Humi Procumbere

     The rapidity of his blinking good eye did not change the specter before him, though he varied the rate. So many...blink...so many bodies...blink, blink...all those little kids...blink-blink-blink...all those wretched birds...long, slow blink...all those...fires...no blink, just a closed eye. He weaved as he toiled with the infinity of experiences that he’d suddenly become privy to when Iphi—that stupid bird, that phoenix—bit him. Nothing. Not one single scrap of her enlightenment existed to help him rationalize the Burning Grounds. “Why?” he croaked.

Ultro Citroque

     At the bottom of the stairwell, the Mercury’s Elite Guardsman sternly said, “wait here while I check it out.”
     Weaving and holding her knapsack tightly, Cassie growled, “you think someone’s hiding in there? What? Waiting to kill the Kaiser? Like they planned for you to bring him down here? No one even knows this place exists.”
     “The kitchen staff know,” Archel pointed out as the weight of her words hit him. Before he could say anything else, the Merc returned.
     “It’s safe,” he said. When the trio had entered the first compartment of the Bomb Shelter, the Merc pulled the heavy steel blast door closed, and spun the four cam latches into place with a grunt. “We’ll stay here until the danger passes,” he informed them.
     “And, how will we know?” Cassie asked. She stood in the middle of the empty room looking at the gun metal gray walls.

Difficultatibus Affici

     Holding his suspenders in a light grip, Captain Decker stood on the stairwell outside the pilot house. From his vantage point, he could see down the river and up the embankment which led to the little shotgun cabin that was their port of call. Not that there was anything to see, dusk having faded to twilight. He stared up the shadowy embankment to the invisible treeline. Any time now, one of his crew would pop out, a lone torch. Who? he wondered. Doesn’t matter, he mused, soon as they’re onboard, we set sail. Waiting wasn’t the problem. Sailors know Waiting intimately. No. The riptide in his gut longed desperately to be rolling out into the Sovereign Sea where overgrown river banks would be distant memories. Storm coming, he shuddered. Taking the giant cigar out of his mouth, the captain stared at the embers a moment, and then tossed back his hand to knock the ash into the wind.

Incunabula Doctrinae

     After minutes of pacing between Preston’s desk and the door, the novice cook thought she’d lose her mind. Sitting down in the chair next to the couch where the Messenger lay sprawled, the young woman took time to really observe her unconscious charge. The Messenger’s wavy blond hair covered half of her sickly face which currently matched her pale tunic and contrasted sharply with her partially unbuttoned black jerkin. On the ground next to the couch lay a dingy old knapsack, its seams stretched, a couple unraveled. What is in that thing? the girl wondered. She reached toward the bag, then stopped herself, you can’t. That’s the Messenger’s. Sitting back in the rickety chair, she could barely hear it creak with the noise from the kitchen. How can she sleep through all that? At that last thought the cook leaned over again, flipped up the top of the bag, and stared at the contents. Of course she has a shit ton of notebooks, the cook chuckled. First, she glanced from the door to the Messenger. Then, after holding her breath for a count of three, she repeated the action. When she couldn’t stand it any more, she knelt down before the bag and gave the middle notebook a solid tug which caused her to rock back. Inhaling, she pushed herself off the ground, weaved, and then eased into the chair. Flipping open to a random page, the nosy little cook read:

Manus Inicere

     He threw his head back, rolled his eyes, and then sharply focused on the speaker whom he asked, “what? Not interested in excuses.” Shaking his manacled wrist and pointing his finger around the room, Adonis said, “well, look around. I don’t know where the fuck we are or how the fuck I got like this,” he shook the chains holding both wrists to the hospital bed. “So tell me. How the fuck am I supposed to care?”
     “How? How? This is your fault!” the irate pock-faced man yelled from his bed. “You set us up!”
     Tapping his keys on the bars, the guard grunted, “shut up, Gorrie.”
     “Wasn’t me, boss,” Gorrie called from his rack across the room.
     “Sure,” the guard nodded, “and, I’m a rainbow butterfly unicorn kitten. Shut your trap!”
     “Didn’t know animals could talk,” Gorrie muttered.

Iratae Voces

     Suddenly flooded with brilliant emerald light, the kitchen staff froze. Without giving a second thought to the sudden disco, Preston the Head Cook yelled, “snap to! Hungry people waiting! Go on!” His business as usual attitude hid his shock at seeing a young woman appear out of thin air. He spun towards her with a metal whisk in one hand, saying, “I don’t care who you are. You ever just pop in here like that again, I swear to Mercury, I’ll turn you over my knee! Do you know how close you came to making Scott drop the tray he’s carrying?” For his part, Scott had chosen that moment to disappear through the swinging doors leading into the Dining Hall. Regardless, Preston continued, “damned Royals, just come and go as they please. No consideration for those who slave away making sure they have all the luxuries they need. Ridiculous,” he shook his head as he turned back to the mixing bowl, “if you’re hungry, I suggest you find a seat out there,” he waved the whisk like a magic wand.

Pueris Problematis

     Standing in the foyer of the Chief Justice’s Chambers, Moira Thibodeaux once again stared at the depressing painting of the wrecked ship being pummeled on the rocks which served as its cause of destruction. “Osborne, do you think this place would make a good museum?”

     The young ensign looked at her quizzically, shrugged his shoulders and answered with, “yes ma’am, I believe it would. Might even quiet the rumors about it.” He smiled. “You do know your refusal to live here will cause an uproar. The papers will go nuts.”

     “I certainly hope so,” she said approvingly. “I’ve always been a simple, practical woman. I see nothing sensible about this,” she circled her forefinger, “palace.” She sighed. Turning away from the painting, she walked over to the door through which they’d originally entered. “When we get back to my house, I should like to speak with Colonel Dagon. Can that be quickly arranged?”

Lege Teneri

     The tears wouldn’t stop flowing. She’d ravaged her swollen eyes and raw nose with half a roll of toilet paper, but still, the damnable salt water and mucus trickled down her face. Her ass hurt from prolonged sitting, the ceramic toilet seat offered her no comfort. Her temples throbbed; each beat sent a shockwave through her nervous system. Holding onto the bathroom wall, to keep from falling off the toilet, she sunk into the cold tiles. The position was awkward, but the cool tiles soothed her burning skin. When the urge to vomit finally passed, Tokus Cassius, Mercury’s Messenger, climbed off the toilet. She slowly navigated the bathroom to the sink, where she turned the cold water tap on and began a two handed shoveling maneuver, slapping her face with the ice water. She gave no thought to the water that jumped over her shoulders to land on her back. Right when she was starting to feel like a functional human being, her stomach flipped. She lunged back to the toilet, where she barely made it before—Oh, sweet mother of Mercury! That’s disgusting!—hugging the porcelain goddess. In her painful state, she did not hear the thrice knock of the Mercury’s Elite Guard.

Tremit Artus

     Sitting by the hospital bed, Captain Prescott spoke softly, “don’t worry. The situation is contained. General Tomlyn will not be pursuing charges.”

     “Well, that’s fortunate,” Goldie replied, flicking her blonde bangs away.

     “Goldie,” Captain Prescott stated, “I’m not going to apologize and I don’t expect one from you, either.” He couldn’t help but look at her with pity; his heart hurt to see how her sunken cheeks highlighted the bags under her eyes. If only we’d met in some other place, he ground his teeth trying to shake the thought loose. Once again speaking softly, he said, “considering everything, you’ll have to stay under observation.”