The air smelled of cotton candy and hot dogs, and was filled with the sound of laughter and carnival music. "These places are mad houses," Detective Pendleton thought negatively as he watched the Unsolved Mysteries team pack up their cameras and head back to the hotel for the day. He didn’t have high hopes for the shoot, but at this point, he was willing to use any resource that came available to him. He needed to find the bodies. His wife said he was a pessimist. That made Pendleton give a wry smile. He wasn’t a pessimist...just realistic. Over the years, he’d come to one conclusion. Expect the worst, and anything else will be an improvement. That philosophy had saved him from a number of unpleasant surprises in the past. Pendleton usually got what he expected.
"Ahem."
Pendleton turned when he heard the voice behind him. "Yes?"
Standing behind him, dressed in a conservative black suit jacket and a star-patterned tie, was Ethan Curry. The professor held out a couple of sheets of computer paper. Pendleton was startled by the predatory look in the thin man’s eyes. They gleamed.
The detective picked up the papers and started flicking through them, looking at the list of species and the percentages. "What’s this, Ethan?"
The astronomer gave an odd half-smile. "Hope."
Pendleton shoved the papers into his coat pocket. He couldn’t blame the man for trying, but he really should leave the investigations to the professionals. He turned back to watching the camera crew pack it up for the day.
"Alms! Please, good mistress! Alms for a poor, blind beggar without a crust of bread!" The gnarled old man clutched at Sheila’s dark red cloak as she passed.
"I’m sorry...I don’t have any money," Sheila pulled gently free, tears springing to her eyes. She could smell the decay and despair all around her, flowing through the city street with the open sewers, hanging from the gaping windows, and filling the haggard faces of the men and women who reached for her.
A woman not many years older than herself caught hold of her arm. "Please, some food. We’ve no food," A skin disease formed lesions down the side of the young woman’s face, and Sheila shuddered in dismay.
"I’m sorry!" She quickly pulled back, and hurried down the road after Randale, who had nearly disappeared from sight amidst the throng. She could hear the voices of the beggars calling after her long after they fell out of earshot.
"Randale...those people...."
Her mentor was frowning, his dark hair casting a shadow across his glittering eyes. "I know. We can’t help them, now. But very soon, my apprentice."
Sheila looked up. "We are? How"
Randale’s voice was soft and determined. "The Lord of these parts lives in a fine mansion just outside of town. He has caused the misery we just saw with his cruel taxes and unjust laws." The roguish smirk curled across his lips. "I think that we can put some of the wealth he’s acquired to a much better use, don’t you?"
They were now passing the stands of farmers, each offering the finest fruit and vegetables in the Realm to any who came close. But all Sheila could see were the faces of the starving that crowded by the city gates. There were too many people that had been forgotten by Dungeon Master. By everyone. The old knot of pain in her belly clenched, and she nodded grimly. "I think so too."
"Got it!" Bobby yelled as he dove for the low ball to right field. The ball landed solidly in the soft leather of the glove, and in one motion he grabbed it and whipped it over to second base.
"Nice move, Bobby," shouted Pete Leeland as he trotted over from center field.
Bobby grinned. "I’ll show you moves when I get up to bat."
Bobby closed his eyes and breathed in the smell of the fresh green grass, the sunshine, the sounds of the game. He loved to play, and was looking forward to meeting Terry at the ice cream shop afterwards. Classes were a breeze once he caught up, and his parents had let up on him since his ‘lie’. They still seemed sad, but they were trying to focus on what they had now instead of lingering on what they did not.
It was strange how fast the memories of the Realm had faded in the last year. Sometimes, he couldn’t believe half of the things he had thought he’d done. Now he was here, home, being a kid again, his memories of that place seemed elusive, like the memory of a dream. He belonged here. He was going to graduate, and go to college, maybe get in the major leagues, or become a coach. Hank knew all sorts of tricks for getting people to do what they were supposed to.... He shook his head. He hoped they would make it out eventually.
"Hey! Day dreaming, Bobby? She’s not that cute!"
Bobby gave a barbarian growl at his friend, and returned his attention to the baseball game.
"Again!"
Obediently, Diana once again vaulted the wall, dived through the hoops, landed in a back handspring that vaulted her over the cloak spread out on the ground, and somersaulted below a free-swinging mace. What she did not expect was the staff that came smashing down right next to where she landed. She deftly rolled to the side, coming up behind the mannequin with the mace, grabbing the weapon from its side and assuming a defensive posture.
"Very good. Now, me." Xalan slowly circled around, brandishing her staff, while Diana clung to her mace. Xalan lunged forward, but Diana easily dodged the blow, swinging the mace back for a solid blow to the staff at the same time. Xalan grinned.
Diana lashed out with her mace again, ducking under Xalan’s broad parry. She couldn’t quite reach with the greater length of the staff against her, and the staff brushed her shoulder on the downstroke as she rolled out of the way. She swore softly and pulled back into a crouch, waiting for Xalan’s next move. She was going to show the bounty hunter just how good she was, one of these days.
Pull. Point. Loose. An arrow arcing through the air, lit by the rays of the afternoon sunlight that filtered through the trees in bright shafts that sparkled with dust motes. A woman’s scream, the ringing sound of a distant knife on steel. The whinny of a horse. The sound of an arrow sinking into flesh. The strangled choking of a dying man...
"There was no choice." Donavan laid his hand on the Ranger’s shoulder. The sound of soft sobs did little to break the silence that seemed to encircle the two men at the edge of the clearing.
"There could have been something. If I had my energy bow I could...." Hank was numb. At his feet was the body of the bandit he had slain. It was a young man, with worn clothes and a face that seemed older than his years. He had killed a man. Pull. Point. Loose.
"You do not hold a magic weapon any more, Hank. You carry the bow you carved for yourself from the old yew on the river." Donavan pulled Hank away from the body, forcing student to face teacher. "If there is another way, any other way, you must seize it. But that bandit would have killed the woman had you not shot as you did."
Heart thundering in his ears, he tore through the undergrowth for the road, following the sound of screams. His bow was at the ready before he even saw the small wagon. The bandits had ripped the driver from the seat, and the man lay unconscious on the ground near the wheel. One had climbed up into the seat, next to the woman, and was starting to draw a knife across her throat. Pull. Point. Loose.
"Some must take the responsibility of this, the burden of this, so others do not have to. If you want to protect, to serve them, than you must shoulder it. "
Hank nodded. Defend unto death. He would do what he had to do. Pull. Point. Loose.
Donavan was with him when he buried the dead bandit.
Randale swept Sheila up into an enthusiastic embrace. "You….my dear, you were incredible. Amazing. I could have sworn that last guard looked straight at you, but you slipped past as though you were invisible." The dawn’s amber glow filtered through the dark conifers surrounding their camp.
Sheila blushed, the ice that had kept her moving, alone in a mansion filled with alert guards and a magical trap, melting in the warmth of his arms. She was surprised at how easy it had been, in the end, despite traps. A small smile trembled on her lips as she remembered the way she had crawled under a table to avoid a guard leaning casually against it. The Lord and his wife, asleep in their bed, never stirred as she carefully disarmed the trapped box holding their greatest jewels and slipped their treasures into her pockets.
Randale brushed back her fiery hair and looked down at her with burning black eyes. "You, my apprentice, will truly be the greatest thief in all the world."
Sheila trembled in his arms, overwhelmed by the huskiness in his voice, and the passion that his eyes hinted at. A tiny voice seemed to call at her from a very great distance, but she pushed it away into the icy pit of all her guilt and fears. Only the moment, this moment, would claim her now.
Drawing her to him, Randale did.
"There you go. That’s the last connection." Dan gave a broad grin as he turned to the young woman in the print dress who stood by the doorway. "I am proud to certify your new home fit as a fiddle and in accordance to all local, state, and federal electric codes. Why don’t you try it out."
He couldn’t see the blush in the woman’s ebony skin, but her smile was more than rewarding enough as she flipped the switch. The light filled the barren room. "This moment brought to you by Habitat for Humanity," he said, keeping his grin in place. Sheila had had such a beautiful smile.
"Thank you, Mr. O’Brien," the woman said softly. "It’s wonderful."
"Well, you take good care of it." Sheila had talked like that. She had a pretty voice. This girl had to be the same age as Sheila too. He shook his head. Nodding a goodbye, he hurried out of the room. No need to spoil her grand moment with his grief.
Dan leaned against the front stoop and pulled a picture from his wallet. It was worn now, the colors creased with wear. He closed his eyes. "Dear God. I know that you can do anything. You even brought Bobby back to us. Please, please, just let me see Sheila one more time." It was the same prayer he had said every day from the day his children had disappeared.
"Is that your daughter?" The carpenter who was finishing up the front porch walked up behind him, looking over Dan’s shoulder at the picture.
Dan nodded. He didn’t know this man. The regular Habitat carpenter was taking the Saturday off, and he hadn’t met this new volunteer before.
"Pretty lass. That’s a face you’d not forget." Dan turned. The carpenter was an old, grizzled man, with more hair growing from his ears than on his head. His eyes were black, and his skin was as leathery as alligator hide. "I remember seeing a girl, looked just like that."
Dan’s eyes widened. "When?" He frowned and fought the shaking in his worn hands.
"About, oh, two and a half years ago, I’d say. I was working out of town. Little mining camp in the Wind River Mountains; I can’t remember the name. I saw her and five of her friends camped for the night at one of the sites. Out in the middle of nowhere. I didn’t bother them, though. Just a couple of high school kids out for a lark, and I was driving back into town. But you remember a pretty face like that."
Dan’s hands were trembling. "Wait here...."
The electrician took off like a running back, dashing to the nearest payphone to get Pendleton to question the strange carpenter. But by the time he got back, the man had disappeared.