Assassins
Chapter 2
They had taken seats around the dog's table, listening intently. That is,
Red and Alan were listening. Meow was snoring softly, her head lolled
back. Occasionally, she snorted. When the dog paused for a drink,
Alan snorted as well.
"Problem?" the caninoid asked.
The teen smirked. "Oh, please. Isn't this the old 'find the mystery villian
before everybody dies' bit? The archive is full of them. I've seen
Pokemon re-runs more original than
this."
The dog canted his head. Red tensed, but if the caninoid was upset by the
brush-off, he gave no indication.
"I suppose that's true," he said. "This kind of story is nothing
but a stage
for the guest stars."
"And all of them are old," Alan griped. "I mean, c'mon, we got
all these new
guys in the club, and the best you can do is Axelle? She's old enough to be
my mother." He leaned back in his chair and put his feet up. To Red, he
said, "Wake me when something interesting happens, 'kay mate?"
He folded his hands and closed his eyes.
***
Alan was quiet, waiting for some reaction from the dog, but the cur refused
to rise to the bait. With the impatience of teenagers everywhere, he sat
up and opened his eyes, ready to land a few more zingers on the mangy mutt.
The dog was gone. So were Red and Silvercat for that matter. Astonished, he
stood up and spun around, but there were no other occupants at all.
"Where did everybody go?" he asked the room.
The voice behind him was smooth as aged arsenic. "Good question. Have a
seat
and we'll talk it over."
Alan spun towards the voice, and was met by a powerful kick to the stomach.
The youth pitched backwards into his chair, bowling it over onto it's back
and cracking his head on the wooden floor of the pub.
Standing over him was a rather plain woman in a white jumpsuit. Stunned, he
lay defenseless on the floor while she stepped onto his right hand, pinning
it to the floor. "Don't move," she said. "And don't scream."
"A-Axelle?" he stammered.
"Nice to be recognized," the assassin said mildly. She reached down,
brushed
open his jacket, and pulled his Duel Monsters cards out of the inner pocket.
Then she took his millenium puzzle and yanked it, snapping the cord around
his neck. She set his things on the table, then reached into her own right
pocket and produced a small vial filled with a bizzare substance.
She held it over him in her right hand, her finger and thumb cradling the stopper.
Alan watched the stuff inside the vial move and seethe, sometimes boiling,
sometimes still, changing colors amd viscosity from moment to moment.
Like some sort of pint-sized lava lamp, it transfixed him.
"What is it?" he asked, forgetting his situation completely.
"Ever read any John Brunner?" she asked. When he shook his head, she
said,
"This vial contains water from the river Metamorphia, collected by myself a
few years ago. At great personal risk, I might add."
"Metamorphia is a very special river, Alan. Water from the river changes
the
nature of anything it comes in contact with, even itself. One drop is all it takes
to transform the victim into something else. Anything else. The change is
completely random, except that the subject is always alive afterwards, to remember
what it once was."
"I hear you like games, so let me tell you how my game is played," she
said.
"I'm going to ask you questions. For every answer you give me that I like,
you get to advance to the next round. For every answer I don't like, you get
a drop of Metamorphia right between the eyes. The game is over when I'm
satisfied, or out of water. If you answer all the questions correctly, you
get to walk out of here intact.Answer wrong, and you may be slithering
out. Or flopping. Or oozing in a puddle of your own slime."
Alan swallowed hard. He considered struggling, but with her hand on the
vial, the stopper between index and fore-finger, he would probably be turned
into something small, repulsive, or Irish before he could do more than
squirm.
The other factor was the woman herself. Axelle's expression was one of
amusement, but her eyes were like a Vulcan's - distant, detached, clinical.
He found himself believing that she didn't care one whit whether he made it
out of there or not. That gave him fifty-fifty odds, at least.
Alan cleared his throat. "So, um, what was it you wanted to know?"
"Two of my friends are in the Cat's Lair infirmary, under the effects of a
very rare poison. I'm looking for the person who put them there.
What do you know about it?"
Alan hesitated as realization hit home. *Fuck! I'm in the story!* Aloud, he
said, "Why should I know anything about it?"
Axelle shifted her weight, grinding the youth's hand. He winced.
"I've done a little checking. There's a lot of new blood in the club these
days, and I think one of you newbies is trying to build a reputation.
You're emerging as a go-to guy among the youngsters, so if
anybody needed advice, there's a good chance they'd come to you."
Alan was simultaneously flattered at the perception, and frightened at what
it implicated. "Not nescessarily. What about Rivero? Doesn't he have a
grudge against them? They rejected his courtship a few months ago, right?"
"I thought of that. He's not back from wherever Bast and Cheezey sent him
yet. Besides, this isn't his style. RD enjoys the game too much to try to end
two of the players so quickly."
Alan started to say something, but Axelle cut him off. "And as for the
person who sniped at me in the game world, that could have been
anybody. Now quit stalling. The longer I hold this bottle up in the air,
the shakier my hand gets."
Alan swallowed hard. He steeled himself, then said, "I'm sorry, but I don't
have any idea who might have poisoned your friends. So if you're going
to change me into something disgusting, just get it over with."
Axelle looked down at the youth. He met her penetrating stare with the sober
resolve and calm that descends on a person when he knows he's screwed.
Then she tightened the stopper and put the bottle in her pocket, and stepped
away, allowing him to sit up.
She held up his equipment and said, "You'll find these about three miles up
the road, in a hollow tree on the left side." Then she turned and walked away.
"Hey, wait!" Alan yelled, and took one step after the woman. Before he
could
take another, she had spun back on him and pressed the tip of a lethal
single-edged knife against his throat.
"What?" Her expression had not changed, but there was an edge of
irritation
in her voice.
Alan looked at her, eyes wide, sweat running over his brow. "Um, you said
this poison, it was rare? How rare? Like, needs-a-chemist-rare or
armed-forces-only rare?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"Well, I think this P-p-p," he stuttered, realizing he was about to
reveal
more than he should know. "This poison, if it's as powerful as all that,
might it not be military?"
Axelle took the knife from his adam's apple and said, "Possibly. The
formula
is a carefully guarded secret,and the ingredients are synthetic and very expensive.
A military tech might have the know-how, and access to the materials."
Alan grinned. "I've got this friend," he said.
***