One of the guards nodded and immediately put his hand to his lapel communicator.
Back inside the room, Cygna used her foot to roll Alfor to his back and began searching his pockets. She came up empty. Her eyes caught a glimmer from his collar and she found a heavy gold chain, at the end of which was his security key. She removed it just as a knock came at the door. A deep voice from the other side called out. “Your drinks, boss.”
The Fae’Dan quickly messed up her hair. Using the back of her hand she smeared her lipstick sideways, and then pulled the strap of her dress down off her shoulder. She opened the door and, to her surprise, was faced with an Arkellian waiter. The bodyguards noted her dishevelled appearance and shared a smirk, and she said, “Oh, I wasn’t expec-”
The waiter pushed the trolley into the room. “Don’t keep the boss waiting, lady.” Before Cygna could reply they were inside and the door closed. “Relax, it’s me.”
Ripley’s voice sounded bizarre coming from the male Arkellian form, and Cygna’s eyes went wide in shock. Her sharp mind quickly adjusted to this new information. Of course the Awakened could change their physical appearance; she had just never seen it. They all seemed quite attached to their chosen human forms. “Neat trick.” She held out Alfor’s key. “Did you get the other one?”
Ripley nodded. “The Kittran played his part well. I didn’t see him take it, and didn’t feel it when he placed it in my pocket. Now that was a neat trick.”
The Fae’Dan smiled. “I think I’ll pass on that dalcho game.”
The Arkellian Ripley smiled. “Probably wise.” Turning, she slipped the key into her pocket and headed back out of the door.
 
 
Ripley entered the elevator to the owner's private offices on the top floor. Thanks to the distractions downstairs, the two large desks in the centre of the room were empty. She walked straight past them to the large leokas painting on the wall and swung it forward. Behind it was a Fae’Dan safe; she took out the two keys and a small homemade device the Kittran had given her.
Attaching the device to the bio-lock and standing before the safe, she elongated her arms to reach both key positions at once. There was more than one reason she was the one chosen for this task. The device beeped twice and small lights above each lock lit up. She simultaneously turned both keys, and there was a satisfying clunk.
She raised an eyebrow. The device had worked. The heavy safe door swung open and she began her search. Ranjaz had been very specific: while there was one item she had to get, she was to grab as much as possible to obscure their true target.
Quickly grabbing as much as she could she retrieved the keys and ran back across the room towards the elevator.
 
 
Cygna hauled Alfor back onto the seat, putting him in a more natural position and messing up his hair. She looked away as she began unbuttoning his clothes, pulling his trousers around his ankles and opening his shirt up to bare his chest. From a secret pocket inside her dress she pulled out a lace thong, setting it on his head like a bandana. She also had a small box which she opened, inside of which was a replica mouth with lipstick that matched her own.
Cygna carefully applied kiss marks all over his exposed skin before popping the fake lips back into the secret pocket. She took the Fae’Dan wine and partially filled two glasses, making sure to take a long drink from one and leave more lipstick marks. The rest of the wine was poured into the ice bucket.
She heard the sound of voices outside the door. The guards were arguing with someone, refusing them entry, but when the name Toran was mentioned it was Ripley who entered, still in uniform but now looking much like her usual self. She smirked at the Kah’Ree in his derobed state. “I can see you had fun.”
The Fae’Dan chuckled. “That’s the idea.” She looked at the Awakened in her true form. “You look… better.”
Ripley cocked her head. “It would be strange if the waiter came back to deliver a message.” She tossed the necklace key to Cygna, who replaced it on Alfor’s neck.
Reclining on the sofa and picking up her glass, Cygna took another long drink. “Get the other one back to Ranjaz quickly. This one won’t be napping much longer.”
The Awakened gave an almost Ranjaz-like grin. “You could always hit him again.” Before the Fae’Dan could reply she had ducked back out of the door. She caught the eye of one of the bodyguards and gave a head tilt back towards the room. “The boss is really enjoying himself!”
As the suited pair chuckled, the larger of the two got a message in his ear piece. “Hey, silver hair.” He grunted. “Boss has an important guest. Meet them in the foyer and bring them to the dalcho room.”
Ripley was relieved – she needed a reason to get into that room. “On my way.”
 
 
Toran was seething as he watched as the Kittran flipped his final tile. Why would he have waited so long to play the Wings of Tulseria tile? His stomach sank, and he couldn’t hold back his anger any longer. “Damn you!”
Ranjaz gave a full-fanged grin. “Looks like my luck turned at just the right moment.”
“Luck!” Toran’s tile snapped between his fingers. Why had he let the damned cat goad him into constantly increasing their bet? The cycle had started with him owing the brothers a million credits plus interest, and now the infuritating Kittran had won nearly forty times that. “Nobody is that lucky.”
“Woah!” Ranjaz held up his hands. “I would never cheat, well... certainly not a second time. After you caught me, I’d be a fool to try.”
“Hmm.” Toran looked at the two behind the Kittran. The big one would be a problem, but the Anatidae looked to be nothing special. “How about I give you back your little trinket and we call it even?”
“My trinket?” Ranjaz shook his head. “I had to convince you it was worth the million I owed. Why would you think I’d trade it for thirty eight million credits? I’ll pay what I owe, take my trinket and my winnings and leave.”
Toran folded his arms and looked across the dalcho board at Ranjaz. “And why would I let you do that?” The atmosphere in the room changed as the two security guards changed their stance. “Transfer the credits back to the house.”
Ranjaz dropped the grin, replacing it with a defiant glare. “What happened to you running a straight game?”
“The game was straight. You won, didn’t you?” He leaned forward, his eyes cold and hard. “You’re just in no position to collect.”
The Kittran was about to argue when the door behind Toran opened. He looked up as Ripley entered, and his eyes widened in shock. She wasn’t alone. “Toran, you bastard! You sold me out!”
“For ten million credits.” Toran stared hard at Ranjaz. “Care to make a better offer?”
Eruwenn’s eyes blazed with anger as the grey-suited Niham pulled up a seat and sat down beside Toran. “Now, now, you lied to me about having the item before. Don’t double cross me.” Sentinel Krast placed his hands together on the table, interlacing his fingers. “I’m not somebody who forgives easily.” He looked directly at Eruwenn. “Isn’t that right, former Councillor? A little far from your new Ambassador position, aren’t you?”
Ripley stood back against the wall. She had no idea who the newcomer was, but this most definitely was not the plan. The golden green Anatidae walked forward to stand behind Ranjaz. “Oh, I had a little vacation time saved up, and decided to spend it with my good friend here.” She placed a hand on the Kittrans shoulder. “And what brings a Sentinel here?”
Krast’s lips curled in what might approximate a smile. “I’m also acquainted with Mr K’Lua. In fact, we go back a very long way.” He turned to look directly at Ranjaz. “Now, return what is mine.”
Toran looked from Ranjaz to Krast. “Yours? You don’t look like the tiara wearing type.”
The Sentinel didn’t turn his head. “Ah, so you hid the data chip inside some shiny bauble. As inventive as ever, Mr K’Lua.” The Niham finally acknowledged Toran by looking at him. “Bring. It. Here.”
The Kah’Ree sucked air through his teeth. “Well, seems like we have something mighty important, and two very interested parties.” He stood and walked to his two security officers, who drew their weapons in unison. “Now then, I believe you” —he nodded to Krast— “offered ten million. How about it Ranjaz, old friend? What’s your counter offer?”
The Kittran had been sitting, silently seething at his double cross being double crossed. He looked at Krast. “Were you the one?”
Toran was surprised at being ignored, but before he could reply Krast answered, “The one?”
Ranjaz’s eyes narrowed, his ears alert, his tail swishing aggressively. “The one who took my friend!” he snarled as he felt Eruwenn’s hand holding him back gently.
Krast’s eyes glittered as he saw the impotent rage in his opponent’s eyes. “Ah, the poor deceased human?” He smiled his mannequin-esque smile. “And if I was?”
Toran snatched a pistol from one of his men and fired a blast at the ceiling. “Your quarrel can wait. Let’s settle our business first and you can kill each other after I’m paid.” He paused, then added, “but, not in my casino. Body disposal costs extra.”
Eruwenn’s hand gripped Ranjaz’s shoulder harder, and he braced himself. In one smooth move she both threw him backwards and to the right, and kicked the dalcho table up and forward into Krast's face. The Sentinel fell backwards as a blast from Toran struck the table, but Eruwenn was already on the move, sidestepping left and ducking forward into a cartwheel. Toran's gun had been following Ranjaz, but as her leg swept down it knocked the weapon from his grip.
Once she stabilized, her fist, already primed with momentum from the cartwheel, struck Toran below the ribs and knocked the wind from him. The guard, whose gun the Kah'Ree had been holding, lunged forward to grab Eruwenn but she simply deflected his hand, pairing his forward momentum with her rising elbow to swiftly render him unconscious.
The second guard had just begun to raise his weapon when a huge fist struck him in his chest, sending him careening backwards into the wall. Thor loomed over him, shaking his head as he retrieved the energy pistol. “Too slow.”
Ripley helped Ranjaz to his feet as Krast pushed the table off his chest. Toran was coughing and struggling to breathe as Ranjaz pressed the retrieved energy pistol to his forehead. “Double cross me?” He dragged the Kah’Ree forward. “I want to see the item, then I’ll pay what I owe.” The two of them awkwardly made their way back towards Krast, so Ranjaz could point the gun in his face. “Then we can talk about your body disposal fee.”
Krast stood, and his phony smile was gone. “You can’t kill me. The Sentinels will tear this place apart, hunt you down and kill you. You think I came alone? My ship is in orbit and waiting for my orders!”
Ranjaz grabbed him by the jacket, pulling him down to his level, and struck him in the face with the butt of the pistol. Thor cooly kept his stolen pistol pointed at Toran and the one conscious guard. By the third blow Krast’s face was bloody, his nose broken and he began to struggle against Ranjaz’s assault.
A muted boom caused everyone present to stop in their tracks. Alarms began to sound and Toran swore loudly. He pulled out his communicator, ignoring Thor’s pistol. “What the hell was that!” He held the device close as he listened. “My office?” He patted his pocket. Finding his key in place, he looked to Ranjaz and then Krast. “Seal the casino! And where is my brother?”
Ripley suddenly understood why the Kittran had told her to leave his device on the safe door. After a brief further moment of shock, which she kept from showing on her face, she realized that she had been carrying an explosive without being told. If they survived, Ranjaz was going to need to explain himself. Thoroughly.
Eruwenn, Thor and Ranjaz had backed away to the opposite side of the room, standing by the door. Krast stood alone, holding his profusely bleeding nose. The opposite door soon opened to reveal scrambling casino security, with Toran and his guard standing nearby.
The unconscious guard was carried out without comment, and the Kah’Ree turned to Ripley. “Why are you still here?” She nodded and slipped out of the door, leaving one less concern for the remaining three. “Alright, which one of your skrolg-licking bastards broke into my private safe?”
Krast spat blood onto the floor, pointing at Ranjaz. “He’s the thief. You and I had a deal.”
The Kittran smirked. “I’m a better thief than blowing up a Tulseria-damned safe. If I wanted to steal it, I would have done just that. I would not have announced my arrival and sat down to a game of dalcho.”
Toran looked between the two of them. “He’s got a point.” One of his men handed him a pistol, and he continued to talk a little distractedly into his communicator. “Well, check everywhere!”
Ranjaz stirred the pot. “He’s the bastard who double crossed me, why would he honour your deal?”
Eruwenn nodded. “A government agent can’t be seen working with criminals.”
Krast's face contorted in rage. “Don’t be a damned fool, Toran!” He pointed at Ranjaz. “This is clearly some convoluted distraction.”
Toran shook his head. “They had the upper hand. You were the one getting your face ruined.”
 
 
Cygna watched nervously as Alfor began to stir. Things were taking a lot longer than expected. Finally, her signal came; it was not as subtle as she had been led to believe. As soon as the explosion went off the two bodyguards quickly came into the room, glancing from Alfor’s sleeping body to her. She staggered forward, wine bottle in hand. “We need more drinkshh!”
The guard ignored her as he saw the condition of his boss. “Not again,” he groaned. “Toran will kill us for letting him get like this.”
The second guard stepped out into the corridor. “I’m not dressing him! Last time he tried to kiss me!”
Cygna paused, not having expected it to go this way. The first bodyguard walked out as well. “He pissed on my new shoes the time before that. I’m not moving him.”
Their communicators went off and their faces became more serious. Bodyguard two spoke first. “Damn it. Toran wants him.”
The first turned to look at the increasingly bewildered Cygna. “You!” He smiled. “You got him undressed. You can dress him.”
Cygna spotted Ripley running down the corridor towards them, causing her confusion to grow further. The Awakened shouted one word. “Sentinels!”
The Fae’Dan’s mind raced. The plan was clearly blown, and they had to get out. Fast. As the guards were now facing Ripley, she took the opportunity to kick one in the back of the knee. He fell forward, and as the second turned he was met with the upward swing of a wine bottle. The first guard discovered first-hand the shocking truth of how hard the knee of an Awakened could be, and both were unconscious by the time they hit the ground.
Cygna smiled at Ripley. "Thanks."
The Awakened gave a swift nod of acknowledgement. “A Sentinel turned up, so Ranjaz set off the diversion he promised. The other brother is busy trying to figure out whether it’s us or the Sentinels robbing him.”
Cygna took on board the new information quickly, knowing she needed to help the others. “I have an idea. Lie over there and look dead.” She ran back into the room, where Alfor was groaning and starting to move. She slipped the chain from his neck and dropped it into the ice bucket, where it sank out of sight below the dark Fae’Dan wine. She began to slowly shake him.
“Huh,” he grumbled, and slowly opened his eyes. “Wha.. what happened?”
Cygna clung to him tightly. “Oh thank goodness! I thought they killed you!”
“Killed?” Alfor’s head was pounding, his memory blurry. “Who-” He caught sight of his downed guards in the open doorway. “What the hell happened?” He began pulling at his clothes, and swiftly checked that his trousers were dry.
“While we were.. You know…” He nodded; he was buttoning up his clothes. He didn’t remember, but he knew. “Some scary men burst into the room and shot you! I was so scared.” She hugged him tight, pressing herself against him.
He put his arm around her. “What men? Be brave, and tell me what happened.”
She looked up at him, trying to make her eyes as big as possible, adding a lip tremble to really sell it. “I don’t know! They wore grey suits. And one of them took your necklace!”
“My necklace.” He clutched at his chest where it should have been. “Damn Sentinels! I told Toran we couldn't trust them!”
He stepped into the corridor, where Ripley lay on the ground with a terrible energy weapon burn on the side of her face. He pulled out his communicator. “Toran.” He instantly got hold of his brother. “I didn’t answer because I was knocked out. Damn Sentinels took my key, killed some of our guys.” He looked around. “Nobody important, just some waiter.” He finally pulled the underwear from his head. “I’ll go to the security room and look at the video.”
He ended the call and turned back to Cygna. “You stay here.”
She smiled. “Sorry, we can’t let you check the security footage.”
“Wha-”
Ripley struck him from behind and he crumpled to the ground, her fake burn melting from her face. The Awakened looked around, rechecking that all was clear. “I think that’s all we can do; we should get out of here. Come with me, my shuttle is in the staff bay.”
 
 
Toran closed his communicator and motioned to a guard. “Search him.”
Eruwenn wished she had some way to capture the look on Krast’s face when the remote detonator was pulled from his pocket. She'd have to hug the light-fingered Kittran later.
The Sentinel grit his teeth. “That’s not mine.”
“Sure, sure,” Toran agreed, while simultaneously shaking his head at the Sentinel. “Looks like you really didn’t come alone.”
Krast was furious, yelling, “I’m telling you-” He broke off when Ranjaz shot him in the leg, falling to the floor.
The Kah’Ree pointed his pistol at the Kittran. “Can’t let you kill a Sentinel in my casino, even if they did just rob me.”
Ranjaz was surprised the Kah’Ree had believed them so easily. “What about us?”
Toran sighed, lowering his weapon. “Take your winnings and get out. If you stole the thing once, I’m sure you can steal it again.”
Eruwenn and Thor both made to leave. Ranjaz paused, knowing he might not get another chance. “And him?”
The Kah’Ree looked at the Sentinel holding his wounded leg. “We’ll send him back to his ship. As much as I hate it, the Sentinels are untouchable.”
Ranjaz raised his pistol. “He took my friend.”
“And we’ll get him back,” Eruwenn said softly. “Then we’ll all deal with him, and the rest of the Sentinels.”
Krast sneered and spat blood once more. “Your human is dead.”
Ranjaz fired.
Krast screamed and grabbed his other leg. “You bastard!”
Toran and his men raised their weapons as the Kah’Ree yelled, “Get the hell out of here!”
Ranjaz turned and followed the others out of the door, but just as it was about to close he poked his head back in. “Oh, one last thing.”
Toran could be seen looking up just as the Kittran fired again, but he ducked out of sight before the true outcome of his shot could be seen. The shrieks of agony, however, followed the trio down the corridor as they broke into a run. Eruwenn spared a glance down at Ranjaz during their retreat. “What did you do?”
The full-fanged grin had never been larger. “Made sure we’ll see him again.”
On the floor of the dalcho room Krast was screaming in agony. He turned over to stare at the closed door. “I’ll kill you! I will hunt you down and kill every last one of you!”
Toran spoke into his communicator. “Tell the Sentinel ship to come get their man. And, bring a doctor. A really good doctor.” He nudged one of his guards and finally let out a chuckle. After all, the Sentinels had just robbed him. “You double-crossing scum always get what you deserve.”
The J’Rami guard raised an eyebrow. “Not sure anyone deserves getting shot in the balls.”
 
Next

Chapter 20
The dream was always the same. Terra found herself in a familiar place. Behind the control stick of her MagiTek armor. The burning rubble of a bell tower sat ablaze behind her as she continued her attack deeper into the city. Terra did as ordered, opening fire on the city and laying waste to any soldiers dumb enough to attack her. She would quickly dispatch them with her Ifrit Canon. As she stomped through the city streets, the buildings burned and crumbled all around her. She was surrounded by death and chaos as she laid waste to the city. Terra watched in horror as the destruction burned all around her.
But then the dream changed as the world slowly faded into darkness. Terra looked down and could no longer see her armor. She stood there. Alone in the void.
“Terra…” The voice whispered.
The gentle voice returned. That familiar beacon in an otherwise unfamiliar world. Terra tried to remember where she heard the voice. As if it were an itch in the back of her mind, an itch that was near impossible to scratch.
“Who are you?!” Terra screamed.
“Listen well, and think clearly.” The voice replied in the distance, and then it was gone. Terra ran in the direction of the voice. Her feet were moving fast. She needed answers, the voice had them. But she noticed that no matter how fast she moved, she gained no ground. The darkness faded quickly as Locke shook her awake.
“Alright, pal. Up and at, em’.” He said with his grin. “We got a long hike ahead of us, so eat something, and let’s get going.”
The mood was different for Terra as they journeyed South. She found herself finally being able to relax a bit as Locke and Edgar let their guard down. Though they received no escort, word traveled to the scouts. Patrols were roaming the lands and protecting the king as he traveled on foot with his companions. Her worries melted away as she found herself marveling at the beautiful sights.
Figaro was truly a bountiful land. Though her castle stood in the great desert, her countryside was not nearly as unforgiving. The weather was pleasant. The gentle sunlight beamed down on the grassy fields. The sun warmed Terra’s bones and calmed her spirit. Figaro’s snow-capped mountains looked picturesque, like from an oil painting. Not like those dreadful, sharp peaks of Narshe. Even the rains were gentle, warm and sweet. She made it a point to listen carefully to the world around her. The chirping of birds, the winds moving through the grassy fields, even her own breathing. They brought some peace to her frantic mind.
Edgar was leading the party to a remote hunting cabin that King Edwin had insisted on building for his queen, though she seldom used it. Edgar’s mother believed that sleeping outside and tempering the body to the elements was the only way a king should live. “It toughens up the blood” She would insist. Edgar would always secretly wish for a hot meal and a soft feather bed, and although he was too proud to admit it, his dad was the same way during a hunt.
Edgar caught himself chuckling quietly as he looked back on better times. The Knuckleheads were making chaos, causing a ruckus and making the castle their playground. The King was wise and good. The Queen, loving and strong-willed. “But those days are long gone,” he thought. He looked away as the smallest bit of sadness washed past his eyes.
The sadness was short lived when the sight made them stop dead in their tracks. They looked to the sky to see a massive ship sailing across the heavens. Her wooden hull soared above as countless propellers briskly spun. The ship was flying west towards the sea. Terra’s jaw dropped at the sight. Locke looked on begrudgingly while the king looked on with wonder.
“What is that?” Terra finally asked.
“That is The Blackjack, the flying casino.” Edgar said. “She’s one hell of a machine. The only one of her kind.”
“Yeah, but the Captain is a real piece of work.” Locke said before spitting on the ground.
“What do you mean?” Terra couldn’t keep her eyes off the ship.
“He gallivants around the world, living the high life.” Edgar explained. “He spends his days wandering, wooing women, and hosting high stakes poker games.” Edgar looked sullen. “I tried to buy into his last game and he said that I wasn’t rich enough for his blood.”
“But you’re a king!” Terra exclaimed.
“Indeed. That is what I told him.” He said with a sad look in his eyes. “But he assured me I couldn’t afford his price.”
“Yeah.” Locke agreed. “We’d never have a chance in hell of getting on board that thing.”
“What I wouldn’t give to get on board that ship.” Edgar said longingly. “I’d love to find out what makes her tick.”
“I wonder what the world looks like from up there.” Terra said hopefully.
They stood in silence as a warm breeze blew in their direction, as if to beckon them on.
Chapter 21
“Are you going to play or are you going to fold?” Commissioner Allyn asked as The Captain swirled his fine crystal wineglass. “You’re wasting my time, and my time is not yours to waste”. Setzer loved playing against The Commissioner. The Nikeah Trade Union always had plenty of money to burn, and its leader knew how to light a fire. Setzer quietly looked at his cards and placed them on the table as he took a long drink as he pondered his next move.
The Commissioner was on a hot streak. They had been playing for the better part of 12 hours and he was getting nothing but aces and kings. The Captain, on the other hand, was getting rags. Setzer Gabbiani hadn’t had a good hand all night as he quietly looked at his chip stack. He was short. In one bad hand, he could lose everything, even his fine doublet, quite possibly. The very thought excited him. Setzer looked at Allyn and gave him a cool smile.
“Impatient, aren’t we?” Setzer teased. “I didn’t know you were in such a hurry to leave my establishment.”
“I’m in a hurry to buy your vessel.” Allyn shot back. “I’m in a hurry to get this thing back to Nikeah.”
“That would be most unfortunate for me.” The captain responded before taking a sip of wine. “So tell me, how exactly are you going to take my wings from me?”
“You saw the bet. Five million gold pieces. From the looks of your stack, I’d say you have a couple of thousand at best.” He pointed out before taking a drag from his cigar. “Now, unless you just so happen to have 5 million, you’ll need to put something up. Now I’m sure that all of the luxurious finery you surround yourself isn’t worth that kind of money. But, I bet this ship is.”
“I wouldn’t take that bet.” Setzer said with a smirk. “She’s worth a lot more than that.”
“Not to me.” He snapped. “Five million is the bet. Your time’s up. Make a decision, what are you going to do?”
Setzer sat up from his seat and revealed the inside of his doublet. Just inside the coat pocket sat three bar room darts made of solid gold. He pulled one out and studied it. He played with the dart for a moment as he pondered. He looked to a dart board hanging on the wall to his right, then back to Commissioner Allyn. The look of tension on his face was almost comical to Setzer. Allyn may have been a man of leisure, but he couldn’t relax worth a damn.
“Well, I suppose I’ll let fate decide.” Setzer’s violet eyes met with the Commissioner's as he stared him down. In a quick flash, without aiming, he threw the dart at the board and it landed with a satisfying thud. A smile grew on his face as he kept glaring at Allyn. After what seemed like an eternity. Setzer looked over to see the dart sitting dead center in the double bullseye.
“Well, there you have it.” He said with certainty. “Looks like I’ll call you.”
Commissioner Allyn laughed heartily. “You are out of your mind, Setzer!”
Setzer shrugged. “Well, there is no point to living life if you’re not willing to gamble with it. Now, are you going to show me your cards, or should I just take your money now?”
The commissioner showed his cards. “Full house.” He said with a satisfied smile. “Jacks and Nines.” He chomped down on his cigar and looked at Setzer’s face. It showed him absolutely nothing.
Setzer sighed. “I am afraid I only have two pair.” He flipped over his cards. “Pair of deuces with another pair of deuces.”
The Commissioner's smile disappeared as the rage took over. His face turning beet red as he violently stood up. “You dirty little cheat!” he accused.
“Come now, my friend.” Setzer said as he leaned back comfortably in his seat. “You know I would never stoop to such low standards just to win a card game. Lady luck merely flashed me her grin, nothing more. Now, I am more than happy to give you a chance to win back your money if you desire.”
“Win back? No. I’m taking it back, alongside your ship, as payment for your cheating!”
“Sir, I have tolerated your blustering for the better part of 12 hours,” Stezter stated firmly, “I have taken it in stride as this has been a friendly game up to this point. However, if you continue to make such disgraceful accusations, will deal with you in an equally disgraceful manner.”
“I’d like to see you try, you son of a-”
Setzer picked up the 2 of diamonds and threw it at the Commissioner. Allyn laughed at the thought of being attacked with a playing card. Then he felt the side of his head start to sting. Then it started to bleed. Then it started to hurt. Allyn groaned in pain as he put pressure on the bleeding wound across his head. Setzer got up and walked over to him.
“Well, I believe that is enough excitement for one evening, wouldn’t you agree?” He said casually.
“You’re a dead man, Setzer Gabbiani. Mark my words.” The Commissioner Threatened.
“No, you mark mine.” He retorted. “I was able to disable you with the 2 of diamonds. That was one card. Now I’d like you to take a moment and imagine what I could do with the remaining 51.” That was exactly what The Commissioner did. He looked at his hand, he was bleeding more than he thought. The thought of what could happen turned his stomach. And that is when he noticed the friendly and playful demeanor of the gentleman gambler had disappeared, a cold and merciless look had taken over.
“However, I am more than willing to overlook this misunderstanding. After all, what’s a mistake between friends?” Setzer offered as he extended his hand. “All I expect is an apology.”
The Commissioner took his hand quickly and stood up. “Of course, I apologize. What I said was out of line. You played a fine hand, Captain”
“Think nothing of it.” Setzer said as he painfully tightened his grip on The Commissioner's hand. “Now, if you ever forget your manners in my establishment again, I promise you will spend the last moments of your life trying to fly. Have I made myself clear, Commissioner?”
“Yes. Perfectly clear, Captain.” Allyn responded immediately.
Setzer’s playful smile returned as he led the Commissioner out of the poker room. “Marvelous!” He exclaimed. “Let us retire to the lounge for a refreshment as I ferry you home. Are you still a rum drinker?” Setzer asked.
“I am.” Allyn replied humbled.
“Excellent. Shall I set a course for Nikeah?”
“That would be fine. Thank you, Captain.” Allyn said.
Setzer went above deck to the ship’s wheel. A crescent moon was shining in the night sky above the clouds as he steered his ship east towards Nikeah. He smiled as he felt the wind breeze through his long, silver hair. Setzer knew exactly what he was going to do to celebrate.
First stop: Jidoor for the appetizer.
It had been a long day and he needed a proper meal. Then a hot bath with a thinly rolled cigar. And to end the evening with a gorgeous woman and a good night’s sleep in his suite at the Silver Lantern Inn. Then after a glorious breakfast, off to his tailor’s to get fitted for a new doublet and maybe a new suit.
Second Stop: The Opera House for an evening of refined culture. It was opening night and Setzer was looking forward to the show. Aria de Mezzo Carattere was always one of his favorites. And a blonde goddess had been chosen for the part of Maria. Rumors of her beauty had traveled far and wide. He had to see if the rumors did her justice. He made a mental note to drop by the Jewlers in the banker’s district to pick out a diamond ring.
Setzer found himself in the mood for romance.
​
Writer's note: Yeah...been a while...
There really isn't much of an interesting story about why it's been almost half a year since my last post. Sufficed to say, life happened. Well...that and a move to the opposite side of the country. I have been working on the story on and off for a little bit, but nothing ever major. Because I got hit with a horrible case of burnout.
Then I started listening to Nobuo Uematsu's "Awakening" and the spark came back for a little bit. I wanted to switch things up as Setzer is one of my favorite characters in the game. I always had an interesting view on his character and I hope to explore that more now that I've gotten off of my butt and started to do some work once again.
But if I'm going to do that, I REALLY need to pace myself. So I'm hoping to do 2 to 3 chapters a month, hopefully more. I sincerely apologize for the delays. I really want to keep working on this. Thanks to all of you who were reading this since the beginning. I'm hoping to keep working with this story as time goes on, so thanks for sticking with it!

Previous Session: https://www.reddit.com/dndstories/comments/kkzknk/recon_in_yartar_and_attack_of_the_mudfish_skt/ In the streets of Yartar our heroes got ambushed by some weird fish-people and a "mudfish" that claimed to be a god. After significant amounts of snooping and intel-gathering, the party felt they had all they needed to know to enter The Grand Dame riverboat casino and to reach Drylund - the prime suspect in Hekaton's disappearance.
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Cast: Level 9

• Zep: Kenku Casino-Worker.
• Zdravko: Human Exotic-Foreigner.
• Lyra: Wing-ed Monkey; pet of Exotic Foreigner.
• Jormo: Tortle Oarsman.
• Beau: Tabaxi Noble.

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Jormo submits himself to Nevil Storn - Captain of the Grand Dame - for a position rowing the ship's oars. Captain Storn initially questions Jormo's Iron Gauntlests (of Ogre Strength) which the Tortle claims protect his hands from blistering while rowing. The captain seems skeptical but ultimately lets him aboard.
Next Zep applies to be a dealegame-runner in the ship's casino. After an impressive card trick where the Kenku makes an entire deck disappear only to begin pulling cards from his beak, Captain Storn is so impressed and adds "I'd rather have you running games in our casino rather than playing them that's for sure. Not sure Akane would even be able to catch you cheating."
Once aboard Jormo sits at his rowing station, and Zep reports to the casino where he sets up a game at one of the dozen tables, near a statue of a golden goose on a wooden pedestal. Zep notices crew and staff preparing for guests to arrive. An woman in a beautiful purple dress sets up a game board similar to Dragon Chess at the table next to Zep's. The Kenku also notices a stern-looking older woman in a yellow robe adorned with embroidered green snakes, prowling the casino floor; she is checking to make sure nothing is out of order with the game dealers. Below deck Jormo sees a tiny octopus riding on the shoulder of a man (the Tortle rightly suspects this may be Khaspere Drylund) who briefly checks in with the man who leads the Rowers.
.
An hour later Beau - disguising himself as a different Tabaxi named 'Razzlestacks' - seeks to board with his exotic muscular foreign guest, Zdravko (who fakes a limp and leans heavily on his quarterstaff-"walking stick"). Lyra has wildshaped into a flying monkey perched atop the staff as the "Exotic man's exotic pet."
Many of the nobles and aristocrats gathering here are dressed eccentrically enough that as odd as the group of covert heroes may look, they don't expect to arouse too much suspicion.
Captain Nevil Storn is a bit wary of Zdravko's pet, saying that animals usually aren't allowed, but Zdravko assures him that she is well trained and Lyra plays the part well. After a brief conversation with Beau the captain welcomes them aboard his ship.
As they climb the gangplank they see a stern-looking older woman wearing a yellow silk formal robe; she's helping passengers exchange Gold for wooden "Golden Goose" gambling tokens which she procures from a messenger-style bag at her hip. Beau senses magic and hones her vision to see an aura of Conjuration from the bag, and an aura of Transmutation from the Robe of Snakes.
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By sunset everyone has boarded and the boat glides out into the wide Dessarin river for the evening. Paper lanterns illuminate the sides of the boat and balcony around the upper deck.
Zdravko and Beau schmooze with nobles, while Lyra keeps watch. Zep faithfully runs his gaming table while keeping a look-out. Jormo takes semi-frequent breaks from rowing to check on the situation in the casino through one of the port holes.
Zep and Lyra both notice that the woman in the snake-adorned yellow robe has been scrutinizing them much more carefully than the other guests. Between Zep and Beau carefully timing and concealing use of the Message cantrip they're able to somewhat keep each other in the loop. After awhile the lady in yellow ascends the spiral stairs to the upper deck and isn't seen again for several minutes.
In the meantime Zdravko and Beau chat with a jovial noble who seems quite taken with Zdravko, he mentions that Khaspere Drylund prefers to socialize with the gamblers who wager the most. They then enter a high-stakes game of wit and luck against one of the highest-stakes gamblers in the room and Beau beats him, earning himself 300-some gold worth of Golden Goose tokens!
.
Khaspere Drylund enters the casino from the spiral stairs, followed by the woman in yellow. He socializes with the high-stakes gambler before approaching Beau. The woman in the snake robe continues patrolling the room.
Beau senses magic as Drylund approaches and focuses her eyes to see a Transmutation aura around the pet octopus resting on his shoulder.
Zdravko takes flying-monkey Lyra out to the balcony to "stretch her wings." The Druid flies out of sight momentarily, then reverts back to her winged Tiefling form, and casts Invisibility on herself as she seeks out Captain Drylund's quarters in the upper deck.
Jormo gets sick of waiting and rowing and enters the casino, pretending to be a noble and snacking at the table. Zdravko gives him a nod before realizing that might have been too much of a tell.
Drylund inquires of Beau what brought him aboard the Grand Dame this evening. Beau explains that he has a background as a sailor and is always interested in unique sailing vessels. After the discussion moves on to local politics Drylund essentially tries to recruit Beau into buying a summer home in Yartar so that he can "participate in the political process." Beau is invited to accompany Drylund to his quarters and he uses his Subtle metamagic to Message Lyra that they're coming.
Zdravko pretends to just meet Jormo for the first time and invites him "to the balcony for fresh air" so they can follow Beau and Drylund. As soon as they're up the stairs Zep notices from his gaming table that the woman in yellow spins on her heal to follow them at a brisk pace. Zep attempts to mask the somatic component of a Message he sends to Zdravko, "You've got a tail; the woman in the yellow snake robe."
On the balcony Zdravko warns Jormo that she's incoming. When she arrives she asks to speak with Zdravko privately but the monk insists his friend be present. She says, "Very well. I know you all have come here with ill-intent and I won't stand for it." To Zdravko she adds, "I suggest you swim home to where ever it is you came from" as she attempts to hijack his mind and will.
Jormo attempts to Counterspell her Suggestion, but she in turn Counterspells his effort. Zdravko nods, "Yes, that sounds good" as he leaps from the balcony straight down into the water below.
The Tortle and the woman stare each other down for a moment as it becomes obvious that a 1 vs 1 Wizard battle is upon them. Then Jormo casts Banishment, and without her ability to counterspell having returned yet she vanishes with a *pop* seemingly into thin air!
.
Jormo runs back down the stairs - knowing he only has a minute before she returns from the demi-plane he sent her to and frantically motions for Zep to follow him. The Kenku pretends to sneeze, sending all the cards at his table flying, before he leaps up to follow his Tortle friend (but not before grabbing a few fistfulls of crackers and cheese from the buffet. As they run through the Dance Hall on the upper deck, towards the hall that Beau and Drylund disappeared down Jormo catches him up on the situation, "Zdravko went for a swim and I made the yellow wizard disappear, but she'll be back soon."
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Meanwhile Lyra had been searching Drylund's quarters but only had found some business expense records before receiving Beau's Message. Still invisible Lyra easily hides as Beau and Drylund enter and begin to talk about real-estate holdings.
Less than a minute later Jormo and Zep barge in. Trying to act surprised Beau cries, "What's the meaning of this?"
Drylund says, "Akane was right, you all are up to something. What do you want?"
Jormo says pointedly, "We wanted your help in case we need to assassinate any Storm Giant royalty."
With that Drylund immediate becomes hostile and says, "C'mon Sid, let's do this!" as his tiny pet octopus more than triples in size to become a Giant Octopus!
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Drylund attempts to enshroud himself in a spell, but Jormo Counterspells his effort.
Zep casts a Darkness spell on his ring, essentially blinding everyone in the small room. For most of fight nobody sees much of what's going on. Drylund seems to be lashing out with psychic tentacle attacks, along with spells that effect their minds as Dissonant Whispers force Jormo to momentarily flee the dark room.
Since Lyra can't see, she destroys the water in the octopus's aquarium which enrages the beast as it spends the rest of the fight blindly sloshing its tentacles around after her.
Zep is the only one who can see thanks to the abilities his patron bestowed on him, but he has to take a moment to conjure his blade to his hand before he can take advantage of it. Meanwhile Drylund lands a couple lucky Rapier thrusts against the Kenku in the Darkness.
Lyra similarly lands a lucky hit with a Guiding Bolt, but the extra light that normally sheds off the hit creature can't permeate the magical darkness.
Zdravko continues to swim home.
Beau lines up where she knows Drylund is and hopes an ally isn't directly behind him and unleashes a Lightning Bolt - unseen in the darkness but just as deadly. Drylund attempts his own Lightning attack, but still essentially blind, misses.
After a couple missed Firebolts Jormo yells for Zep to cancel the Darkness. Zep keeps the spell active, but covers the ring, thus obscuring the darkening effect. Jormo slings a cold orb at the injured Lord Drylund's head with the intent to subdue him rather than kill him and it works!
The force of the orb's impact combined with the brain-freeze like effect drops Khaspere Drylund to his knee as he calls out, "Please, I surrender, I surrender. I don't want to die." He tells Sid the octopus that it's over and to go out and get some water. The octopus shrinks back to its tiny size as it slowly crawls up the wall towards the port hole window which Beau opens for it.
.
They tie up the captain and Jormo reminds them that the wizard in the yellow robe will only Banished for a few more seconds.
Beau demands Khasphere Drylund tell them, "Where is the Storm Giant, King Hekaton?"
Drylund, out of breath responds, "Very well, I.. I guess I can tell you. You've earned it, apparently."
"The Big One you seek – the Storm Giant Hekaton – is subdued by enchanted shackles and sails aboard a strange-looking vessel called "The Morkoth." It's veiled from all divination, and light bends around it until one is within a certain distance. It sails around the northern isles of the Trackless Sea day and night. If you... "
He stops talking. His voice catches in his throat as the veins in his neck bulge. Drylund's eyes grow wide with terror and become bloodshot as he rigidly grabs his head in agony. He opens his mouth as if to scream in pain, but nothing more than a strained, prolonged gasp escapes. He goes limp and slumps to the floor – blood begins to trickle out his ears. He is dead.
Jormo finds a key on his body and begins checking drawers for any addition evidence they can give Yartar's Waterbarron. He finds a journal in a drawer beneath the now-empty aquarium.
Beau checks the hallway just in time to see the woman in the yellow robe coming. He shuts the door and warns the group they may have to fight again.
Zep uncovers his Darkness ring to conceal them, and Beau hidden in the darkness casts Disguise Self to look like Drylund.
Zdravko continues to swim home.
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Akane Manaasi flings open the door and seeing only darkness calls out, "What's going on in here?"
Beau, flawlessly imitating Drylund's voice tries to buy them time to think of a plan, "The intruders hid a darkness object somewhere in here. I'm looking for it.
Akane, "Would you like help, sir?"
Beau as Drylund, "Yes?" (internally screaming).
Akane, "What does the object look like? I can attempt to locate it with magic."
Beau as Drylund, "I didn't see it."
Akane, "I don't know how much help I can be, but I will try." She enters into the room. "The intruders... who are they sir? Where are they now?"
Beau as Drylund, "They came looking for Hekaton."
Akane, "I'm sorry sir, what?"
Beau as Drylund, "They're trying to find the Storm Giant."
Akane, "I'm sorry sir, but I don't know what you're talking about."
With that, Zep leaps at her through the darkness and grapples her in choke-hold, covering the Darkness ring in the process.
Akane sees Drylund laying in a pool of blood and also Drylund standing above Drylund's body.
Jormo cries out, "Oh no! you've killed our friend who was disguised as Drylund!"
Akane Manaasi demands to know what's going on.
Beau explains that her boss is caught up in some bad happenings and after he confessed, it seems like someone performed a psychic assassination on him from elsewhere.
The woman in the yellow-green snake robe doesn't seem at all surprised to hear of Drylund's extracurricular business dealings, but after further questioning Beau is pretty certain that Akane Manaasi herself is innocent of any of it and just acts as the security officer of the Grand Dame.
Akane proposes that if they let her go, she can assume the role of running the casino in Drylund's stead, make it her own business, and in the process completely cover for them and attribute Drylund's death to "unseen assassins who never made themselves known." Beau says that sounds good, ONLY if Akane releases their friend from her Suggestion and Akane agrees.
Zdravko stops swimming home and shouts, "SON OF A B----!!!" before turning around, flying into a rage and swimming back towards the boat at top speed!
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When the monk returns, Beau has to convince Zdravko not to attack the security officer, but that doesn't stop him from aggressively drying himself off on her robe - which unflappably she appears to ignore.
They spend the rest of the night gambling and schmoozing and eating from the buffet as if nothing had happened, and none of the guests see Khaspere Drylund for the rest of the evening (or ever again).
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To be continued...

​
Previous Session: https://www.reddit.com/stormkingsthundecomments/kkzm93/recon_in_yartar_and_attack_of_the_mudfish_ch11/ In the streets of Yartar our heroes got ambushed by some weird fish-people and a "mudfish" that claimed to be a god. After significant amounts of snooping and intel-gathering, the party felt they had all they needed to know to enter The Grand Dame riverboat casino and to reach Drylund - the prime suspect in Hekaton's disappearance.
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Cast: Level 9

• Zep: Kenku Casino-Worker.
• Zdravko: Human Exotic-Foreigner.
• Lyra: Wing-ed Monkey; pet of Exotic Foreigner.
• Jormo: Tortle Oarsman.
• Beau: Tabaxi Noble.

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Jormo submits himself to Nevil Storn - Captain of the Grand Dame - for a position rowing the ship's oars. Captain Storn initially questions Jormo's Iron Gauntlests (of Ogre Strength) which the Tortle claims protect his hands from blistering while rowing. The captain seems skeptical but ultimately lets him aboard.
Next Zep applies to be a dealegame-runner in the ship's casino. After an impressive card trick where the Kenku makes an entire deck disappear only to begin pulling cards from his beak, Captain Storn is so impressed and adds "I'd rather have you running games in our casino rather than playing them that's for sure. Not sure Akane would even be able to catch you cheating."
Once aboard Jormo sits at his rowing station, and Zep reports to the casino where he sets up a game at one of the dozen tables, near a statue of a golden goose on a wooden pedestal. Zep notices crew and staff preparing for guests to arrive. An woman in a beautiful purple dress sets up a game board similar to Dragon Chess at the table next to Zep's. The Kenku also notices a stern-looking older woman in a yellow robe adorned with embroidered green snakes, prowling the casino floor; she is checking to make sure nothing is out of order with the game dealers. Below deck Jormo sees a tiny octopus riding on the shoulder of a man (the Tortle rightly suspects this may be Khaspere Drylund) who briefly checks in with the man who leads the Rowers.
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An hour later Beau - disguising himself as a different Tabaxi named 'Razzlestacks' - seeks to board with his exotic muscular foreign guest, Zdravko (who fakes a limp and leans heavily on his quarterstaff-"walking stick"). Lyra has wildshaped into a flying monkey perched atop the staff as the "Exotic man's exotic pet."
Many of the nobles and aristocrats gathering here are dressed eccentrically enough that as odd as the group of covert heroes may look, they don't expect to arouse too much suspicion.
Captain Nevil Storn is a bit wary of Zdravko's pet, saying that animals usually aren't allowed, but Zdravko assures him that she is well trained and Lyra plays the part well. After a brief conversation with Beau the captain welcomes them aboard his ship.
As they climb the gangplank they see a stern-looking older woman wearing a yellow silk formal robe; she's helping passengers exchange Gold for wooden "Golden Goose" gambling tokens which she procures from a messenger-style bag at her hip. Beau senses magic and hones her vision to see an aura of Conjuration from the bag, and an aura of Transmutation from the Robe of Snakes.
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By sunset everyone has boarded and the boat glides out into the wide Dessarin river for the evening. Paper lanterns illuminate the sides of the boat and balcony around the upper deck.
Zdravko and Beau schmooze with nobles, while Lyra keeps watch. Zep faithfully runs his gaming table while keeping a look-out. Jormo takes semi-frequent breaks from rowing to check on the situation in the casino through one of the port holes.
Zep and Lyra both notice that the woman in the snake-adorned yellow robe has been scrutinizing them much more carefully than the other guests. Between Zep and Beau carefully timing and concealing use of the Message cantrip they're able to somewhat keep each other in the loop. After awhile the lady in yellow ascends the spiral stairs to the upper deck and isn't seen again for several minutes.
In the meantime Zdravko and Beau chat with a jovial noble who seems quite taken with Zdravko, he mentions that Khaspere Drylund prefers to socialize with the gamblers who wager the most. They then enter a high-stakes game of wit and luck against one of the highest-stakes gamblers in the room and Beau beats him, earning himself 300-some gold worth of Golden Goose tokens!
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Khaspere Drylund enters the casino from the spiral stairs, followed by the woman in yellow. He socializes with the high-stakes gambler before approaching Beau. The woman in the snake robe continues patrolling the room.
Beau senses magic as Drylund approaches and focuses her eyes to see a Transmutation aura around the pet octopus resting on his shoulder.
Zdravko takes flying-monkey Lyra out to the balcony to "stretch her wings." The Druid flies out of sight momentarily, then reverts back to her winged Tiefling form, and casts Invisibility on herself as she seeks out Captain Drylund's quarters in the upper deck.
Jormo gets sick of waiting and rowing and enters the casino, pretending to be a noble and snacking at the table. Zdravko gives him a nod before realizing that might have been too much of a tell.
Drylund inquires of Beau what brought him aboard the Grand Dame this evening. Beau explains that he has a background as a sailor and is always interested in unique sailing vessels. After the discussion moves on to local politics Drylund essentially tries to recruit Beau into buying a summer home in Yartar so that he can "participate in the political process." Beau is invited to accompany Drylund to his quarters and he uses his Subtle metamagic to Message Lyra that they're coming.
Zdravko pretends to just meet Jormo for the first time and invites him "to the balcony for fresh air" so they can follow Beau and Drylund. As soon as they're up the stairs Zep notices from his gaming table that the woman in yellow spins on her heal to follow them at a brisk pace. Zep attempts to mask the somatic component of a Message he sends to Zdravko, "You've got a tail; the woman in the yellow snake robe."
On the balcony Zdravko warns Jormo that she's incoming. When she arrives she asks to speak with Zdravko privately but the monk insists his friend be present. She says, "Very well. I know you all have come here with ill-intent and I won't stand for it." To Zdravko she adds, "I suggest you swim home to where ever it is you came from" as she attempts to hijack his mind and will.
Jormo attempts to Counterspell her Suggestion, but she in turn Counterspells his effort. Zdravko nods, "Yes, that sounds good" as he leaps from the balcony straight down into the water below.
The Tortle and the woman stare each other down for a moment as it becomes obvious that a 1 vs 1 Wizard battle is upon them. Then Jormo casts Banishment, and without her ability to counterspell having returned yet she vanishes with a *pop* seemingly into thin air!
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Jormo runs back down the stairs - knowing he only has a minute before she returns from the demi-plane he sent her to and frantically motions for Zep to follow him. The Kenku pretends to sneeze, sending all the cards at his table flying, before he leaps up to follow his Tortle friend (but not before grabbing a few fistfulls of crackers and cheese from the buffet. As they run through the Dance Hall on the upper deck, towards the hall that Beau and Drylund disappeared down Jormo catches him up on the situation, "Zdravko went for a swim and I made the yellow wizard disappear, but she'll be back soon."
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Meanwhile Lyra had been searching Drylund's quarters but only had found some business expense records before receiving Beau's Message. Still invisible Lyra easily hides as Beau and Drylund enter and begin to talk about real-estate holdings.
Less than a minute later Jormo and Zep barge in. Trying to act surprised Beau cries, "What's the meaning of this?"
Drylund says, "Akane was right, you all are up to something. What do you want?"
Jormo says pointedly, "We wanted your help in case we need to assassinate any Storm Giant royalty."
With that Drylund immediate becomes hostile and says, "C'mon Sid, let's do this!" as his tiny pet octopus more than triples in size to become a Giant Octopus!
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Drylund attempts to enshroud himself in a spell, but Jormo Counterspells his effort.
Zep casts a Darkness spell on his ring, essentially blinding everyone in the small room. For most of fight nobody sees much of what's going on. Drylund seems to be lashing out with psychic tentacle attacks, along with spells that effect their minds as Dissonant Whispers force Jormo to momentarily flee the dark room.
Since Lyra can't see, she destroys the water in the octopus's aquarium which enrages the beast as it spends the rest of the fight blindly sloshing its tentacles around after her.
Zep is the only one who can see thanks to the abilities his patron bestowed on him, but he has to take a moment to conjure his blade to his hand before he can take advantage of it. Meanwhile Drylund lands a couple lucky Rapier thrusts against the Kenku in the Darkness.
Lyra similarly lands a lucky hit with a Guiding Bolt, but the extra light that normally sheds off the hit creature can't permeate the magical darkness.
Zdravko continues to swim home.
Beau lines up where she knows Drylund is and hopes an ally isn't directly behind him and unleashes a Lightning Bolt - unseen in the darkness but just as deadly. Drylund attempts his own Lightning attack, but still essentially blind, misses.
After a couple missed Firebolts Jormo yells for Zep to cancel the Darkness. Zep keeps the spell active, but covers the ring, thus obscuring the darkening effect. Jormo slings a cold orb at the injured Lord Drylund's head with the intent to subdue him rather than kill him and it works!
The force of the orb's impact combined with the brain-freeze like effect drops Khaspere Drylund to his knee as he calls out, "Please, I surrender, I surrender. I don't want to die." He tells Sid the octopus that it's over and to go out and get some water. The octopus shrinks back to its tiny size as it slowly crawls up the wall towards the port hole window which Beau opens for it.
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They tie up the captain and Jormo reminds them that the wizard in the yellow robe will only Banished for a few more seconds.
Beau demands Khasphere Drylund tell them, "Where is the Storm Giant, King Hekaton?"
Drylund, out of breath responds, "Very well, I.. I guess I can tell you. You've earned it, apparently."
"The Big One you seek – the Storm Giant Hekaton – is subdued by enchanted shackles and sails aboard a strange-looking vessel called "The Morkoth." It's veiled from all divination, and light bends around it until one is within a certain distance. It sails around the northern isles of the Trackless Sea day and night. If you... "
He stops talking. His voice catches in his throat as the veins in his neck bulge. Drylund's eyes grow wide with terror and become bloodshot as he rigidly grabs his head in agony. He opens his mouth as if to scream in pain, but nothing more than a strained, prolonged gasp escapes. He goes limp and slumps to the floor – blood begins to trickle out his ears. He is dead.
Jormo finds a key on his body and begins checking drawers for any addition evidence they can give Yartar's Waterbarron. He finds a journal in a drawer beneath the now-empty aquarium.
Beau checks the hallway just in time to see the woman in the yellow robe coming. He shuts the door and warns the group they may have to fight again.
Zep uncovers his Darkness ring to conceal them, and Beau hidden in the darkness casts Disguise Self to look like Drylund.
Zdravko continues to swim home.
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Akane Manaasi flings open the door and seeing only darkness calls out, "What's going on in here?"
Beau, flawlessly imitating Drylund's voice tries to buy them time to think of a plan, "The intruders hid a darkness object somewhere in here. I'm looking for it.
Akane, "Would you like help, sir?"
Beau as Drylund, "Yes?" (internally screaming).
Akane, "What does the object look like? I can attempt to locate it with magic."
Beau as Drylund, "I didn't see it."
Akane, "I don't know how much help I can be, but I will try." She enters into the room. "The intruders... who are they sir? Where are they now?"
Beau as Drylund, "They came looking for Hekaton."
Akane, "I'm sorry sir, what?"
Beau as Drylund, "They're trying to find the Storm Giant."
Akane, "I'm sorry sir, but I don't know what you're talking about."
With that, Zep leaps at her through the darkness and grapples her in choke-hold, covering the Darkness ring in the process.
Akane sees Drylund laying in a pool of blood and also Drylund standing above Drylund's body.
Jormo cries out, "Oh no! you've killed our friend who was disguised as Drylund!"
Akane Manaasi demands to know what's going on.
Beau explains that her boss is caught up in some bad happenings and after he confessed, it seems like someone performed a psychic assassination on him from elsewhere.
The woman in the yellow-green snake robe doesn't seem at all surprised to hear of Drylund's extracurricular business dealings, but after further questioning Beau is pretty certain that Akane Manaasi herself is innocent of any of it and just acts as the security officer of the Grand Dame.
Akane proposes that if they let her go, she can assume the role of running the casino in Drylund's stead, make it her own business, and in the process completely cover for them and attribute Drylund's death to "unseen assassins who never made themselves known." Beau says that sounds good, ONLY if Akane releases their friend from her Suggestion and Akane agrees.
Zdravko stops swimming home and shouts, "SON OF A B----!!!" before turning around, flying into a rage and swimming back towards the boat at top speed!
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When the monk returns, Beau has to convince Zdravko not to attack the security officer, but that doesn't stop him from aggressively drying himself off on her robe - which unflappably she appears to ignore.
They spend the rest of the night gambling and schmoozing and eating from the buffet as if nothing had happened, and none of the guests see Khaspere Drylund for the rest of the evening (or ever again).
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To be continued...

When I was in college I found myself Ubering to make money. This was in Southern California, and LA at the time was a constant flow of work. Occasionally you’d pick people up in a nice area and they’d tell you that they were sleeping with someone in a relationship, or that they themselves were cheating. This was depressingly common. I think that saying what they were doing to someone gave them a weird kind of relief.
Once I drove someone from Hollywood to Hemet, CA. He was very charming, and funny. When I dropped him off it was at a big blue building that they buzzed us into. He left me a $200 cash tip. I later found out this was what is known as “Gold base” for the church of scientology. If you don’t know what that is, it’s a completely normal not weird at all in any way location owned by the church of scientology. Feel free to google it!
A few months into my “taxi” career. Insurance companies started using ride share service, and some people who were more down on their luck would use it. Sometimes this was people just trying to get their kids to school, but sometimes it was much sadder. I can’t tell you how many times I showed up to a doctors office to see someone with accessibility limitations face drop at seeing my tiny car instead of a van like they needed.
The people with substance problems were interactions that would stay with you.
Once I picked a man going to a dental appointment and I drove him for about a half hour. He told me about how he used to run drugs in the 90’s, until they caught him with a few pounds of coke. He told me about when he was moved from Nevada to Florida for trial. How he travelled handcuffed in a van. How the cops would stop only once a day at McDonalds and for their one dollar menu item of the day. He asked me to stop at a liquor store he chugged a tiny bottle of booze, shoved mints into his mouth, then sipped on a soda.
He smelled like pure alcohol when I dropped him off at the dentist.
Near my house there was a methadone clinic. I would get up before dawn to be able to take those rides. (Early bird gets the worm right) Almost always they were sweet, and thankful. Sometimes they were a little out of it but I never felt in danger or anything like that. Just good people going through tough times. These rides were the most consistently depressing.
People who were going to court clearly drunk or high. Older women who had trouble requesting a ride and had been waiting in the parking lot of their dialysis place into the night.
They’d tell their stories sometimes. A person who was going to court for a child custody case, people struggling with mental illness. Some mornings were exhausting.
Being up that early you’d hit another crowd that I had never anticipated. Funeral goers. The saddest funeral ride was when a man and a woman got into my backseat. Rather than speaking to me the man handed me a neon printout of a map of a cemetery with instructions on what plot to go to. With, “Hello, I am attending my father’s funeral. My wife and I are deaf. Please follow these directions.” Written on the back of it.
The whole ride I could hear them signing to one another and trying not to cry.
There were also the retired gamblers. They’d leave their houses at 7 in the morning, take a $70 uber out to the desert, and spend the whole day gambling at the reservation casinos. The desert is where I saw the weirdest things.
The desert was the only place I had ever felt scared driving. It was in Temecula the “wine country” of so cal. Lots of wooded roads and desert. I picked up a lady just off the freeway at what I initially assumed was the edge of a golf resort but it was an unpaved access road. It was late and that area was especially dark. I was getting ready to call the passenger I saw them coming down the unpaved access road.
It was a tall blonde woman in a very nice pant suit. She was absurdly put together considering she had walked god knows how long in heels down a dirt rock road. She got into the car and was very pleasant. She said she lived in a gated community that was hard to get Ubers too and it was easier to send me to the access road. I thought it was weird but I did not want to be creepy asking about where she lived.
She was friendly, chatty even. She was going to a dinner party, and as she spoke to me I could feel her looking at me in the rearview mirror the entire ride. We drove a half hour away from the freeway. To one of those rural chic neighborhoods that you would hear celebrities had huge parties at.
Eventually we reached the “address” which was a paved road lined with trees. She told me to keep driving and I didn’t think much of it because again we were in a mansion style neighborhood. We hit a white ranch style fence after a minute or so going down the road.
That was the when I started to feel a bit uneasy. There were around a dozen no trespassing signs, and one of those classic “Forget the dog, beware of owner” signs with a guy pointing a pistol at you. I thought it was more than a little blunt to have that many signs but hey not my property.
We drove for about a minute when we came to another fence. It was at the top of a hill and it overlooked a barn with some lights in the distance. I know this sounds weird but it was unpleasant. I couldn’t put my finger on it. It was just a barn with what looked like a barbecue going on. But being out in the woods without any light had freaked me out.
The passenger told me I could just slide the gate open. As I approached the fence, I saw some signs that made me stop cold.
Off to the side of the gate, not quite in the dark, but on the fringes of my headlights. There were metal signs with bullet holes through them. Swaztikas, and confederate flags brightly displayed.
So-Cal has a lot of white supremacist pockets. I had dropped off dozens of passengers in Cities like Norco, and driven down streets with people drinking in the garage, and a nazi flag proudly hung behind them. It wasn’t my favorite but I wasn’t spending any time in those neighborhoods more than I needed to. This was different though.
It was after 11pm at night, and I had no idea where I was. I opened the gate , and down the road I saw what I assume were cellphone flashlights lighting up and coming up the incline. This made me very uncomfortable. I went back and I told the woman that I didn’t think my car could make it back up the hill if I went down it.
“What are you talking about? Just take me it’s right there.”
She was getting more heated and I could see the lights slowly making their way up the hill.
She kept telling me I needed to cancel the ride, and that she wouldn’t pay to not be taken the entire way. I told her the pin I was supposed to take her too was a mile back up the road, but I was so nervous I relented and cancelled on my end. She slammed the door as she got out.
I took off before I could see the cellphone light people get closer. The road back was much rougher at the speed I was going at. I felt a bump that felt like I hit a body but I kept going. My car was driving like shit but I kept driving till I was past the fence, out of the rich neighborhood until I stopped at a gas station. My right rear tire was fucked up, and I needed to change it.
There was a few nails that looked like they had been attached to a piece of wood on my tire. I was freaked out so hard and sometimes I wish I had called the cops and reported it. But of course all that happened was I got a flat on a back road, and I didn’t want to spend the rest of my night waiting on a cop car.
I know it’s far more likely that I freaked myself out than a bunch of nazis planning to mess with a random Uber driver. But when I pick up a well dressed businesswoman from a remote location, and drop her off at a separate remote location, gives me chills that I have trouble explaining to this day.

It's time you quit Furious Tweeters Anonymous and joined me and the Trots for a quiet pint
By Jeremy Clarkson (Sunday Times, Oct. 25)
All this month, people have been talking about a new Netflix documentary called The Social Dilemma, in which a bunch of stubbly Californian tech start-up nerds on a guilt trip worry out loud about how the internet has been hijacked by enormous companies that are now using it to make — gulp — money.
They say that our phones constantly monitor what we do and who we talk to and what we say. And clever algorithms are used so advertisers can target their products and services at exactly the sort of people who might be interested. And this is what, exactly? A bad thing?
If you are a woman and you are experiencing lady problems, you do not want your Facebook feed to be full of ads for agricultural buildings. In the same way, I'm not the slightest bit interested in hearing about an exciting new breakthrough in tampon technology. Targeted advertising makes sense for all concerned, and if Facebook can make a few quid along the way, good luck to it.
"Ah, but," say our stubbly friends from California. "Exactly the same information-gathering and algorithms can be used by political parties to target undecided voters." And ... what's wrong with that? Seriously. What's the difference between doing that and dispatching some smiley dweeb with a clipboard and a pamphlet full of promises to the swing-state housing estates of Hemel Hempstead?
The Social Dilemma, however, did in the end touch fleetingly on a subject that's been troubling me for a little while now. That Google and Facebook and all social media will eventually cause every country on earth to be engulfed by a bloody civil war. Possibly about toothpaste.
When I was a reporter on the Rotherham Advertiser, I'd go for lunch most days with two people who were in the Workers Revolutionary Party. I liked them a lot, and I think they liked me, even though I was very obviously not a member of the Workers Revolutionary Party. We talked about politics, of course, and we'd argue in a good-natured way and then we'd have a couple more pints. And then we'd go back to work.
It was the same story with my dad. He didn't like my trousers and I did not like his. We didn't have similar taste in music either. He thought Dave Greenslade might be the devil. I thought Bach needed to cheer up. And we'd have lengthy debates about hair too. But we never actually fell out over any of it.
Today, though, things have changed, because we can engineer our lives so we rarely encounter anyone who thinks differently. You think you are chatting to your kids in the evening, but actually you're making noises while they're tuned into Radio Greta on social media.
We all follow like-minded souls on Twitter. We have WhatsApp groups, where we share jokes with others we know will find them funny. We watch whatever news channel echoes what we are thinking. We ignore those on Tinder who like Donald Trump, or those who eat meat or who do anything that doesn't belong in our opinion bubble.
That's why people were staggered when the country voted for Brexit. Remainers such as myself were surrounded by other remainers, so we thought everyone was a remainer. It's why everyone at the BBC was bowled over when Boris Johnson won such a massive majority. They couldn't believe it because absolutely everyone in their electronic lives voted for Jeremy Corbyn.
If you are a vegan, it's extremely likely that you will share vegan recipes with other vegans on social media. You may even share stories that say meat is murder and growing cows is destroying the ozone layer. So when you see a picture of a man eating an actual burger, you are horrified. Staggered. Because how could he be so obtuse?
You are going to send him a message, which, because social media allows you to dispense with the niceties of meeting face to face, will be extremely abusive. And then your friends are going to pile in until, eventually, burger man responds in kind and soon everyone is threatening to kill everyone's children.
If you don't believe me, tell someone under the age of 25 that we shouldn't be pulling down statues. But be warned, the response will be so unpretty your phone may well melt.
I don't think there's been a time when society is as divided as it is now. Women versus men. Black people versus white people. Rich versus poor. Right versus left. There are even heated and abusive online arguments about dental hygiene. And it's because people are always absolutely convinced by social media that they have the majority on their side.
The internet was built so you could get a pizza at four in the morning, and find out where James Garner was born while you're on a beach, but it's become home instead to levels of bigotry, rage and hatred not seen since the Trojans opened up that horse.
It will spill out on to the streets in time. It already has in America, where gangs of white supremacists, utterly convinced by social media that 94% of the world is on their side, are roaming around in packs, with Glocks on their thighs and an AR-15 rifle in the boot, just waiting for one of the nation's six Democrats to look at them funny.
The stubbly start-up nerds say it isn't possible to step back from the brink. They say we've created Skynet and that no one's going to come from the future to save us.
But I think it is possible. We just need to remove the cloak of anonymity behind which all social media users can hide. You used to need a licence to own a dog and could have had it taken away if you didn't treat it well. But anyone can go online and say anything they like to anyone in the world, completely safe in the knowledge that they will only ever be found by Heckler & Koch, which will send them an ad for its latest sub-machinegun.
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My bafflement is sprouting nicely: Pass me the scythe — I'm up to my ears in agri-jargon and I don't understand a word
By Jeremy Clarkson (Sunday Times, Oct. 25)
I didn't think farming would be especially difficult. I figured that man had been growing crops for 12,000 years and that after such a long period it would be in our DNA. That it would be relaxing. Monty Donnish even. I'd plant seeds, weather would happen and food would grow.
In my mind, then, farming would mostly involve leaning on a gate while munching pensively on a delicious Dagwood Bumstead sandwich, or enjoying a late summer sundowner from behind the wheel of an air-conditioned tractor. It'd all be a festival of crusty bread, lemonade, fresh air and cider with Rosie. Followed by a cheery harvest festival and a big fat cheque from the EU.
I've learnt, however, that all of it is back-breaking and difficult, that there's never time for a ploughman's in the sunshine, that there's no cupholder in my tractor for sundowners or anything else and that to be a farmer you must be an agronomist, a meteorologist, a mechanic, a vet, an entrepreneur, a gambler, a workaholic, a politician, a marksman, a midwife, a tractor driver, a tree surgeon and an insomniac.
I am none of those things, which is why I spend every single evening with my nose buried in a copy of the countryside bible — Farmers Weekly. It's my new favourite thing.
I especially love the fertiliser and machinery adverts, because they all feature fifty-something men and they're all wearing checked shirts and zip-up gilets made from a material that exists only in agricultural supply shops. I want to buy everything they're advertising because it all looks so manly and proper.
The editorial is a bit different, though, because I can't really get my head round any of it. There will be a picture of some sheep, so I'll think, "Ah. I have sheep. I must read this." But after the second paragraph I have to give up and move on because I don't understand a single word.
I therefore switch to a piece about the new agriculture bill, but all I've taken in when I finish it is the sound of a voice inside my head saying, "Concentrate, Jeremy. This is important." The actual words? No. They've just swum about like fish.
I understand now how life is for people who think they might be interested in cars. They pick up a car magazine, and after five minutes they think that maybe the exciting front cover featuring a Porsche on full opposite lock was a con because the text inside seems to be about physics.
I can read about an electronic limited-slip differential and know what the writer means.
I know terms such as lift-off oversteer and axle tramp and torque steer and scuttle shake and I even have a fairly good idea what the motoring writer Gavin Green meant in Car magazine when he said the then new Toyota MR2 suffered from "tread shuffle"\*. For most people, though, this kind of language is gobbledygook.
We see the same problems today with Formula One. The commentators don't translate tech-speak such as "deg" for the viewers. They use it to demonstrate to the drivers and the engineers that they too are part of the inner circle. It annoys me — so, chaps, can you stop saying "box"? And use the word "pit" instead, because then people at home will know what the bloody hell you're on about.
This brings me on to the world of banking. Like a lot of people I have savings, and that means I occasionally have to speak with people called Rupert and Humphrietta. One said in a Zoom call recently that in the previous few months I hadn't "shot the lights out". I had no idea what she was on about. She then tried to sell me a "product", which, it turns out, is only a product in the way that a casino chip on red is a product. I could be wrong, but I'm in no position to know.
I turn occasionally to the Financial Times for assistance on these matters, but, like the car magazines and the F1 commentary, it's far too complicated. Which is why I mostly end up reading the superyacht reviews in the disgusting but strangely engrossing How to Spend It supplement.
I fear, however, that simplification isn't actually necessary in Farmers Weekly, because the readers don't need the jargon translated. When they read that ex-farm spot wheat values are averaging close to £176.50/t midweek, they know what the words mean and what the implications are. Me, though? Not a clue.
I have been writing these farming columns for six months and I have started buying all my clothes at StowAg, so quite often I'm stopped in the street by farmers wanting to know about the moisture content of my wheat or where I am on the idea of levying a carbon tax on farmers who finish their cattle after 27 months.
I have therefore become very skilled at nodding and then suddenly remembering that I must get in the car and go away.
The worry is that I want to learn how to speak farming, but I have no idea how this is possible. I don't have a boss who can take me under his wing, and while I have a land agent, who's brilliant, he is even more un-understandable than Farmers Weekly.
I could sign up for a three-year course at what is now, hilariously, called the Royal Agricultural University in Cirencester, but by the time I'd finished learning how to drive a Golf GTI up the steps and how to get home from Cheltenham after a particularly pissed-up day at the Gold Cup, I'd be too old to lean on gates or climb the ladder into my tractor.
Muddling on isn't really an option either, because when our EU money dries up in January, it's very obvious farmers are going to have to adopt a much more scientific approach to survive with dwindling government grants.
I already don't know how a potato grows, but soon it won't matter unless I can use chemicals and boffinry to grow four billion of them. I shall therefore drown in tech I don't understand and can't afford.
I have turned to the internet, of course, and it is neatly split between two approaches. Fantastically simple nonsense written by and for failed City boys who have two acres and a lamb. And head-spinningly complicated equations written by people into chem-porn at Monsanto.
And in the middle of all this there's me, who wants to make good food, well. I think I'm not alone. I think there are a lot of farmers like me who are bewildered and even a bit frightened by what they must do to survive. And I think you, round your breakfast tables, should be worried too.
Because when you take the art and the history and the simplicity out of farming, I suspect you may end up with a lot of food that doesn't taste very nice.
\* I actually don't know what "tread shuffle" means.
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And here's the Sun column: "The first real upside of this Covid business is that Halloween’s dead this year"