Leporidae Rex

For New Readers:

2009-03-10T13:49:00.006-05:00

This archive is meant to be read from the beginning. When you have finished reading the first post, click "Newer Post" at the bottom to move on to the next one. I recommend you bookmark the last page you read so you can pick up where you leave off, as there are over two hundred posts in the archive.

Believe what you read or do not. The choice is yours.

Begin AT THE BEGINNING

Mary: Curtain Call

2009-03-09T12:33:00.012-05:00

WARNING: THIS IS THE FINAL ENTRY IN LEPORIDAE REX. NEW READERS, BEGIN HERE.

Dazed and in shock, much of what happened next was translated and related back to me in the following days.

After I rubbed my eyes and my vision returned, I looked around and saw every single Smiler in the room slumped over dead, eyes open. Emperor Komei stood in front of Hollis and the Red Lady, a pair of samurai holding their arms behind their backs, their supernatural powers now gone. His voice flat and low, he said, "With only one arm and one leg, I was wondering how Sato-san would spend his remaining years. With the two of you alive, I have my answer." The Emperor couldn't resist giving a small, malicious smile. "For you who have been so quick to deal out death to my people, I make this terrible promise: you shall live to die of old age." He nodded down to Sato, who writhed in pain from his shattered kneecap, but still managed to grin sadistically up at Hollis, who was led away, his face aghast.

Then the Emperor leaned down and placed a hand under Fukimitsu's head, the young samurai pale and coughing up blood from the stab wound inflicted by the Red Lady's dagger. At the time I was hardly unaffected by his plight, but now just thinking about his last words as they were translated to me still makes me cry as I type it:

"My Emperor... my lone regret in this life is that this samurai was cursed with such a poor master. A samurai gains honor through hardship and struggle. He proves his mettle by serving a lord who chooses unwisely- who treats him shabbily and orders him to perform dishonorable acts. Would that I have been blessed to be a vassal to another lord, but instead Fate has cheated me of the chance to reveal the full depths of my character... by forcing me to serve the finest man I have ever known."

Fukimitsu reached up then with a bloody hand to touch his master's face even as his eyes went dark and his body became slack in the Emperor's hands. With all the supreme efforts of will I had seen displayed in our struggle, never had I witnessed the resolve it took for the Emperor of Japan not to weep over the death of his descendant, Fukimitsu.

From the stage then, we could hear a groan as Yoshida woke up, apparently having been stunned into unconsciousness by the Magician's disappearance. I'm sure there are some of you reading this who hunger for vengeance against him for what he did, for his betrayal of his country and his friends, but at the time all I felt was pity. What the Magician offered was everything he could have ever wanted, and I had seen enough death and destruction already. I said, "Please, Emperor, spare his life. I know he has done wrong, but..." Unfortunately, as Yoshida and I realized at the same moment, there was no one left alive to translate for us, and the Emperor would hardly believe Yoshida.

Yoshida shook his head sadly as he looked down at me, the massive, muscle-bound Ota lumbering toward him inexorably. "I am sorry, Stroud. You know that, don't you?" He looked up as Ota towered over him, muttering despondently, "What a waste. What a waste." I turned away then, shielding my eyes. I heard a bone snap, Yoshida gave a sharp yelp and then his body hit the floor, dead.

Ota turned and picked up the chest of bingo charms on the stage, upending the box and pouring out the goo that they had been transformed into, all of them destroyed. We would find out later that the whales- every single one of them on Earth- were dead, their bloated corpses washing up on Japanese shores for months.

There were so many questions still unanswered. How had the Magician gotten the whales to serve him? Had he somehow created them all as a species? What part did the Red Lady's rabbit's foot play in the spell (despite months spent as the Emperor's "guest" in his dungeons, she never spoke a single word)? Who was the Magician really? Was he Geoffrey Gagworth, the first magician to perform the "rabbit out of a hat" trick, or was that just an identity he adopted? Was he even human at all?

We do not know and we will probably never know. This isn't some story where every little loose end is tied into a pretty knot. It's real life, and frankly we may be better off not knowing.

From the edge of the stage I heard a groan, and I dashed over to find Taras, still barely alive, his gray hair hanging down in his face and blood flowing freely from his nose, mouth and ears. Despite being in obvious pain, he smiled at me as I leaned down next to him. "I'm dying." He sounded like he just won the lottery. "And this time I shall stay dead, thank God." A puzzled look crossed his face. "How did you know?"

"That you would do it? The more I read your post, the more I suspected you'd betray the Magician if you thought it would actually work. Using the stage magic- the slight of hand Yoshida taught me- it was easy enough to get the hypo into your pocket, knowing that everyone would be busy watching my other hand carve into your face." I pulled his handkerchief from his coat and attempted to dry the blood, but it just kept coming.

He coughed, spattering my shirt-front with specks of red. "He has no blood... will the Calicivirus kill him? Will it infect whatever new world they were transported to? And the Howlands..."

I shrugged and shook my head, not wanting to think too much about it. "I didn't know what it would do, exactly. I think Doctor Yoshida, Kisho's father, had partially formulated it just for this purpose, so that it would affect him. Regardless, when Josh and I were about to destroy it down in Texas we had second thoughts. All that work he'd put in perfecting the formula... and in the end I guess it came down to the fact that the Doctor was fighting against the Magician and so were we, so we kept it around, buying one extra day from Pierce with a bogus story about not being able to get to FedEx in time. You have any idea how hard it is to find a book written in Japanese to shred in a Texas bookstore? Once the Emperor joined us we told him we still had the formula, and he agreed to manufacture it, though on the off-chance the Magician was still reading the archive we decided to keep it secret."

He chuckled, grimacing in pain and holding his stomach. After a moment, he mumbled, "I hear something."

Nodding and humoring him, I replied, "All right, Taras. It's all right now."

The old man shook his head peevishly. "I know what dying's like, woman. I've done it a hundred times. I said I hear something. From the stage."

Rising, I looked toward the dais, now hearing it as well. It sounded like someone sniffling. I wandered over slowly, peered around the floor and finally found the Magician's cape at the rear of the stage. Underneath it was a trembling lump, and I knelt down next to it and pulled the cape back, revealing a small, blond-haired boy, his face smudged, tear-stained and terrified. His blue eyes focused on me, and he spoke in what sounded like Russian.

From behind me Taras croaked, "It's the orphan. From the alley. The one the Magician made disappear."

Suddenly the boy started babbling, the words coming out in a rush. Taras translated, "He wants to know where he is. He says he has been in darkness for so very long. He asks, 'was it a dream? A nightmare? Am I dreaming now?' He asks where is his little sister. He asks again where he is."

The boy and I stared at each other for a long, long moment, and then I reached out and pulled him to me, hugging him and stroking his blond hair. He began to sob, crying into my chest with great heaving breaths. I began to cry as well, my tears falling onto the top of his head as I held him tight. "Tell him..." I tried to find the words, tried to think of a way to explain what had happened so that he could possibly understand. "Tell him..." I started again, not knowing that Taras was already dead, his face affixed with a beatific smile.

I squeezed the little boy even tighter as he clung to me with all the strength in his young body. "Tell him he's home.

"He's home."

FINAL ENTRY

Mary: Leporidae Rex

2009-03-08T14:32:00.029-05:00

It was like watching someone throw tinsel on the Mona Lisa. It was like serving Dom Perignon with Ritz crackers and squeeze cheese. The incredibly simple, elegant, profound rock garden and sacred shrine had been "decorated" with black velvet curtains adorned with tacky, tin foil moons and stars. A jade statue of the Buddha in the center of the room had been sprayed with rainbow glitter. From the rafters on the roof of the shrine, someone had hung colored streamers, including an incongruous banner that proclaimed, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" in big, red, block letters.

Smilers arranged themselves like ushers along the walls, and metal folding chairs had been put up in front of a raised dais that would be used as the stage. The curtains on either side of the dais provided an off-stage area that presumably led to other, hidden, adjoining rooms.

The samurai were directed to sit in the chairs, with the Emperor and his top men: Fukimitsu, Ota and Sato seated in places of honor up front on the left side of the center aisle. There were more chairs than there were samurai left alive, so some of the Smilers filled in the gaps to guarantee a full house.

On the right side of the aisle sat the Magician's lieutenants: Hollis, the veiled woman dressed in gray and the man I had assumed to be Taras. Hollis craned his neck to look at Yoshida and I when we entered, waving us over genially to the front of the shrine to two empty seats behind him. He was giddy.

"We saved these two for you, my dear. Oh, you will not believe this show, I guarantee it. Welcome, welcome." He rose as we approached, guiding us into our chairs. His touch on my hand as he helped me sit made my stomach churn, but I was determined to keep my composure, at least for the moment.

"And who are your friends, Mr. Hollis?" I asked, gesturing discreetly at the lady and Taras.

He shook his head in mock-disgrace. "My stars, where are my manners? Miss Mary Stroud, this is the Red Lady of Babil. Forgive the Lady, Miss Stroud, if she does not indulge in pleasantries. Like my master, she uses words sparingly." His tone grew sour as he added, "And this is Taras."

Taras brushed his long, wavy, silver hair from his face and turned to look at me with gray, doleful eyes. "Dobry vechar. Good evening."

Hollis began, "The show should begin in-"

Just then I stood and leaped up and over the row of chairs, landing on Taras and knocking him sideways onto the wooden plank floor. With my right hand I clawed Taras' face as hard as I could, carving four long, bloody slashes into his left cheek from his eye to the bottom of his jaw.

He didn't cry out, and he didn't fight- he merely slowly took hold of my wrists and lifted me up to my feet, his expression puzzled. With heavily accented English he asked, "And what have I done to deserve such special treatment, miss?"

As he held me with an iron grip that was still somehow gentle I leaned close to him, my face only an inch from his and hissed, "Because of all of them, I think you know better." Then I spit right in his face, tore my hands out of his grasp and retook my seat with head held high.

The samurai all tried to suppress satisfied grins as they watched me sit, with Fukimitsu even daring to give me a low, surreptitious "thumbs up". Even Hollis chuckled, clearly loving the exchange.

Meanwhile, Taras simply pulled a stained handkerchief from the pocket of his gray long coat and dabbed at the blood and spittle, sitting back down without another word.

Just then, a Smiler dressed as the captain of a cruise ship strode out onto the stage. Hollis rose, explaining to those nearby, "The Magician sends for his Master of Ceremonies. Excuse me." He moved to take the stage, but Taras stood up as well.

"I prefer to emcee." He spared a look back at me, his expression bitter and defiant.

Hollis was indignant. "I always emcee. Sit down, you old Ukrainian goat!"

Taras sneered, "I managed to kill one of them. You did not. The honor is mine by right."

"Tate? You're counting Ricky god damned Tate as one of them? He hardly can be said to count." The two men stared at each other for a long moment, glaring at each other balefully until finally Hollis begrudgingly sat down cursing under his breath. Taras nodded to himself, then paused to glower over Hollis' shoulder at me, and for a moment I thought he might spit on me in return, but in the end he just turned and took the stage, striding backstage accompanied by the Smiler Captain.

We only had to wait for a couple of minutes (during which time Yoshida leaned over to me- soaked in a cold sweat from the exchange with Taras- and muttered, "You are insane") before Taras appeared from the wings and marched to the center of the stage. He cleared his throat and all was silent, with the Smilers on the aisles reaching up and turning the lanterns down to a low flame.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Tonight you will see the greatest magic show of all time. The Great Gagasti will perform two magic tricks for your amusement, and the skill with which he weaves his spells will dazzle and amaze you.

"And now without further ado, I give you, the Magician!"

Just then, not so coincidentally, the castle shook with an enormous, booming thunderclap from the storm overhead, and the Magician/the Great Gagasti/Jeff Werth strode onto the stage, his dark eyes beaming. He wore the top hat and cape that Josh and I had until recently possessed, and he gave a deep bow to the audience which was responded to with synchronized clapping from the Smilers, enthusiastic applause from Hollis and seething resentment from everyone else.

The woman dressed in black robes and a burqa walked onstage next, and after a moment reached up and tore off the robes, revealing a second outfit underneath of a sequined bodysuit, fishnet stockings and high, stiletto heels. As my hands went to my face in shock, Taras continued, "And introducing the Magician's special assistant for the evening, the lovely Miss Cynthia!"

It was Mrs. Howland, her expression somehow dignified despite the gaudy, degrading costume. She struck a theatrical, sexy pose while keeping her head high, her lip curling with disdain. Unable to contain myself I cried out, "Mrs. Howland! What happened to you? Can you hear me?"

Her sharp eyes darted out to the crowd, and her face brightened for just a moment when she recognized me before her jaw tightened. She spoke with a severity and sobriety that was completely at odds with the spectacle she was a part of. "Mary! Stay back. I have no control whatsoever over my body, only my head. He moves me about like a marionette while I can merely observe."

My eyes welled up as I searched for words, but she cut me short. "No tears! We face this with dignity and composure. If the world is to end- if we are to die- then we will do so nobly. We will show him that despite all his little tricks and illusions, there is not nearly enough dark sorcery in the world to break our indomitable will."

Nodding slowly, my teeth clenched to stop myself from crying, I sat back down. To my left I could see Fukimitsu translating everything for Emperor Komei, who nodded sternly in approval.

Taras continued, "For his first trick, the Magician will saw a man in half." I thought of Josh and my heart raced, imagining all the horrible things they might do to him, when Mrs. Howland stepped off stage and wheeled out a four foot long box, about the size of a coffin for a child. Then from inside his cape, with a flourish the Magician pulled out a simple carpenter's saw and brought it down slowly on the box, tapping it. Then he slid the saw off stage right, and Mrs. Howland propped up the box so that we were seeing it from the top, where we could look directly into it as she opened the lid, revealing a man with both of his arms and legs freshly amputated and with iron, claw-like spikes driven into his eye-sockets.

It was Crayton.

I gasped as his mouth began to move, his lips quivering in anguish. "I- I humbly beg forgiveness of my master... I sent a slave to kill the old woman without his permission. I thought I knew better- I thought we should kill our enemies, oh, God he promised no pain. Oh, God..." He trailed off for a moment, and all was deathly silent in the shrine, with even Hollis holding his breath, riveted and I believe just a little horrified.

"I will listen to my master from now on... he knows best- please, please, please kill me. Please, someone kill me! Please! Please!" His agonized wails grew louder until the Magician slowly closed the lid of the box and gestured for Mrs. Howland to wheel it back offstage. Once again the Smilers performed their odd, synchronized applause, while Hollis could manage only a single, concerned clap.

Taras, also appearing just a touch taken aback from the display, gathered himself and said, "And now for the moment you've all been waiting for. The Magician will perform his second and final act of magic in this world: the rabbit out of a hat trick!"

Mrs. Howland exited stage right only to reappear a moment later pushing a large, flat wooden board about the size of a door, and standing upright strapped to it with leather cords, his chest bare, was Josh. He stared straight ahead with the same resolute expression as Cynthia, purposely avoiding my gaze lest he lose his composure. As we had from the beginning, we took our cues from Cynthia, knowing that even if our deaths were inevitable and out of our control, how we died was not.

She trotted offstage again, returning pushing an empty table on wheels and carrying the chest of bingo charms from Hollis Crossroads. With a twirl of his hand, the Magician removed his top hat and placed it upon the table. He reached into the hat, opened up the hidden bottom and removed the globe key chain and the rolled up newspaper and carelessly tossed them to the floor at the rear of the stage. Next, he bent down, rummaged through the box of bingo charms and selected one, dropping it into the hat. Then he walked to the edge of the dais to Hollis, who rose from his chair and pulled from his inside jacket pocket another, brand-new, still shrink-wrapped globe key chain and a fresh sheet of newspaper, one I thought I could recognize as the Kyoto Shimbun News, the local paper.

With practiced moves, the Magician rolled up the front page, then took it and the new globe key chain and placed them in the bottom of the hat, closing it up again. Then he stepped once again to the edge of the stage, his eyes focused on the Red Lady of Babil. She sat still for a long moment, then finally rose and pulled from her dress a small, brass-bound wooden box, holding it out to the Magician. The Red Lady's eyes burned over her veil like twin suns, her hatred for him palpable.

Even Yoshida, not normally the most astute observer of human interaction, noticed it. He leaned over and whispered to me, "She despises him so! I thought she was one of his people?"

"She does hate him... but only a woman who has loved in the past could hate with that depth of passion. I can only imagine how she must have felt about him... once." I glanced over to see Yoshida blinking confusedly behind his thick glasses and shook my head, knowing that he could never understand.

The Magician slowly opened the tiny box, and pulled from within a pure white rabbit's foot, with no chain or clasp on the end. As Yoshida leaned in again to ask another question, Hollis turned around in his seat and whispered to us. "The left hind foot of a rabbit captured in a cemetery on a rainy Friday the 13th, the foot cut off while the rabbit still lived." He added vindictively, "You see, this is the sort of information the emcee should be providing. I have a favorite quote during this part from R.E. Shay: 'Depend on the rabbit's foot if you will, but remember it didn't work for the rabbit'." He chuckled. "Love that line. God in heaven, but that Ukrainian is doing piss poor work, if you'll pardon my French."

We returned our attention to the stage, where the Magician placed the rabbit's foot carefully into the top hat, then withdrew his old rabbit-skinning knife from his cape. My breath caught as he held it up to the light in front of Josh, it's edge glinting menacingly, and then without hesitation he brought it down to Josh's chest and began to cut him, a trickle of blood working it's way down his stomach.

I put my hands over my mouth to stifle a scream, but after a moment it became apparent that the Magician wasn't killing him, only making shallow, surface cuts. Josh's face was contorted in a fierce grimace, but he never cried out; never gave the Magician the satisfaction.

When he had finished, the Magician cupped his left hand under Josh's chest and gathered some of the blood, then took it and poured it into the hat, pausing afterward to remove a blindingly white handkerchief from his coat pocket and dab the excess blood off of Josh's wound. Once it was clean I could see that the incision was directly over his heart in the shape of the symbol for infinity.

After the Magician had replaced the knife within his cape, Taras gestured into the audience, his face at its most morose as he intoned, "And now, the Magician asks for a native volunteer from the audience. Without a volunteer, his trick can not be performed. Everlasting life will be yours. You will- should you obey the Magician- feel no pain ever again. Armies of slaves will be at your beck and call, and you shall become the new Emperor of Japan." He scanned the crowd, saw no one move a muscle and his expression brightened with just the tiniest hint of hope. "I call again for a volunteer."

Without moving my head, I peered sidelong at Emperor Komei and his retainers, Fukimitsu, Ota and Sato, wondering which, if any, of the three would rise. As I stared, I caught the Emperor stealing the briefest of looks at Fukimitsu and knew in that moment that he was his most likely suspect. Curious to know who he thought would crack, I turned back to my right to ask Yoshida's opinion.

He was standing.

"Oh, God, Kisho. Don't... please don't." He said nothing. He merely stood with his head bowed, his expression a mask of shame. "For God's sake, haven't you seen how this ends? Take a look around!"

He spoke in a choked whisper, "You do not understand. I need more time. All the things I can accomplish... and the women, I can't-" He swallowed to hold back tears. "I have always been the weak, the bullied... it's everything I need-" A deep breath, and still he couldn't bring himself to look at me. "I am sorry. I truly am." He turned and shuffled slowly up the dais, looking less like a volunteer than a death row prisoner walking to the gas chamber. Yoshida spared a glance at Josh strapped to the board, but Josh spoke not a word- only gazed upon him with a combination of betrayal and pity that I'm sure was far worse than anything he could have said. His head sinking lower into his chest, Yoshida slunk to a position near the Magician while the Emperor and his men glared at him with helpless rage.

After Yoshida was in position, Taras stepped to the edge of the stage and began to wearily recite a speech he clearly had heard far too many times, saying:

"Ladies and gentlemen, the Magician will now perform the greatest trick you will ever be graced to see. He will bring this entire world through... to a new land. This world will surround that one, and over the next one hundred plus years he will infect it, conquer it and absorb it until the trick can be performed again ad infinitum. When we wake tomorrow morning, it will once again be July 21st, 1831, and the only difference in the world will be a new kingdom to overthrow-" he paused to gesture back to Yoshida, adding, "And a new Emperor of what was once Japan."

Realization dawned on Mrs. Howland's face. "He will draw us through to a new... dimension? The entire world, like a rabbit out of a hat, with him as the true king. The rabbit king. Leporidae Rex." She shook her head in mounting dread and awe, while at the same time her body continued to pose histrionically.

Taras paused to nod, muttering under his breath, "Same sh*t, different day- or close enough."

Holding up a hand for silence, the Magician stepped over directly behind the hat on the table as Cynthia positioned herself on his left. Josh stood strapped to the board behind him, and on his right Yoshida trembled, rubbed his hands together nervously and stared down at the stage. Taras was farther to the Magician's right toward the front of the stage.

All was quiet as the Magician closed his eyes in concentration, and suddenly from very far away we could hear the beginnings of a hum. The whales had entirely surrounded the island of Japan, and they sang their song over and over, louder and louder. Now the hum amped up to where we could feel it vibrating, and the curtains over the stage began to jiggle very slightly.

A high-pitched whine kicked in then, as it had back on the Dial Up when the whales attacked, and my teeth felt like they were rattling in their sockets. I remembered back to that incident, recollecting that Josh was unaffected by the whales and their song. Because he has the Magician's blood in his veins. That's why they left him alone. Mystery solved, too little, too late, I thought to myself bitterly as the whine elevated in intensity, with even some of the stoic samurai holding their heads and clenching their jaws.

The Magician held his hands over the top hat, and from within the hat came a faint, yellow glow that lighted his face from underneath. As the hum and whine from the whales grew to a deafening, knee-buckling intensity, the glow from the hat became brighter and brighter, until it was like a spotlight shining upward. His tiny smile widened into a demonic grin, and he ever so slowly began reaching into the hat with his right hand, his fingers twitching in anticipation.

I rose then, desperately attempting to keep my composure against the whalesong. Taking a deep breath, I called out, "You are not the only one here who has a trick to play, Magician!" The Great Gagasti spared only one, quick, annoyed glance up at me before immediately returning his attention to the hat. Hollis turned in his chair and hissed at me to sit down and shut up, but I remained standing.

"You read our archive over Mrs. Howland's shoulder. You know back when Agent Pierce forced us to destroy the Rabbit/Human Calicivirus, and we said we did?" Now it was my turn to smile.

"We lied."

Just then, Taras lunged at the Magician, reached into his long coat and pulled from it a thick, metal, hypodermic needle. With one, swift motion he reared back and stabbed it into the Magician's neck, pressing the plunger all the way down and injecting a viscous green liquid into him.

The Magician screamed in agony, the sound of his voice so loud that the very rafters of the castle shook and shuddered. He screamed and clawed at his neck, pausing only to lash out with the back of his hand at Taras, sending him flying to the edge of the stage where he smashed into the wall and shattered one of the room's thick, wooden support beams. He crumpled to a heap on the ground holding his belly, blood seeping from his nose and mouth.

Suddenly everything seemed to happen at once. Cynthia stared down at her body and held her hand in front of her face, realizing that she could once more finally control her limbs. Hollis and the Red Lady of Babil rose from their seats in shock and began to head for the Magician while the closest samurai, Fukimitsu and Sato jumped out of their chairs and leapt between the two of them and the stage.

In the next moment, Mrs. Howland clawed at the Magician's cape and pulled out his rabbit-skinning knife, immediately turning then and hacking at the restraints keeping Josh held fast. "Joshua!" she yelled trying to be heard over the hellish song of the whales and the anguished, enraged screams of the Magician. "He will infect us all with the virus! The entire world!" He nodded to her just as she finished cutting him out, and they reached out to grab the Magician together.

Meanwhile, as Hollis sprinted forward to assist his master, one-armed Sato snarled and attempted a kick up at his face. Hollis caught his foot with one hand and brought his other elbow down on Sato's knee, shattering his leg with a sickening crack. On his right, the Red Lady also stepped toward the stage, only to find her way blocked by Fukimitsu. He jabbed at her with a fast punch to the face, the blow spattering her veil with blood from the inside where her lip split, but in the next instant she pulled a small, sharp, black knife from her dress and drove it into Fukimitsu's stomach, the brave samurai staggering back and falling to the floor with a grunt.

Despite this, however, the Emperor's men had bought Cynthia and Josh the time they needed. The two stood on either side of the Magician, gave each other one last look and together lifted the hat off of the table and down onto the Magician's head as he bellowed in wrath and pain. In a moment, the yellow glow from the hat seemed to spread, the three of them bathed in it up on stage while Yoshida cowered off to the side.

I reached out to Josh and cried, "Josh, stop! It's... I think it's going to take you away with him! Let go!"

He turned to look back in my direction, but blinded by the light from the hat he couldn't see me. "Can't! We've got to take him away... anywhere but here, or the infection will spread." He and Cynthia redoubled their efforts, forcing the hat down on the Magician's head. Now the light surrounding the three was blinding, and even Hollis and the Red Lady put hands up to shield their eyes.

"Josh! Wait, Josh!" I called his name over and over again, tears streaming down my face. "Don't leave me! Please!"

Peering through my fingers I could just barely make out a sad smile on his face. The hum and vibration was out of control now, and I could hear an enormous crash somewhere behind me as entire sections of the castle collapsed. "Mary! If you can hear me..." I could just barely make out his form now, the entire stage ablaze with the light from the top hat. Somehow, despite the chaos around us, I heard his voice come through calm and clear. "Mary, they'll never understand. Never. The greatest magic I have ever seen is that of all the millions of women who were born and walked the Earth... of all of them... there has never been a woman loved as much as I love y-"

The light died then; the sound of the whales and the Magician's screams ended abruptly, and at center stage the Magician, Mrs. Howland and Josh had disappeared.

Mary: Decrypted

2009-03-04T09:36:00.029-06:00

February 26th, 2009:

In this, the third to last post in this archive, I have decided to decrypt the entire compilation of posts so that the world will know everything that occurred up to and including that fateful night in Kyoto, Japan. There is no point in keeping what transpired secret any longer. I will leave Mrs. Howland's sidebar on the right for sentimental reasons.

I have done my best to adapt what we've written and place it in blog format, using blogger.com as a template. I will link it to various blog compilation sites but do little to actually promote it. I have a feeling it will find its way into the proper hands all on its own.

A note on language: Some of what was said in this post was originally in Japanese. It was either translated by Fukimitsu or Yoshida at the time, or conveyed to me afterward.

Continuing where Emperor Komei left off:

As the rain began to pour down on the castle in thick sheets, the Magician strode through the piles of wriggling bodies and down some steps into the bowels of the castle followed by a parade of Smilers carrying antique steamer trunks. Meanwhile, Hollis meandered over to Emperor Komei, who was pinned but still struggling under no less than six Smilers.

Hollis cleared his throat and said politely, "If you will pardon me, your majesty, my master would like to extend you every courtesy before the show. He offers you time to care for your men medically as well as the opportunity to bathe and change into fresh clothes. I understand that officially surrendering is anathema to you, but would it not be more comfortable to view the magic show from chairs instead of where you are presently?"

Emperor Komei scowled, his eyes burning with rage, and with a supreme effort he freed his right hand, grasped one of the Smilers by the face and squeezed, its head exploding in a shower of skull and brains. Without a word, three more Smilers piled on, immobilizing him once more.

Nodding patiently, Hollis bent down next to the nearest samurai held helplessly next to the Emperor. With one hand he carefully reached down and pried the soldier's jaws open, then held his other hand an inch over his face. In the next moment, giant, wriggling centipedes poured out from inside his shirt-sleeve and clawed their way into the poor man's mouth, his neck bulging hideously as they crawled down his throat. The samurai twitched and struggled, slowly turned purple, his eyes wide with pain and horror, and then was still.

Hollis turned and smiled at the Emperor. After a long moment, finally, Emperor Komei nodded.

All of the Smilers rose then, releasing all of us, and we scrambled unsteadily to our feet. Hollis said, "You will be escorted to the baths. Medical supplies will be provided, as will dinner. The show begins at midnight."

Josh, rubbing his shoulder from where a Smiler had laid hard upon him, growled, "How? How the hell did he get in here? There was no blood! We searched everyone, no centipedes got in... so how?"

"It can't hurt to tell you now, Mr. Howland." Hollis stepped gingerly over the bloated, centipede-stuffed corpse and over to Josh, carefully taking the Magician's knife from his hand. "The 'rabbit out of a hat' trick. You know when it was first performed?"

"1831. Of course."

Hollis nodded, his smile widening in anticipation. "And you know where?"

Growing impatient, Josh snapped, "England. Get to it, would you? Wouldn't want to miss the 'show', now would we?"

If anything, Hollis slowed down, stepping even closer, his eyes dancing with sadistic mirth. "And where in England, precisely? Do you know?"

Josh shook his head. "No... probably some place with a high rabbit population, I suppose. Someplace relatively rural..." Slowly, realization dawned on his face. "Oh, no. Oh, God... Worcester?"

Hollis' yellow smile seemed to almost split his face in half. Josh continued, dazed, "My... my family on my mother's side is from Worcester. They built their fortune in the glove industry there..."

"Rabbit fur gloves, to be precise." Hollis hissed. Josh put his hands to his head, stunned, and I put my arm around him, holding him tight. Hollis went on, reveling in the moment. "You are not only descended from Leopold, you are of my master's line as well."

Sinking to his knees, still holding his head, Josh moaned. "His blood. His blood runs through my veins." With dawning realization, he gazed up at Hollis. "You weren't trying to kill me. Like Crayton that night on Wardang Island, you were driving me. You hounded me, pushed me to Hitoshirezu-jo. It was all to bring me here and lull Emperor Komei into trusting me so that he would invite me into the sacred castle willingly."

Hollis knelt as well, putting his face only inches from Josh's. "Your blood is the Magician's blood. That iron will of yours and your mother's? That's from him. Your blood... your very soul... he owns them, boy." He rose then and straightened his red-stained tie. "And tonight he's going to collect."

Hours later we soaked in the spacious steam-filled baths of the castle, the water in the tubs so volcanically hot that Josh and I had to submerge ourselves a half-inch at a time so our bodies would adjust. While everyone was naked and I was the only woman, I wasn't given a second glance, first because apparently in their culture it wasn't uncommon for men and women to bathe together, and second because everyone was too exhausted and defeated to be able to muster up the energy to leer.

We spoke little, spending our time dressing wounds, administering medicine and resting. After a couple of hours we were told that dinner was served, and the thirty or so of us limped off to a large dining area decorated with priceless Japanese antiques and artwork. We ate sparingly, the only conversation of note taking place between Yoshida and Josh, who was attempting to raise his own spirits by talking:

JOSH: Maybe that's why Japan is so crazy. The outside world that invaded is infecting the place, warping the people's minds, and they can't handle it.

YOSHIDA: Japan is not crazy. It only appears that way to a gaijin.

JOSH: You sell soiled panties out of vending machines. You drink curry, cucumber and eel-flavored colas. Your game shows violate the Geneva Convention. Seemingly every one of your cartoons has at least once scene where a schoolgirl gets violated by a tentacle.

I stand by my statement. With all due respect, you people are f*cking crazy.

YOSHIDA: (pause) You may have a point.

MARY: Amazing. Even at the end of the world, you two still find the time to talk about tentacle rape.

We ate as comfortably as possible while being surrounded and stared at by a mob of elderly people with demented grins on their faces, dried blood on their hands and red-spattered "#1 Grandma!" shirts on. The time passed too quickly, and soon it was almost midnight.

Hollis entered the dining hall, his gore-soaked white suit having been replaced with a pristine duplicate. "Attention, if you please! The magic show is about to begin! Please make your way to the sacred shrine in the rear of the castle!"

With a reluctant nod from Emperor Komei, the men shuffled off down the corridor. Josh, Yoshida and I were the last ones to go, and Hollis put out a hand to bar us at the dining hall door. "Mr. Howland, your great-great-great-great grandfather politely requests your assistance for the show, if you would be so kind to accompany me backstage."

I could see in Josh's face that he considered refusing, but he quickly did the math and saw that resistance at this point was useless. He turned to me with a wan smile and kissed me gently on the lips and the forehead. "I wish the Emperor could have married us before... before this."

Gazing into his eyes, I tried to think of something to say, finding nothing. The two of us held each other for a long while, kissed again, and with a smile and a tear he and Hollis walked off down the corridor in the opposite direction, disappearing around the corner.

With a nudge from a paunchy, Hispanic, smiling ship's cook, Yoshida and I made our way to the shrine.

Tenno Heika Komei: The Battle Of Hitoshirezu-jo, Part II

2009-03-03T22:01:00.014-06:00

At noon, the enemy arrived. Sunshine still ruled the day, though darker clouds had edged ever closer, the afternoon comfortably cool. It stood to reason that the weather would be perfect for battle, as the bingo charms granted the Magician (as I understood it) some degree of prognostication.

The enemy forces crested the forested hill directly in front of the castle, a small valley standing between their grassy hill and my forces outside Hitoshirezu-jo. While a right-thinking tactician would at this juncture politely mention that my small army would have the greater advantage utilizing the castle's walls as a defensive position, the very point of our defense was to keep the Magician out of the structure entirely. I would use the castle as a fallback position only, for late last year I had received a letter that read thusly:

To the great and powerful Emperor Komei of Japan,

Forgive the brevity of this note, but I have not much time. I am preparing to write a letter to my descendant, and I have not much doubt that once I do so my old master will sense my betrayal and take vengeance upon me from afar.

This I know, and mark me well: should the Magician set a single foot inside Hitoshirezu-jo, you will be powerless to stop him from performing his trick, thus bringing the world as you know it to an end. You must keep him outside of the castle walls at all costs.

He does have one hurdle, however, and that is that he must somehow place a portion of his blood inside the castle for him to be able to enter. Be aware as well that his body no longer contains blood of its own, so he cannot merely open a vein on your doorstep. He might have an old vial, or use other means to smuggle it inside, such as (and this is my own devious mind at work) painting blood onto Hollis' centipedes and having them run up the walls and into the windows. Or perhaps he will tempt one of your men into hiding a vial on his person. Search all of your people. There will always be a traitor, as I well know to my ultimate shame.

Best of luck to you. End it, once and for all, I beg you.

Your fellow sovereign,

Leopold George Christian Frederick, Prince of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, Duke of Saxony, King of the Belgians

With this missive in mind, I had the walls of the castle covered in grease so that none of the foul insects could scurry up its sides, and though I was disgusted by the ordering of the mistrustful act, I had had all of my troops' clothing and armor inspected for blood, discovering none.

My foe and his men gathered over the next hour, his grinning, elderly, yet superhumanly strong forces arranging themselves in a line on the ridge. We would do battle on the small plain in front of the castle, and as both he and I knew that there was no element of surprise to be had, we assembled and positioned our fighters at our leisure.

His lieutenants were the last to appear, and from King Leopold's earlier writings I recognized a good many of the personages. First to appear was the American, Hollis, a man I despised almost as much as the Magician himself, as he had bestowed the secret of nuclear fire to our enemies and brought Nippon to its knees. He was dressed in a white, three-piece suit and casually held a Confederate cavalry saber at his side.

Next could be seen a tall man, black as coal, dressed in only a loincloth and lion's mane headdress. He carried a pair of spears and a shield, and roaming about his feet were four mangy, giggling, snarling hyenas. The man gazed upon my assembled army with an arrogant sneer. From my readings, I concluded that this was Nhlakanipho Mabuza.

Following him was an old woman of middle-eastern descent. She was wrapped in gray cloth, her face thinly veiled, though even from my far position, through my telescope I could see that once she had been a specimen of incomparable beauty. She peered over her nose at the battlefield with what seemed an odd combination of boredom and disdain. I guessed that this might be who Leopold referred to as the Red Lady of Babil, but I could not be certain.

The last of the Magician's Lieutanants limped up the hill, peering up at the castle with gray, melancholy eyes as a rangy, tired-looking wolf slumped up next to him and gazed disinterestedly at the army assembled in front of it. In the man's hand was a Russian shashka (a hilt-less saber) held so loosely and carelessly that it actually dragged at the ground at his feet. His gray hair was long and ragged and the Soviet longcoat he wore identified him to me as Taras the Mutineer.

Finally the Magician himself appeared, strolling up the hill in a full tuxedo, his dark eyes staring up at the castle, the hint of a smile dancing at the edge of his lips. By his side was a woman dressed all in a funereal, black, burqa-like garment. I wondered if perhaps this was the Red Lady instead, but could afford no time to dwell upon the matter further.

From his far vantage point, the Magician picked my person out from the crowd, and gave a theatrical bow in my direction which I did not see fit to return. Then, with a gesture, he commanded his troops to advance.

At my side, sadistic Sato snarled uncontrollably, almost mad with the exertion of restraining himself on the brink of battle. Further toward the line I could see my archers, with Hara serenely stringing his bow and testing its pull as calmly as if it were another day on the practice range.

At the front and center of the line stood Ota, his block-like form stoically poised for battle. Fukimitsu sat atop his horse with the other cavalry on our right flank, his usual whimsical smile replaced with a more proper look of determination and focus.

In the rear stood the reserves and the gaijin, with him gripping the Magician's knife, his knuckles white around the handle, hovering over the opened chest of bingo charms and her holding a bow in one hand and an arrow in another. As I watched they turned and simply stared at one another for a long moment. Before I turned away, in their eyes I saw a reflection of the purest romantic love, and I was reminded that while the outlanders did not belong in our world, they were not all to blame for what had gone wrong in the universe. In that split second, I almost regretted not fulfilling their request and marrying them, even on our most-sacred site.

I pushed these thoughts from my mind, as regret has no place in a leader's mind on a battlefield. The "Smilers" as Howland and Stroud referred to them advanced down the hill to our position, with the African Nhlakanipho Mabuza loping down with them. Hollis sauntered down at a leisurely pace behind, while the Magician, Taras and the two ladies remained in the rear.

Calling out to Hara, I said, "Target the lieutenants. It will take many arrows to bring them down, so aim true for once, Hara-san!" He bowed back to me as my men chuckled politely at my small jest. From my position I could see Hara take a deep breath and close his eyes, then he pulled a long, barbed arrow from the ground and fitted it to the string. With perfect form, he raised his bow high and pulled back the arrow just as Nhlakanipho Mabuza reared back and heaved one of his spears with savage force, the shaft whooshing through the air with a sound I could hear even in the rear, and before Hara could loose even a single bolt, the spear punched straight through the center of his head, dropping him to the ground with an awkward thud, killing him instantly.

My army gasped, and the gaijin Howland summed up our collective thoughts with a stunned English curse that even I recognized: "Motherf*cker!"

I had been harshly reminded of that old tenet of war: no battle plan survives contact with the enemy.

And then the battle was joined as the front row of Smilers waded into my troops with their Hawaiian shirts and straw hats, a few of them even randomly clicking away with their cameras as my infantry hacked into them, their katanas flashing in the sun.

My front line held, Ota's gigantic frame providing a constant reference point throughout the engagement. With my telescope I could see one of my soldiers beheading a young, blond-haired cruise director in one place, while refocusing on another area would reveal one of my samurai's arms being torn off by a grinning elderly woman and being beaten to death with it. All along the front was chaos, and in another moment I could see my men staggering back almost as one as they writhed about in what appeared to be an odd dance. Deducing what was happening, I shouted and pointed at Howland, who nodded, stabbing down with the knife into the chest of charms.

With a bright flash, The centipedes which now covered my infantry dropped off, killed instantly, as were Nhlakanipho Mabuza's blood-gorged hyenas and Taras' wolf, who laid down and died almost gratefully. In addition, all of the Magician's Lieutenants staggered back holding their heads, reeling and confused.

My men cheered, redoubling their efforts as I flagged Fukimitsu to commence his cavalry charge. He and his men put the spurs to their steeds with a yell, and the thunder of hoof beats bore down on the enemy, smashing into their flank ferociously and carving a deep hole into their ranks.

We took every advantage of the moment until eventually the Lieutenants recovered, Nhlakanipho Mabuza and Hollis once again attacking my front lines and conjuring more centipedes and hyenas.

And so that is how the day was spent, with the Magician's forces pushing us back to the castle gates until Howland destroyed another charm, when the first few ranks of Smilers and every animal in sight would fall over dead, and the more powerful henchmen of the Magician would be left stunned and staggering, and then we would rally until they recovered and back again. By late afternoon the dark clouds were almost upon us, and while we had slaughtered thousands of them, the Magician still had all of his most powerful servants while I possessed only a few hundred samurai.

Just after five o'clock in the evening, Nhlakanipho Mabuza- drenched in samurai blood and howling for more- was running rampant through my lines. It was then that I finally released my reserves, led by Sato, who at this stage was virtually foaming at the mouth.

Sato charged straight for the African, waving his katana and shouting various profanities. Both the Smilers and the other samurai parted as the two madmen clashed, Sato's katana deflected by Mabuza's shield, a quick side-step saving Sato from impalement on Mabuza's spear in return. Round and round the two circled, all the while furiously attacking and barely bothering to defend.

Eventually, Sato stepped in too close, and Nhlakanipho Mabuza's spear stabbed him through the left shoulder, the point jutting out of his armor on the other side. The Magician's servant smiled with bone-white teeth at the hit before realizing that Sato had offered up the sacrifice of his bad arm so that he could get a clear shot with his good one. Before Mabuza could react, Sato's katana arced sideways underneath his shield, disemboweling him.

Nhlakanipho Mabuza stared down at the intestines and gore spilling out of his belly and cursed, looking peevish. Without hesitation, he yanked the spear from Sato's shoulder with one hand while with the other he lifted up his intestines and threw them over his shoulder like a scarf, getting them out from underfoot. With his internal organs draped over his back like a cape, Mabuza renewed his attack to Sato's great surprise, beating him down to the ground with the butt of his spear. Another hit, and Sato's katana went flying, but as he raised his spear for the killing blow, Fukimitsu roared past on his horse, his sword flashed in the final rays of the day's sun, and Nhlakanipho Mabuza's head fell to the gore-soaked ground, a shocked expression permanently etched on the dead man's face.

A great cheer went up from my men, but only a moment later Hollis stepped from the pack, his pristine, white suit now almost totally soaked in red, and chopped low, hacking off Fukimitsu's horse's forelegs as it galloped. His steed tumbling and screaming, Fukimitsu went flying, hurtling high over the field and down in a clattering heap, dazed and momentarily helpless while Hollis grinned a yellow smile and sauntered over to his prone form twirling his saber in anticipation for the killing blow.

While it is up to a leader of men to treat every one of his men with a certain equanimity, some simply have more value than others. Fukimitsu was my interpreter and my chief Lieutenant, and his loss would have been a heavy burden on my command. Can I claim in all truth that I would have personally leapt to his rescue if he were not my descendant? Perhaps not, but therein lies another rule of leadership: rank hath its privileges.

Drawing my blade, I charged down through the fray, pushing aside friend and foe alike until I bore down on Hollis, calling his name to try and turn him away from Fukimitsu. Finally I was almost upon him, but Hollis stood directly over him, placed his foot on my great-great-great-great grandson's neck, held his sword pointed directly downward at his face and turned his head to smile at me cunningly out of the corner of his eye.

I knew that if I took one more step Hollis would kill him, so I halted in my tracks and considered what I could possibly say to make him stop. I could think of nothing that would not impugn either my or Fukimitsu's honor, so I said nothing and merely stared.

After a long moment, Hollis bowed to me in his Southern American style and said in heavily accented Japanese, "I had the pleasure of entertaining your man Tanaka for a year or so, your majesty. While I taught him English, I did the best I could to learn his language in turn for just such an occasion. Ironically, however, after all my struggles to learn your three alphabets and dizzying patterns of speech, with all due respect, here you turn out to be not much of a conversationalist." He laughed then with good humor, or as good as a soul so utterly twisted could manage.

Slowly circling him to try and draw his attention toward me and away from Fukimitsu, I said, "Tell me, there are so many countries and culture that were brought to this world, so why are there so few of the traitors who serve the Magician here today? Should there not be fifty or a hundred of you or more?"

I kept my eyes on his, but still his sword point hung only inches from Fukimitsu's head. Hollis nodded, more than happy to carry on a conversation amidst a full-on war. "Some regret their decision and do not come when called. My master does not punish those who do not participate, only those who turn on him. Also by this point, many have died- some by accident, some by murder and the rest by their own hand." He shrugged. "Immortality isn't for everyone."

He grinned then, his sword whipping up and away from Fukimitsu's face. "Care for a sword-fight, your majesty? That's all I wanted when I cut your boy's horse out from under him in the first place." He raised his saber in salute and I granted him a nod in response before we charged, our blades smashing into each other in a shower of sparks. Again and again we attacked, and I could not help but smile. For all of these years the tremendous physical gifts that Nippon had bestowed upon me had gone all but unused, but now finally I could reveal the speed, strength and agility that made me the Magician's equal, at least of the flesh.

I was concentrating so completely on Hollis that I was surprised when a stray Smiler lunged at me from the side, her wrinkled and liver-spotted hands reaching out for my neck, and I was even more taken aback when her advance was stopped by Hollis himself, who brought his saber down on her skull, splitting her head in two and dropping her to the ground. He muttered, "Pardon, ma'am. Private party," before saluting me once more and rejoining the combat.

I do not know how long we fought there on the field- for the most part unmolested by the surrounding troops- but finally I was able to convince him in the false sincerity of a downward feint and thus take his left arm off with a rapid upward slash. His face betrayed not a hint of pain, but he shook his head at the wound and gave a soft curse. "I tell you, sir, on our last campaign I duelled the King of the Belgians, and he did not land a single blow."

My head held high, I said, "The Emperor of Japan is superior in swordplay to the King of the Belgians. This surprises you?" He shook his head, chuckling, but before he could speak I continued, "And Leopold, he was one of the King's men?"

"A minister."

"And he betrayed his King? Joined the Magician, gained immortality and was himself made King after the Magician brought his world to invade Nippon?"

Hollis paused to kick his severed arm out from underfoot. "Yes, your majesty. A decision he came to regret, apparently."

"But you do not."

He shook his head. "Why am I the way I am? Is that your question, sir?" For the first time I felt I was nearing the heart of the man. "An abusive father? A neglectful mother? Broken home? Crippling poverty? A true love lost to another man? All of it? All and more?" Hollis sighed. "Does it matter now? If anyone can accept a monster for what he is, surely it is you and your people. The only reason that matters is that I do it because I can. Looking beyond that has rapidly diminishing returns, I assure you."

My blade sang out then, slashing across his midsection, but the tip of my katana only just caught his belly, dealing a mere flesh wound. In another moment Hollis was retreating, darting back up the hill toward the Magician, weaving his way through the army of Smilers who now were free to turn their attentions on me. I spit on the ground after the retreating American, then made my way back to my position behind the lines, beheading whatever Smilers I happened to run across on my path.

Once I had returned to my vantage point nearer the castle, I trained my telescope on the opposite hill to find that a small unit of samurai had fought their way up the left flank all the way to the Magician, Taras and the two veiled women. They reached Taras first, and he raised his sword and parried without enthusiasm, blocking blow after blow until finally stepping forward, reaching out a hand and pushing his attacker down the hill as a child would in a game of king of the mountain.

Another of my men stepped closer to the beautiful, veiled woman in gray standing on the right hand of the Magician, and though she had no weapon he raised his katana to cut her down. Just before he could bring the blade down upon her, she raised her hand, and suddenly his face was covered with snakes, their fangs sunk deep in his cheeks and eyes. As he writhed on the ground before her in anguish, though I could not see her expression behind her veil, her eyes danced with cruel glee.

Over the screams of the dead and dying I could hear the rumble of thunder now as the dark clouds massed closer. Dusk was approaching, and with every lost moment of daylight we lost our advantage. The Smilers showed no sign of fatigue, while my men (with the exception of Ota) were almost completely exhausted. We had killed at least seven of them to every one of us, but still they kept coming, pouring over the hill in a seemingly endless stream.

Noticing that there was a limited range on the damage that the bingo charms could do when they were destroyed, Howland had moved up closer to the front, smashing the knife down and dropping hundreds of the enemy with a single blow, but as night fell only a few charms remained. The woman, Stroud, fired her bow when necessary to kill a stray foe that happened to straggle toward them, and I was forced to concede that her past months' training had been effective, and her courage in the face of the enemy was impressive.

Finally, the last light of day was swallowed up by the dark clouds, and we were fighting virtually blind. Taking heavy losses, I reluctantly gave the order to retreat to the castle walls, and here is where our woes truly began.

The samurai is never as ferocious and unbeatable as when he is on the all-out attack, and conversely, is always at his weakest when forced to withdraw. Contrary to the belief of gaijin and their preposterous portrayals of Japanese warriors in their stories, the samurai has no maneuver that you could reasonably label a "parry". If two katanas strike one another, it simply means that they were both attacking the same place, not that one was employing a defense. Because of this fighting style, retreating can be next to impossible. Our only two saving graces were that the enemy's footsoldiers used no weapons, and every time they were on the brink of completely overwhelming us on our stumbling run back to the castle, Howland would destroy another charm, buying us much needed time.

Yet, by the time my men had made it back to the castle doors, less than thirty remained, with most heavily wounded. Sato's left arm had been rendered entirely ineffective by the spear-wound at the hands of Nhlakanipho Mabuza and would certainly have to be amputated. Fukimitsu had a savage gash over his left eye from the fall from his horse during Hollis' attack, the wound stubbornly leaking blood down his face through the crude stitches. Ota was seemingly one, giant, open wound, bleeding from a thousand cuts and scratches, but never once did he say a single word of complaint, or a word of any kind. He simply continued to fight, performing precisely as I expected he would on the day he was born for.

Even young Kisho Yoshida, blinking behind his thick glasses, had been wounded. He limped around on a smashed foot, hurt as he was delivering arrows to the archers and bandages and painkillers to the medics. Early in the fight his archery skills had been deemed just as deadly to us as the enemy, so he had been demoted to packhorse, hauling supplies where needed. Despite his clear lack of aptitude at fighting, he had carried out his new tasks admirably enough.

As for his uncles, the brothers Yoshida, I would only discover later that the two had been slain most brutally by Hollis when they charged him in the field, howling for vengeance for their murdered brother.

The last ones to the door were Howland and Stroud, with her firing one arrow after the next at the advancing horde, and him smashing the knife down into the box, felling wave after wave until finally he tossed the chest aside, all the charms destroyed. The two of them turned around and moved to step inside only to find Ota blocking their path into the castle.

Speaking softly, I said, "I swore long ago that no gaijin would ever set foot in this sacred place. Tell them... tell them I wish it were otherwise."

Fukimitsu stared at me pleadingly. "My lord, your majesty... grandfather... they have fought with us! They have bled with us... if not for them... I ask you, please reconsider. Do not leave them outside the castle to their doom." We could now see a few shambling forms lurching ever closer, coming up behind the gaijin, the two of them speaking to me imploringly from outside the threshold.

Young Kisho bowed to me as well. "Your majesty, no one has fought for you harder then they, though they were unaware of whom they were assisting. I beg you, do not let them die like this... abandoned and betrayed. Though they are gaijin, they are... they have shown me that-" I cut him off with a gesture, and he bowed again, falling to his knees.

Gritting my teeth, I turned to Fukimitsu. "This is not a pleasant decision. Understand... every instinct I possess screams at me not to let them inside this place. Every molecule of my royal person, blessed by the spirit of Nippon, tells me that their presence must not defile Hitoshirezu-jo." Now the leering grins of the Smilers could be seen hovering forward into the ring of torchlight, their arms reaching out for the back of the gaijin's necks. Howland and Stroud stopped talking- seeing as no one was listening- and simply stared at me, their eyes conveying a mixture of exhaustion and betrayal.

Torn, knowing from reading this archive just how completely they had suffered in their quest to destroy my sworn enemy, I finally let out a curse and broke my lifetime oath. "Search them, quickly! Make absolutely certain they have no vials of blood on them. Hurry!" My men let out a quick cheer, relieved by my decision, and two of my samurai leapt forward and pawed at the gaijin even as the grinning, one-armed figure of Hollis stepped through the ranks of the Smilers, sword in hand. While my men frantically worked their way down the Americans' bodies, Hollis stepped within a few yards and lifted his saber, preparing to cut sideways through both of them with a single blow. As he reared back to deliver the killing strike, my men had worked their way down to their socks, hurriedly turning around to me to proclaim them clean.

"Ota-san!" I yelled. "Now!" Ota reached forward with a speed that belied his enormous frame, grabbed both Howland and Stroud by their shirt fronts and yanked them inside just as Hollis' saber whistled behind them, cutting only air.

I suddenly felt nauseous and fought the urge to vomit, feeling as though a barrel of black, foul oil had been poured into a basin of the holiest water, my very soul crying out at the presence of the gaijin in our most sacred place.

Now we all huddled in the torchlight of the castle's entryway, Ota standing in the doorway waiting for a charge that did not come. The enemy massed just feet away outside the castle, but they made no move to enter. After a few moments, Hollis stepped aside, and the Magician strolled up in front of the door, just feet from Ota. Even after the day's fighting, his tuxedo was pristine, and he had not a scratch on him.

"Ota-san, be sure to stay on this side of the doorway. He cannot enter." Ota backed up two paces, leaving the entryway open. For a long time, all was quiet, save for the panting of my exhausted soldiers and the muted groans of the wounded. The enemy army was massed on the other side of the archway, but they made neither movement nor sound.

After a few long moments, the Magician- standing mere inches from the threshold- raised his hands and pulled back his cuffs, showing us that there was nothing up his sleeves. Then he ever so slowly began to raise his right foot and step forward, closer and closer, until he brought his polished, black leather shoe down on the cobblestone floor inside the castle. When his foot hit the ground, the very earth shook, and behind him was the deafening crack of a thunderclap.

"Oh, sh*t," Fukimitsu gasped as the Smilers poured around the Magician, flooding inside the entryway and throwing themselves upon us in wave after wave of wrinkled, supernaturally strong flesh, their sheer mass pressing us down and pinning us in the confined quarters.

In an instant, with a single footstep, the Magician had won the Battle of Hitoshirezu-jo. Disarmed and defeated, we could do naught but await our fates and the grand trick that would end our world.

Tenno Heika Komei: The Battle Of Hitoshirezu-jo, Part I

2009-03-03T14:43:00.008-06:00

To be a leader of men, whether in war or peace, one must know his followers as well as himself. At issue is a word that is greatly misunderstood and misinterpreted, and that word is: trust.

Trust in the Western world in leadership is thought to be a question of whether or not the men will betray their leader to the enemy or simply fail to exert themselves to the degree necessary to accomplish whatever task is set for them.

With Bushido, or the Way of the Warrior, all of the daimyo's (or, lord's) samurai are assumed to be absolutely faithful and prepared to strive for excellence in all things at every moment of their lives.

And so the question for the daimyo becomes, what tasks are each samurai individually capable of performing? This is what I mean when I speak of trust. I trust Ota completely, but do I trust him to translate English? If I did, I would be a fool, for I doubt I have heard him say ten words in his entire life even in his native Japanese. Do I trust Hara to lift a three hundred pound stone? No, because while his prowess with a bow and arrow verges on the sublime, his physique is reminiscent of the phasmatodea, or stick insect.

It is not enough for a leader of men to be trusted and served faithfully by his followers- he must reward that faith by knowing them in turn and utilizing them in a fashion that maximizes their capabilities and minimizes their weaknesses.

These were my thoughts as I strode among my warriors, their lacquer armor gleaming in the early morning light; the red and gold banners on their backs fluttering in the chill wind. On the horizon I could see a massing of dark clouds, and was hopeful for rain later in the day should the enemy attempt to fire the castle.

I stalked down the line, looking each of my lieutenants in the eye in turn and judging their characters. First, Sato: driven by the most savage and cruel instincts, he was most likely to be drawn out of position by the enemy early in the battle. Here was a man who would certainly have committed horrible crimes against humanity if not for his loyalty to his lord. Him I would keep by my side for use as a reserve, as his blood-lust would be stoked into a killing frenzy by mid-battle, and his sudden introduction to the fight would grant his comrades a boost of energy just as theirs was beginning to wane.

Then Hara: his bowmanship was such an art form- really an act of meditation- that he fired most shots without even looking at the target. I would place him in the center of the field and provide him with a forest of arrows so that he would be always firing, firing, firing from the first moment of combat to the last.

Ota: while I would very much have preferred to hold my strongest warrior in reserve, he was simply too valuable to leave off the field for even an instant. Indefatigable, intractable and seemingly indestructible, Ota would be the anchor that held my line intact.

And finally, my great-great-great-great grandson Fukimitsu. If there was any doubt as to character, it was here. Not to cast aspersions on the young man, but can any grandfather be the supreme judge of his grandson's mettle? By all appearances he would acquit himself with honor, but he had spent so much time dabbling in the ways of the outlanders that I could not with complete honesty swear that I knew him absolutely.

At every time in the past, one of the Magician's enemies had betrayed their masters and gone to him, from then on to be one of his lieutenants. Would Fukimitsu be that traitor? Savage Sato? Would it be seemingly superhuman Ota, the possibility of his mutiny seemingly inconceivable? Or would- for the first time- the Magician's hopes be dashed, his series of conquests ground to a halt here in the land of the rising sun?

Never once did I allow these questions or doubts to surface in my expression or bearing, as I completed my inspection of the men. Not only should a leader never appear to be without a plan, he must also never ask a question of any kind of his men. Everything must be given as an order. The question took form in my mind: where is the enemy now? and was instantly translated as, "Fukimitsu-san, report the enemy's position."

He did, informing me that the line of outlanders would arrive at Hitoshirezu-jo by noon. Just then, the cars conveying Shouhei, Shouta and Kisho Yoshida as well as our gaijin allies, Howland and Stroud pulled up the long gravel drive and up the hill to the castle.

The Yoshidas were hastily issued armor, bows and katanas, the young one Kisho nearly toppling over as his helmet was placed atop his slim, awkward frame.

Howland and Stroud approached, their attempts at bowing making a mockery of the act. While I knew very well that they despised the Magician as much as I did, my very bones screamed for their deaths with every moment they stood before me. Nippon's gifts to me had made me acutely aware of how much the outlanders did not belong here- in this world generally, Nippon particularly and this sacred castle specifically.

The man Howland spoke, and Fukimitsu translated. "Howland announces that he and Stroud are now engaged, and he humbly requests that you marry them here and now so that they may face their fates as husband and wife."

"I would just as soon preside over their funerals. Preposterous. As if I would ever bless a gaijin union on this holy spot." Keeping my face composed took no small effort. "Invent an excuse."

Fukimitsu did as commanded, and when he concluded the two were disappointed but apparently satisfied. I continued, "Tell the gaijin to wait until the enemy is packed in close before he uses the knife to destroy one of the charms. If fortune is with us, each charm will destroy the Magician's minions in a wide radius. Tell him to stay back with his woman in a rear position, though should the range of the charms be ineffective, I will call upon him to advance to the front."

Again he translated. He returned, "Howland informs your supreme majesty that there is no cause for concern. He says that he knows how to use a smart bomb. He says that he plays video games." I considered ordering Fukimitsu to tell me what the gaijin's gibberish was supposed to mean, but my great-great-great-great grandson had found the answer to be satisfactory so I decided to turn my attention back to my men.

The rest of the morning was spent checking and double-checking supplies, monitoring the movement of the enemy and maintaining troop morale, no small task considering the situation. However, while the men knew that the Magician and his forces were great and terrible, they were all well aware that we were the final line of defense against the ultimate destruction of not only Nippon, but the world itself.

In all, we spent our time attempting to occupy ourselves while waiting for the coming battle.

We would not have long to wait.

Josh: Tourist Trap

2009-02-25T08:43:00.007-06:00

He's here.

For the first time since we began this archive, the actual date is the same as the one on the time stamp at the top of this post. It is Wednesday, February 25th, 2009.

At 6:31 P.M. ("That's 18:31 in military time." Thank you, Yoshida) last night a Carnival cruise ship docked as scheduled in Kyoto harbor for a sightseeing tour. Then at midnight, another enormous cruise ship docked, surprising the harbor master as it was completely unscheduled. Finally, just before dawn this morning, a third cruise liner docked, with other boats having to make a mad scramble to accommodate it. The event was unheard of, unprecedented and upsetting to everyone on the dock but the brothers Yoshida, who were the only ones who knew exactly what was happening.

The call went out. Cars were dispatched for Mary, Yoshida and I, and at Hitoshirezu-jo, they began the final preparations for battle.

Precisely at dawn, the gangplanks on all three ships went down, and the massive cruise lines disgorged their contents as thousands of gray and blue-haired, overweight, Hawaiian shirt-wearing tourists grinning ear-to-ear streamed down into the streets of Kyoto, marching into the rising sun.

The brothers Yoshida had positioned spies down at the port to report the enemy's movements, and they said that whenever a native would approach a tourist and ask them if they needed assistance or wanted to make a purchase, the tourist would merely lift up their camera, flash a few shots of something at random and keep walking. This would satisfy the questioner that the elderly tourist was where they were supposed to be, and on the off-chance that it didn't, one or another of the tourist group-leaders would step over to the native, whisper a few kind words in their ear and invite them to join the processional.

After their little chat, the native seemed quite happy to do just that.

They walked slowly but surely to the castle. It will take them hours, but they don't seem to mind.

Mary and I packed quickly, and soon our car had arrived to take us away to Hitoshirezu-jo. Before we left I pulled her close and kissed her, taking one final, wistful look at our apartment. In the past couple of months it had become home. While the waiting for battle had been stressful at points, it had also been, without question, the most wonderful time of my entire life.

I peered around nostalgically while Mary fretted about whether it was clean enough to leave.

"Mary, in all probability the world's about to end. Is it that important that you didn't scrub the grout in the shower?"

She ignored me, going about her last minute-tidying and finally noticed a small box on the table by the front door. Mary picked it up, stared at it quizzically and ran a finger over the black felt on top. She opened it. She looked at me.

"It's a ring."

I nodded.

She came and put her arms around me, gently, her eyes filling with tears. We stood there holding each other close while the doorbell rang again and again and the smiling armies of the enemy advanced upon us, neither of us wanting to let go.

Finally we wiped our tears, gathered the last of our things, gave an awkward little bow to our apartment and headed down to the car.

We stopped to pick up Yoshida, and when he got to the car his shirt was mis-buttoned down the front, with one side sticking up higher than the other, there was a glob of peanut butter on his chin and his fly was open. In other words, he was only slightly more disheveled than normal.

"You okay, buddy?"

He nodded as he sat down across from us and began chewing his nails. "I know there are other instances of that year that I'm missing. 1831. It is like one of your Easter egg hunts: I feel as though I will be punished for not finding them all."

Mary smiled. "That's not how Easter egg hunts work."

Yoshida ignored her. "More time. It's all ending. I just wanted more time. Is that a new ring?"

She beamed, extending her hand to show him. "I know it doesn't have a diamond and it has an unusual design. And I know it's a bit larger than a normal engagement ring. Don't say anything about it being different." Mary began to scowl. "Don't say anything mean. In fact, don't say anything." Finally she added with a warning glare, "Just say 'congratulations'."

"Congratulations."

Mary smiled again. "Thank you."

I cleared my throat. "Yoshida, I'd like you to be my best man."

Both he and Mary turned to me with the same astonished expressions, saying simultaneously, "You would?"

I shrugged. "Everyone else I know is dead. Besides, I think you would give the most staggeringly awkward best man toast since the invention of human speech. I can't wait to hear it." After a moment he mumbled that he would be deeply honored, and we all settled in for the ride to the castle, with me writing this post on my Blackberry as we went.

With her head resting on my shoulder, Mary gazed down at her ring and asked innocently, "Where did you get the design?"

"Uh... well, it was Galadriel's ring from 'Lord of the Rings'. It was kind've a last minute thing..."

She pulled away, giving me a deadly look. "'Lord of the Rings'? And this writing on the inside, what does it say?"

Now I was squirming. "Yeah... probably something about Sauron. I'm not really sure. It's in Elvish."

Mary stared at me, shaking her head, her mouth open. Her face began to get red and I glanced up to see Yoshida was pointing his phone at us again ("Why?" I asked him later. "She was either going to have sex with you or murder you. Either way, I wanted a copy.") She started to say something, then took a deep breath, looked back down at the ring and finally laughed.

She gave me a sloppy kiss, talking and giggling all at the same time. "It's ridiculous and wildly inappropriate and one-of-a-kind and I have never in my life loved anything more."

Mary: The Whales

2009-02-23T21:52:00.004-06:00

February 2nd, 2009:

A month of training; a month of waiting. The Magician is taking his time.

The only news we've had came today from Yoshida, who over lunch told Josh and I that marine biologists across the globe were detecting massive migrations of the world's whale populations. They were heading for Japan.

"How many?" I asked.

"Roughly?" Yoshida paused to bite the entire head off a fish, crunching it with his mouth open in his usual charming style. "All of them."

Josh: No, No, You Really Shouldn't Have

2009-02-23T10:20:00.011-06:00

Merry Christmas!!!

Oh, that's right, the damn time stamps are still way off. Well, it's the day after Christmas and we're still alive. Mary has been continuing her training with the naginata and the bow and arrow, and she's doing awesome. Plus, after a training session she has that whole, "I'm sweaty and jazzed up and I could cut you in half with this spear/sword thing", and whoa, nellie, is that a turn-on.

Meanwhile, to try and keep up I started joining her in classes. I know I'll be busy with the Magician's knife and the charms in the fight, but I figured it's never too late to learn something new. However, after two lessons Mary's sensei decided that it actually was too late after I accidentally fired an arrow into a portrait of his late mother, so now I just sit on the sidelines and cheerlead for Mary.

Here's a terrifying story from yesterday: Mary and I were snuggling up just after we opened our presents (video games, comics and DVD's for me, lingerie, perfume and a huge, signed "Road House" movie poster for her. Yeah, she gave me that look, too) when our doorbell rang and we welcomed in Emperor Komei's right-hand man and interpreter, Fukimitsu. He and an elderly servant bowed, the servant holding a large, wrapped box with a golden bow on top.

We offered them some tea, made ourselves comfortable, and Mary asked, "So forgive my asking the question, Fukimitsu-san, but if you and the Emperor despise everything that is not from Japan, how is it that you know how to speak English?"

His perpetual smile widened as he said, "Like Kisho Yoshida, I was not always privy to the true nature of the universe. I grew up under normal circumstances here in Kyoto, and it was only upon my eighteenth birthday that the divine Emperor revealed to me the truth about the outside world and the gaijin."

I poured myself some tea and sat down next to Mary, snuggling in on the couch. "Why you? Did he need you for something special?"

"On that day, his majesty the Emperor informed me that I am his great-great-great-great-grandson." He nodded to me, adding, "As you are King Leopold's. It appears that though we are merely the descendants of some of the most powerful men to rule the Earth, perhaps we will also have the opportunity to contribute to how the world's final chapter is written." Fukimitsu gestured to the servant holding the present, and the old man hobbled over to us and laid it gently on our laps.

Mary grinned and made that "shaking fists in a ball right in front of her face" move that women do when they're excited to open a gift, and I glanced up at Fukimitsu, saying, "It's a head, right? I saw 'Se7en' and I know how you guys roll."

Fukimitsu laughed and even gave a single clap. "Excellent guess, Howland-san! Not quite. Please." He bowed to the box, and Mary and I opened it.

Mary screamed.

I stared down into the box and back up at Fukimitsu, then back down into the box. "There are two, severed, human heads in here."

Fukimitsu nodded. "I said it was an excellent guess."

Mary lost it. "Why the hell would you do this? Who are these poor... what the f*ck is wrong with you people?!"

He kept his composure perfectly, even chuckling a little. "Kisho-chan mentioned your propensity for cursing, and now that I hear it I find it actually quite charming. That is Endo-san and his wife."

"Who?!"

"The Emperor read your missive from your time aboard the Dial Up. Captain Maeda's tale was a particularly touching one. Despite all his hardships, he acted honorably, while his partner in business did not. My lord was also quite displeased to hear of the Captain's wife's actions in marrying Maeda-san's partner simply for his money. Most horrible."

I pointed down at the heads. "So this is..."

"Ota-san paid them a visit. They were given the opportunity to make restitution and redeem themselves. They declined."

Mary shook her head. "Maybe they- alright, they did deserve to be punished for what they did, but this-"

Fukimitsu rose from his chair. "They were my great-great-great-great grandfather's subjects. They acted with dishonor and he punished them, as is his right. It was their karma. It was justice." He bowed and turned to leave, adding, "Merry Christmas."

I finally pulled it together enough to stand, still holding the box. "Uh, would you mind taking this back with you? We're grateful for the gift, but I just haven't got around to finishing that human head display stand down in my workshop. I was going to get to it right after the bird feeder, but you know how it is."

He laughed, and the servant took the box back, carefully folding down the flaps.

"Wish the Emperor a merry one, too, okay?"

Fukimitsu shook his head. "If you insist. I am sure you can imagine his feelings concerning such a 'holiday'. Turn the other cheek, live and let live, always forgiving every transgression-"

"Uh, on second thought, never mind. Thanks, Fukimitsu-san."

He bowed. "An excellent choice, Howland-san. I would hate for the next present I deliver to be you." He laughed good-naturedly as he left, closing the door behind him.

Yoshida: 39

2009-02-23T00:48:00.005-06:00

It has been one week since the previous post.

I believe I have surmised just what the whales are singing when they attack. As we recall from this post, there is a break at every thirteenth interval:

"/************/************/************/************/"

The number thirteen has the typical connotations of luck or unluckiness, but there is also this:

1831: 1+8+3+1 = 13

So simple. I can only assume the time spent with Howland and Stroud has dulled my intellect.

Now I cannot help but think: has the number 13 been associated with unluckiness because of the Magician and the year 1831 A.D.?

Mary: Preparing For Battle

2009-02-22T23:53:00.004-06:00

November 28th, 2008:

And now we wait. It might be a month or more before the Magician arrives in Japan to attempt to force his way in to Hitoshirezu-jo (literally, "Hidden Castle", Emperor Komei's home here in Kyoto).

In the meantime there is some discussion of precisely how we should proceed. Our main defense is the knife and the bingo charms, and we are hoping that whenever Josh destroys a charm with the knife the Magician's servants (like the Smilers) will be killed in a wide radius as the whales were when they attacked.

Beyond that, we considered alerting the Japanese authorities, but quickly came to our senses, knowing that they'd never believe a word.

The Emperor will not allow any weapon into the castle that is not Japanese of origin, so I'm taking the time to learn how to fire a bow and arrow, as well as receiving some rudimentary training with a "naginata" (below), which is basically a sword mounted on the end of a spear. One of the Emperor's servants is teaching me, and while it has been rigorous and I'm acquiring calluses at an alarming rate, the exercise is just what I need to focus and not go crazy waiting around.

In my spare time, just for fun I'm having Kisho teach me some of the sleight of hand he learned in his stage magic classes. It might come in handy as a Private Investigator if I survive the coming battle and the world doesn't end and my name is cleared back in the States.

Too many "ifs".

Just f.y.i., I'll be posting less frequently as we wait, unless there is something new to report.

Josh: Fathers And Sons

2009-02-22T15:40:00.007-06:00

After we gave the Emperor the encryption code for the archive and he dictated his post (consider my mind thoroughly blown by it, by the way), he dismissed us. Mary spoke then, saying respectfully, "Pardon me, your majesty, but perhaps we could stay a few moments longer? There is so much more that we would very much like to know."

Fukimitsu translated and Emperor Komei replied, with Fukimitsu's little smile widening as he pronounced, "The divine Emperor says that he would very much enjoy continuing a dialog concerning our mutual foe via posts on the archive instead of in person. He hopes that the enemy of his enemy is his friend, but at the same time every fiber of his royal being-blessed by sacred Nippon and directly descended from the great goddess Amaterasu- cries out to order your immediate executions with every moment you are in his presence."

I rose and stretched. "Welp, time to be hittin' that ol', dusty trail. Thanks for everything, your majesty." Bowing once more, we beat a hasty retreat back to the limo, with the Yoshida brothers giving our driver orders to return us to our respective apartments.

In the car, with Mary curled up on the seat next to me asleep, I heard Yoshida sniffle. "Are you getting sick, Yoshida? Do not give it to me. I can not afford to get sick right now."

"I am fine."

As we drove by a street-light, I saw that his face was wet. It took almost a minute for me to register what was happening (considering his normal disposition) and I asked, "Are you crying?"

"No."

"What is it?"

He wiped a hand over his face and continued to stare stoically out of the window at the dark shapes of trees as they whizzed by. In a soft voice, he said, "Yesterday, my father was a genocidal monster- an abomination. Today- while he did betray the Emperor's orders- he did it only and always in his service. Today, he is a hero, to me. My father."

I nodded. We drove home in silence, with only the sound of the road in our ears.

Tenno Heika Komei: The Unbalancing Of The Universe And The Invasion Of Most-Sacred Nippon

2009-02-22T11:52:00.017-06:00

From the very instant of my birth in the city of Kyoto on the twenty second day of the seventh month of the Western year eighteen thirty-one A.D., I knew that the world was very, very wrong. While I still felt safe, warm and maintained by the aura of Nippon (or Japan), it was as if I was still in the womb, in a fashion- with a small pocket of comfort and, for lack of a better term, rightness- but just outside of this zone, just beyond a thin membrane was a tide of toxicity just waiting to crash down upon us and poison our very souls.

You may doubt that I could sense the wrongness of the universe in my first instant in the world, but I knew. Nippon told me.

From the day the divine sun goddess Amaterasu had blessed Nippon by making her great-grandson Jimmu the first Emperor, the land was good, the samurai did battle and honor reigned supreme. The land of the rising sun was complete and perfect under heaven. Then came the gaijin.

The word "gaijin" is often misinterpreted as meaning, "foreigner" or "barbarian". It is thought in most circles to be an insult, which it is, though some who have embraced the West foolishly believe it to be complementary. Gaijin means: "outside person", and never has there been a more perfect definition.

The invasion came on the twenty-first day of the seventh month of the Western year eighteen thirty-one A.D. Before this day there was only Nippon. Look back through history before this date and see how few real interactions there were with the rest of the world. How many tsunamis and earthquakes and natural disasters occurred that prevented the gaijin from having a significant impact on Nippon.

This is because before the year eighteen thirty-one A.D., there was no outside world.

There was only Nippon and her people and her divine Emperor, Shogun at his side. Then something changed, and the rest of the world suddenly, magically appeared.

The West (the term is used for familiarity's sake. For our purposes it is defined as, "that which is not Nippon") suddenly was vomited forth upon us, and we have been mystified, horrified and repulsed ever since.

A day after the invasion, Nippon gave birth to me to champion her in response. Nippon lavished blessings upon me, granting me long life, vitality and resources, and to my eternal shame it has not been nearly enough.

I attempted to warn my subjects time and again against the menace of the gaijin, but always the weakest of them have been seduced by the promise of an easier life that their clever contraptions could provide.

"But Emperor," My worthless Generals would whine. "Their guns would make our warriors so much better. It would allow them to defeat our enemies at range so much easier than with bows." Easier. Has any warrior ever been made better by walking an easy road? Nippon is Nippon because of its hardships. Our Samurai were supreme because while their choices were often the most simple, their paths they walked were hard.

At every turn we were seduced by the West, given promises and assurances that with every new adoption and integration into our lives that life would be easier. As easy as drowning. As easy as surrender.

In the Western year eighteen sixty-three A.D. I issued the Joi Chokumei, or the "Order To Expel Barbarians", but by that point even my Shogun had been enthralled by the outlanders, and while he paid lip service to the decree, by and large he chose not to enforce it. It was at this point that I meditated upon my failure as Emperor and came to the conclusion that I would be more effective operating from a position of secrecy.

The merchants were replacing the samurai as the dominant force in Japan, therefore I would attempt to improvise and influence the world economically as the power behind the throne. I steadily and covertly began hiding assets and informing my most trusted clans, the Yoshidas and the Tanakas that I would soon fake my own death, which I did in the Western year eighteen sixty-seven A.D., obfuscating the details of my demise with such vigor that to this day historians still argue whether I died of smallpox or poison.

After I assumed the identity of Lord Yamamoto, I remained in hiding, created the Bengosha Company (Defender, in English) and set about preserving Nippon from the invaders at all costs. Despite my abhorrence of the outside world, I realized early on that I required more information about the West. We needed to know our enemy, but in every instance I was rebuffed.

We Japanese have always been terrified of the sea. We take to the water only as a last resort, and even then cling to shore as a child to its mother's leg. I would send out one spy ship after another to all the corners of the newly-deformed world, but always my loyal Samurai would fail to ever reach their intended destinations. It was only years later that I discovered the reason why: the kujira. The whales.

They surrounded my ships and sang their song, and my men would simply be gone. Over and over the kujira turned my spy navy into a ghost fleet. Finally I resorted to employing a gaijin spy so as to attempt to fool the kujira, but they even attacked his vessel in the Western year eighteen seventy-two A.D., banishing him forever from the Earth and leaving his ship the Mary Celeste adrift, a mystery to all in the world but myself.

Attempting to take the battle to them, I turned my resources toward their destruction, building a line of ships and encouraging whaling at every turn to attempt to at the very least thin their numbers, but again the gaijin exerted pressure, condemning us on "moral" grounds until the feeblest of us whined and begged and brought the defense of our shores to a halt.

It was then that I began to suspect that the invasion of Nippon was not some random occurrence or a mere quirk of a perverted and savage universe, but was instead being instigated by an insidious, ruthless intelligence.

Over the next half-century, I attempted to defend Nippon from the gaijin, but at every juncture I failed. Always the promise of an easier life beguiled my people and made them weak; the lure of greed and luxury overcoming the harsh realities of duty and honor. During this time I fought a war of attrition and slowly lost.

Finally I decided that the Samurai were never meant to fight a war of attrition, much less win one. The Samurai excelled in wars of blood and steel and winner-take-all, so from behind the scenes I created and nurtured an imperialist movement, a hearkening back to the days of yore where honor ruled Nippon. I guided the hand of my adopted great-grandson, Admiral Yamamoto as he planned his attack on the West and I cheered as their boats sank to the bottom of the Hawaiian reefs.

It was war, and amid the blood and the carnage and the sacrifice and the glory, my people had rediscovered who they were. While the odds were steep and victory over the gaijin was far from assured, we had reclaimed our souls.

Then came the fire.

If it had been but one of our cities, we would have surrendered- if they had given us the time- but they had constructed two bombs, so that is what they used. With one of our beloved cities murdered, we would have, to our shame, given up, but we would still have eyed our enemy with the sullen glare of one who would rise once more from the ashes. But two? Two broke us. Nagasaki did more than end the war, it ended who we were. It shattered our national soul, and from then we have been a terminal patient steadily bleeding out.

The West did what it almost always does after it destroys a people: it helped. MacArthur came and rebuilt our cities; they provided us with new facilities and new technology and new ideas and they replaced our bow with a healthy handshake. They made our lives so very much easier.

They killed us with kindness.

It was only after the war, after the lines of communication opened with the gaijin that I received enough information to put a name to my enemy, to the one who had somehow caused the invasion of my world and sought to conquer us absolutely: the Magician.

We fought our unwinnable war as best we could in the intervening years, and then in the Western year nineteen hundred and ninety A.D., my vassal Shigekazu Yoshida informed me of his new plan to create a deadly virus that would, at best, defeat our enemy, and at worst allow us to end the conquest, destroy our enemy and allow Nippon an honorable death. His plan was to work to formulate this virus and release it simultaneously on every continent, annihilating all human life outside of Japan. The island nature of our Empire would make it a simple matter to shut down our borders and forbid any travel even before we had released the virus, keeping the populace safe from harm, though should Yoshida's new "Calicivirus" somehow find its way onto our shores, at least we would die on our terms, not the Magician's.

It was then that I made a decision that haunts me to this day: I said no. Despite all that had been done to us, despite all that was at stake, I saw the human cost and deemed it too brutal and horrible a plan to carry out. Was I wrong? Should I have had the fortitude and will to annihilate all human life in the world? That is for history to decide, for whatever history is worth.

I do know that before the year of my birth, history means nothing. The Magician can shift the dates of events at will, changing important "facts" on a whim. And why? Because they never happened. For all intents and purposes, before the Western year eighteen thirty-one, there was only Nippon, the rest of what we now call "the world" simply did not exist.

Shigekazu Yoshida and his friend and assistant Tanaka disobeyed me. Yoshida, seeking first to understand the dispersal and infection pattern of the virus, turned to the Australian government to fund the Wardang Island project, a scientific endeavor they imagined would control their exploding rabbit population. Then, once he had collected his data Yoshida moved on to America, where he exploited the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta for their archives of viruses, attempting to tailor his "Human Calicivirus" until it was perfected.

It was at this point where Yoshida simply ran out of money, as I had long-since refused to aid him, and it was here were one of the Magician's own servants, King Leopold I of Belgium discovered his work and betrayed his own master to assist him. Hoping that if he were to funnel the funds to Yoshida through his own descendant his treason would remain undiscovered by his master, Leopold provided millions and the virus was completed.

Of course, at the very instant of victory, the Magician bore down on Yoshida and murdered him, the virus later destroyed by my now-fellow archivists.

Now, at last, the Magician is coming. I can feel it in my very soul. He rides the waves accompanied by his vile minions, escorted by his fleet of kujira. He is coming here: to my childhood home, to my castle where no gaijin has ever set foot, and here will take place the final battle to preserve Nippon. He will attempt to gain entry to our most sacred shrine deep in the heart of the castle and perform his magic, his trick, ending our world.

We will stop him. We will destroy him once and for all.

So swears Tenno Heika Komei, one hundred and twenty-first Emperor of Nippon.

Josh: Komei

2009-02-21T10:12:00.017-06:00

Mary, Kisho Yoshida and I rode in a stretch limousine, following the Yoshida brothers' car to the outskirts of the city. Outside our car windows the sleek skyscrapers of Kyoto were replaced by rural housing and then by the beautiful rolling trees and hills of the Japanese countryside.

As we drove, Mary and I sat in the rear seat with Kisho facing us, Yoshida never taking his eyes from his PDA as we rolled along. As the sun went down over the hills, Mary placed her head on my shoulder and whispered, smiling, "Back in the office? What you did? That was very sexy."

I smiled back at her and was about to reply when Yoshida pulled out his phone, opened it up and pointed it at us. Mary scowled. "What are you doing? Are you videotaping us?" Yoshida made no reply. Her scowl deepened. "You think we're going to have sex right here?" He shrugged, closed the phone and put it back in his pocket, picking the PDA back up again and ignoring us once more.

As Mary glared at him with a combination of disbelief and loathing, I gazed back out the window and murmured, "We should probably get some new friends."

"Ya think?"

The rest of the trip was a touch frosty, and we rode in silence until the cars arrived at a large, wooden gate, with twin rows of lanterns hung on posts on either side of a gravel driveway leading across a bridge and up a small hill.

In no time we'd reached the top, and when the car door was opened for us we found ourselves standing before an actual, medieval-style Japanese castle, with torches mounted alongside enormous, dark, brass-bound, wooden doors. In the darkness it was difficult to make out just how large the castle was, but looking up I could see a significant portion of the sky blotted out by the structure.

I began to walk toward the doors, but the Yoshida brothers' assistant sidled up to me from the other limo and informed me in no uncertain terms that I was forbidden to enter the castle. He and the brothers then ushered us down a path running alongside the gigantic stone and wood structure to a pavilion in a clearing in the back. As we approached I could hear the sound of music- one of those Japanese guitar-things I never knew the name of was being plucked one string at a time in its distinctive, quavering style.

Walking into the pavilion was like strolling into the past. It was brightly lit with lanterns and decorated with red and gold banners (actual design, below), and everyone there was dressed in kimonos, with not a hint of anything modern or technological on display. There was a lovely young Japanese woman on our right playing the shamisen (the weird guitar-thing. Kisho filled me in later), along with a half-dozen men and women sitting on mats and talking quietly amongst themselves. At the end of the room in a clear position of "boss" was an elderly Japanese gentleman, his silk kimono covered with a long, opulent, golden robe that spread out behind him like a fan. To his left stood a young man in his early twenties with just the hint of a smile on his face, reading to him from a small black book. Kisho whispered that the servant's name was Fukimitsu. To the elderly man's right was the most muscular Japanese man I had ever seen, with the mass of a sumo wrestler but without the fat. His name was Ota, according to Kisho. Both of the men standing were holding curved, long canes which were obviously swords in very thin disguise.

As we stepped into the area, led by the Yoshidas, the two brothers actually went to their knees and then bowed so far their foreheads touched the floor. I glanced over at Kisho to see that he was doing the same thing, so Mary and I followed suit.

While we were bowing, Kisho whispered, "It is Yamamoto-Sama. Lord Yamamoto is President and C.E.O. of the Bengosha Corporation." His expression was deferential verging on terrified. He hissed, "Please, please, please be respectful. Do not act like, uh... like you do."

Finally we rose, and the Yoshida brothers spoke in Japanese to Yamamoto for a minute before he nodded and waved us forward to stand in front of him. For an elderly man, Yamamoto's eyes were white and clear, and he gave no impression of frailty whatsoever. As we approached, the sumo guy Ota's knuckles went white on the handle of his sword cane, and it was then that I decided to adopt an immediate and binding "no sudden moves" policy.

Yamamoto cleared his throat and spoke a few words of Japanese to Fukimitsu- the smiling man with the book on his left- and he bowed, lifted up the book and began to read aloud in perfect English:

"Frustrated once again by all our efforts, I retreated to the bar just off the base, hoping that some time away from the project would clear my head. The bar was mostly empty as usual- no surprise given its combination of isolated locale and lack of hygiene.

A middle-aged man in a white suit sitting two stools down ordered another whiskey and drank it in a single gulp, sighing with a smile at the empty glass as he put it down on the bar. He turned to me and commented in a southern drawl, 'Whiskey didn't used to be the drink of the world, my friend. Oh, no. Back in 1831, Aeneas Coffey invented the Coffey still, which produced a far more drinkable whiskey. Later that century, by a remarkable confluence of events, the phylloxera beetle annihilated France's vineyards, and in just a few years there was an enormous shortage of wine and brandy. Then the Scots discovered marketing, and the rest is history. Out with the old, in with the new, so they say.' He grinned at me with yellow teeth as he lit a cigarette and rose from his chair, picking up a thin briefcase as he got up.

I thought he was turning to go, but instead he stepped closer, gestured at the stool next to mine and asked 'May I?', sitting down without waiting for my reply. He ordered another whiskey and took a gulp as he stared straight ahead, gazing at himself in the mirror behind the bar. He looked wistful as he spoke, his voice barely louder than a whisper, 'The fire... the plumes of flame that will jet up into the sky... it was mankind's first discovery and you want to talk about beginner's luck! There is nothing so pure, hypnotic and lovely as a fire, and you will make the greatest of them all.

'Every sweet family home turned to charred ash in an instant, their carefully tended gardens scorched down to the bare earth... and the people! Mothers incinerated as they instinctively but futilely attempt to turn and shield their tiny babies... little boys and girls, their hair catching fire as they play in the street, running like a parade of mad matchsticks and screaming for help that will never come. Sweet fire. How I do admire you, sir.'

The man raised his glass in a toast and drank the rest as I gaped at him, horrified, and demanded to know what in God's name he was going on about. Then as I told him to get away and leave me alone, he turned to look at me, the intensity of his gaze stopping me in mid-sentence. 'Hit a bit of a snag, have we? This might be of some small service.' The man reached down within his briefcase and pulled out a file folder, laying it carefully down on the bar in front of me. I opened it, my curiosity getting the better of me, and I sat stunned as I saw laid out in very clear detail precisely how to solve every problem we'd come up against.

I looked up at the man then just as he was rising to go, asking if he knew what he had there, telling him (stupidly, against protocol, but I was just so damned amazed) that with that file we would be able to construct one by next year at the latest.

The man nodded and tossed a few bills on the bar in payment for his drinks. Suddenly I felt something run across my right ankle, and I looked down in time to see an enormous, black centipede run under the bar and out of sight. With a shiver I looked back at the man to see he was already at the door. He turned back to me before he left and said, 'One? The Japanese Emperor is an extraordinarily stubborn individual, with all due respect.' He gave me a wide, yellow smile that gave me a shiver worse than the centipede just had, then he winked and said, 'Better make two.'

After he'd gone I drove back to the base and read the file from cover to cover. Next year's date was stamped on every page.

And every word was in my own handwriting.

May God have mercy on my soul. 'I am become death, the destroyer of worlds.'"

Yamamoto cleared his throat once more and gestured to one of the women, who instantly rose and brought him a tray with a small cup of tea. He took a sip, and Fukimitsu said, "The diary of Robert Oppenheimer, architect of the atomic bomb. Secret diary, or at least he believed it was." Yamamoto motioned for us to come and sit before him, and two of the servants shuffled mats over to the center of the room. We sat cross-legged and waited, saying nothing. He took another sip of tea, then another. We waited some more. This better be good, I thought to myself, biting my tongue.

It was.

He stared at us with those clear, calm eyes and spoke, Fukimitsu translating. "My lord says: when I was born I was given the name Hiro-no-Miya. I was the fourth son of Emperor Ninko of Japan. When my father died I was proclaimed the one hundred twenty-first, divine, sovereign Emperor, and following what was believed to be my death, was posthumously named Emperor Komei. I am one hundred and seventy-seven years old.

"Tell me everything that you know of the Magician."

Mary: The Brothers Yoshida

2009-02-19T11:02:00.012-06:00

November 25th, 2008:

In the waiting room of the posh, dockside offices of the Bengosha Corporation, we whispered amongst ourselves as we waited for an hour past the time of our appointment with Yoshida's uncles:

JOSH: Mary, did you bring a cake? Because I just had another birthday waiting for Yoshida's goddamn uncles.

YOSHIDA: You were told it would be some time. Do not complain to my uncles about this when we are admitted to their office. And do not bow.

JOSH: I thought it was the thing to do?

YOSHIDA: It is for Japanese to do, not you. You don't know what you're doing. It is the equivalent of a limp, wet handshake in the Western world, but worse.

JOSH: It's a bow, Yoshida. It's not that complicated.

YOSHIDA: And yet you manage to fail at it spectacularly. Yours is more of a spasm than a bow. It is wrong. It is like watching a monkey attempt to try and ride a unicycle. Stop giggling.

JOSH: Monkey on a unicycle.

YOSHIDA: My uncles despise Westerners more than you can imagine. My father created a virus to annihilate virtually all human life on this planet, and of his brothers he was regarded as the nice one. You must be on your best- stop giggling, you idiot!

JOSH: Monkey on a unicycle.

Finally the door to the offices opened, and the same assistant we'd ridden with earlier in the limousine led us inside. There were two desks side-by-side in the large office, and behind them was a wall of glass overlooking the ocean. The office was decorated with Japanese antiques, with twin suits of armor on either side of the door and paintings of castles on rice paper on the walls. The only modern things in the room were the desks and the white, plastic computers that sat on top of them.

The brothers Yoshida glared at Josh and I as we walked in, their expressions equally filled with revulsion at the very sight of us. They did not get up.

There were three black, antique Japanese chairs lined up in front of the twin desks, and Josh threw himself into the middle one, the wood creaking ominously. The Yoshidas' eyes narrowed. Josh turned and nodded to Kisho (We're going to have to start calling him by his first name, now) as he sat on his left, then smiled at me when I took the seat on his right. Then he smiled at the brothers Yoshida, cleared his throat and said, "I had always heard that the Japanese people were two things: punctual and polite, which is amazing because you two absolutely suck at both."

The assistant's eyes opened wide in shock as he gaped at Josh, then looked over to the Yoshidas and back to Josh, clearly reluctant to translate. Josh waved him on, urging him to relay what he'd said. After he'd done so in a hushed, stuttering monotone, the Yoshida brothers expressions changed from merely disapproving to outright rage. The two exploded, rising from their chairs as a stream of what had to be curses spewed from them in unison.

I can only imagine my own expression at this point, and when I glanced over at Kisho he was literally covering his mouth with both hands, his eyes like saucers behind his thick glasses. Meanwhile, Josh kept smiling through the onslaught, then slowly rose from his chair, calmly brushed himself off and yelled, his expression suddenly ferocious, "Oh, shut the f*ck up, the both of you!"

The Yoshida brothers actually did, their faces utterly stunned. Without waiting, Josh continued while standing, "Your brother and his assistant were brutally murdered. We have been hunting his killer. My father was murdered by the same man. My mother is dead. I have been bitten by hissing, poisonous centipedes, gnawed on by eels, beaten up and blown up. Virtually everyone who ever tried to help me is dead. I'm wanted for murders I didn't commit. We have sacrificed our entire lives to get the murderous, rampaging monster who slaughtered your brother, and by God you will show us some f*cking respect!" He finished his speech by bringing his fist down on one of the desks so hard the computer actually jumped a half-inch off the desktop.

Josh nodded to the assistant. "Translate that, poindexter. We've wasted enough time already."

Five minutes later everyone was seated once more, and we had been served a delicious tea along with some kind of gooey rice cake which was the consistency of a pink pencil eraser. I nibbled mine politely while Yoshida crammed the entire thing in and chewed loudly with his mouth open. Josh took one bite before replacing it on its tray and remarking to the uncomprehending secretary, "No more for me, thanks. I already had doorstop for lunch."

In all, once the initial shock of Josh's outburst had worn off, the Yoshida brothers had adopted a stern yet courteous posture toward us, ordering refreshments and seeing to it that we were made comfortable.

Once all the pleasantries had been seen to, one of the brothers adopted a very serious tone and said something in Japanese to Josh. The assistant translated, "Now that we have made you welcome, we have but one question: are you or are you not a member of Greenpeace?"

Josh looked up from his tea and said without hesitation, "Screw Greenpeace. Whales are evil and should be slaughtered as fast as we can forge the harpoons."

For the first time, the brothers smiled, clearly extremely pleased. The other brother asked, "And why do you say they are 'evil'? We hunt them for research, nothing more."

Josh and I exchanged looks, having known that this moment would come. We had gone over it back in the sky-rise apartment, wondering just how much we should tell them. If we revealed too much about what was really going on they would think we were insane. Too little, and they wouldn't be able to help us effectively. Eventually we decided to tell most of it, but just a piece at a time to see how they would react. If they were entirely resistant, at least we had Kisho to back us up.

Sighing, Josh started, "The whales are being controlled in some way... perhaps scientifically, by the same man who murdered your brother and his assistant. This man, whom I'll refer to as 'The Magician', has-" he stopped then, noticing an unmistakable widening of both of the brothers eyes. "Wait... you know that name. You've heard of him, haven't you? Even in English you know the name of the Magician."

The assistant translated, the brothers turned and stared at each other for a long moment, then they both rose from their desks. They spoke, and the translation came: "You will ride with us. There is someone you must meet."

Josh: Setting The Stakes

2009-02-19T10:11:00.006-06:00

In addition to the cell phone issue, I want to talk to your uncles personally, Yoshida. We're going to need their help, and it's time to see what forces we can rally.

Here's our State of the Union, so to speak (painting from ralphbakshi.com):

The Magician is coming to Japan. When he gets here, he'll perform some kind of "trick" that will- as far as we can gather- end the world as we know it. With what we've seen of his power so far, it seems reasonable to assume that he can actually do it. Why it has to be in Japan, I don't know, but he will come, and I imagine he'll bring friends.

We are not without weapons. The Magician's knife can actually hurt his people as opposed to other, more conventional arms. The bingo charms have the power to kill as well, at least against the animals he controls.

We need to know where in Japan he's going. Can he perform his trick anywhere in Japan? If so, we've got a hell of a lot of ground to cover. From Leopold's post we know this:

"...he will perform a trick. He will use the charms, his knife, a rabbit and his own blood, though his body contains no blood any longer, if it ever did. It is quite probably too late to stop the charms, but the knife and his blood may yet be within your grasp. Keep them separate and failing that, use Yoshida's formula."

Well, we've already decided not to separate the knife and the charms because we don't want to let them out of our sight, and if we use the knife in combination with the charms it's a very effective weapon. And we've destroyed the Calicivirus formula already so that's not an option (killing virtually everyone in the world? Yeah, didn't seem like that great of an idea). He can get a rabbit anywhere, but the blood part is still a mystery. I suppose there's a good chance he has a vial of it saved or something, but there's not much we can do about that at this point.

So we need help. The Magician has already shown that he prefers to travel by sea (and with the whales doing his bidding I don't blame him) so we need to watch the ports. For that we need Yoshida's uncles. Beyond that, we need to somehow find out where in particular he's going in Japan, but one thing at a time.

Japan is our last stand. Everything rests on this final battle. He's coming, and I intend to be ready.

Mary: Covering Our Tracks

2009-02-18T11:11:00.004-06:00

November 24th, 2008:

Yoshida, I'm a bit concerned about the phone call Josh made to Milwaukee. It was a 911 call, so they recorded Josh's voice, and it could be traced back to the phone your uncles gave him. You might want to warn them and replace the phone they gave Josh, just f.y.i.

Yoshida: 38

2009-02-18T11:05:00.004-06:00

And another. How have we missed these all the way along?

On January first, 1831, William Lloyd Garrison began publishing an anti-slavery newspaper. It's name? The Liberator.

All things point back to that year. How many other references to it have gone unnoticed? It is now all I can think about.

Yoshida: 37

2009-02-18T10:04:00.002-06:00

Another 1831 reference (it is remarkable how, once you focus on a number you begin to see it everywhere):

Leopold I was crowned the first king of the Belgians on July 21st, 1831.

Josh: Recriminations

2009-02-18T09:27:00.005-06:00

I have never felt this before. I have been angry, but not like this. This is rage. This is fury. This is a towering desire to destroy, and while I intend to turn this emotion on my enemy eventually, for now I cannot help but feel it for myself.

How could I have been so utterly clueless? He was right in front of me the entire time, laughing at me, playing out his trick.

Every time I look back, I see more signs and clues. Mostly, I remember our friendly arguments about Georg Hegel and Arthur Schopenhauer; how we would sit by the window and banter good-naturedly about Hegel's falling into drastic disfavor in modern thought. I am a student of philosophy, but never once did I remember this famous quote made by Sir Karl Popper concerning Hegel:

"It was child's play for Hegel's powerful dialectical methods to draw real physical rabbits out of purely metaphysical silk hats."

Oh, and of course, Hegel died when? 1831.

I come again to Taras' post, which at this point has been scrutinized more closely than the Zapruder film. With his final words he makes a comment which I took to mean that the Magician is everywhere and all-powerful, but in fact I think he was trying to give us a clue:

"The young man had helpfully left the code key active, and while it was impossible to read what had been previously written, anything could be typed in and transmitted. It didn't matter, the magician read everything and he didn't need codes or magic to do it."

He meant it literally. He was telling us that the Magician was just looking over my mother's shoulder and reading everything, no magic necessary.

Mary begs me not to judge us too harshly, but I can't stop thinking about it. We see what we want to see, I suppose.

I'll give myself one more hour of looking back and beating the hell out of myself. From then on, it's the Magician's turn.

Mary: Code Change

2009-02-17T18:53:00.001-06:00

We're going to change the encryption code, Yoshida. Post nothing until you hear from me.

Yoshida: 36

2009-02-17T18:29:00.003-06:00

With further research, I have discovered that "The Great Gagasti"'s real name was Geoffrey Gagworth.

Jeff Werth.

My condolences, Howland.

Josh: 911

2009-02-17T17:28:00.003-06:00

Mom, I've called the Milwaukee police department anonymously. If you can read this, the cops are on their way. Write if you can.

I love you.

Cynthia: Magus

2009-02-17T13:22:00.006-06:00

/RUN

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DOCUMENT: CYNTHIA: MAGUS

He is coming. We heard a noise and Detective Ward went downstairs to see, though I begged him not to. There are footsteps now, coming back up the stairs. Detective Ward? Detective? Gar###

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It is his body. Detective Ward's pistol has been forced down his throat with only the very tip of the hand grip showing. Oh, God. Another good man. How many? Oh, God. I see you in the hallway, Garrett. The lights are out but I recognize your silhouette. Come in, Garrett. Come in. I know that you are not the Magician. Yes, that's right. My, you have changed. What a great, big smile you have. Do stand aside, Garrett, and let your master in. Now, you. Magician. The Great Gagasti. Come and stand before me, monster. Did you believe I would beg? Did you imagine I would ever surrender to you? I am made of sterner stuff, as is my son. I do thank you for one thing: before this I never knew for certain if Joshua had the same cold iron running through his veins. Now I know, and I die knowing that he will destroy you utterly. Do not lurk out in the hall, Magician. Come to me. Come sit by me as you have so many times before, Jeffrey. Leopold really did do his best. The paintings were a spirited attempt. Eighteen thirty-one. So many clues, and how you must have laughed. Was it merely to taunt us, or does the date have more meaning? How you grinned when you recommended a new tea set for the dining room. Gorham silver, how you insisted upon it. Gorham silver, founded in eighteen thirty-one. How you must have enjoyed offering me the use of your apartment after I was attacked by your minion, knowing that I would refuse but mentioning that I might find your pet beagle irritating should I actually accept. In eighteen thirty-one, Charles Darwin embarked on his historic voyage to the Galapagos Islands aboard the HMS Beagle. Eighteen thirty-one. So many clues. You were such a magnificent actor. Your one slip was your expression when you shot your minion. You should have looked horrified, but instead you appeared only annoyed. But it was the only blemish on an otherwise virtuoso performance. Did you insure that Independence First would send a parade of dunces to me before you swept in, guaranteeing that I would select you to be my caregiver? You were wonderful, Jeffrey. I believed in you. I###

ERROR. PLEASE PRONOUNCE YOUR WORDS CAREFULLY. PLEASE REPEAT WORD. ERROR.

I am not grieving for myself. These tears are for you, Jeffrey. Not for the Great Gagasti or whatever you call yourself. These tears are for Jeffrey. I grieve for the good, kind, intelligent, educated man I knew. I pity you, Magician. You are far less than your own artifice. You have nothing to say? Very well. Sit a minute. I do appreciate you allowing me this, despite it all. Joshua, Mary... I know you will defeat him. I have not the slightest doubt. In truth, I never planned on continuing to live once I had my revenge for Scott. Oh, Scott, at least now I can be with you once again. No one made me laugh like you, my love. Mary, look after my son, now. He is rising from his chair. Very well, Jeffrey. No time to edit what I have written? Now that is cruel, you know how I prefer to have every "T" crossed and every "I" he is staring at me. His eyes are so dark. They are dark as... they are black. Even in this darkened room they are like twin ebon fires burning. The darkness... such Stygian hate, such malevolence... how could a thing such as you ever even pretend to know love? It moved. From the corner of my eye I saw it. It did it again. My finger. My index finger moved. I could not feel it but I saw it. Again. My hand twitched. My God, I can move my###

VOLUME ERROR: RECOMMENDED VOLUME EXCEEDED. PLEASE SPEAK MORE SOFTLY SO THAT THE DRAGON NATURALLYSPEAKING PREFERRED SOFTWARE'S PATENTED VOICE RECOGNITION SOFTWARE CAN RECOGNIZE YOUR VOCAL PATTERN. THIS VOLUME ERROR IDENTIFICATION CAN BE EASILY REMOVED FROM YOUR DOCUMENT IN EDIT MODE.

The fingers of my hand are moving. They are... they are pulling. My hand is... dragging itself. My own right hand is pulling itself up to my face. Stop it. Make it stop. My hand is clawing, pulling at my robe up my chest. Burn in Hell. Burn in Hell, monster. My fingers are pawing at my chin, trying to climb up on my face and into my###

ERROR. PLEASE PRONOUNCE YOUR WORDS CAREFULLY. PLEASE REPEAT WORD. ERROR.

He smiles that smile. Damn you forever. Kill him. Kill him. My own hand crawling###

ERROR. PLEASE PRONOUNCE YOUR WORDS CAREFULLY. PLEASE REPEAT WORD. ERROR.

Fingers in my mouth. I###

ERROR. PLEASE PRONOUNCE YOUR WORDS CAREFULLY. PLEASE REPEAT WORD. ERROR.

I###

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Mary: The Magician's Knife

2009-02-17T10:20:00.007-06:00

November 24th, 2008:

After Josh and I destroyed the Rabbit/Human Calicivirus down in Texas, I had put rabbits out of my mind completely, thinking that there was nothing more of interest involving them.

However, once Yoshida brought them up again, I took another look at the Magician's knife. We'd mentioned before that it was oddly curved, and I did a quick search to see if I could find a knife that had the same shape, finding one in a matter of moments (sample photo below).

It's a rabbit-skinning knife.

Cynthia: Praenuntius

2009-02-17T09:56:00.007-06:00

Doctor, the date of the first performance of the "rabbit out of a hat" trick is of import. The reproductions that Leopold gave as an anniversary present last year were all originally painted in the year eighteen thirty-one A.D.

If I had to speculate, I would say that it was Leopold's way of attempting to subtly divulge a clue as to the Magician's identity without giving himself away.

Since Leopold's passing, I have devoted hours to considering what meaning there might be behind the paintings' subject matter, but all this time it was in fact the date of their creation that was significant.

Yoshida: 35

2009-02-16T13:38:00.011-06:00

I know the Magician's identity.

After I left Howland and Stroud I made my way across town to visit my sensei in the art of stage magic. While I have little desire to go into specific detail, recording the exact dialog of the encounter as everyone else here insists on doing, I do feel some obligation to "show my work" in how I arrived in the answer. At least with my chronicle of events the accuracy of what was actually said will be an improvement over the dismally deficient and preposterously subjective recitations of those who lack a nearly photographic memory, as I do.

For the first ten minutes of the instruction, my master merely quizzed me as to what had been previously learned, satisfying himself that I had indeed been practicing and could now perform the various tricks he'd taught me. Inoue-San then decided to begin training me in a new trick.

INOUE: Now I will teach you the rabbit out of the hat trick.

YOSHIDA: No. Something else.

INOUE: I am the teacher. If you wish to know how to become a magician, you need to know this trick.

YOSHIDA: No. I loathe rabbits. When I was young my father worked with them in Australia. Their smell makes me gag to this day.

INOUE: The "pull the rabbit out of a hat" trick is iconic [I believe this is the English word closest to what Inoue was attempting to describe]. When anyone thinks of a magician, the rabbit out of a hat is the trick that pops into their minds first.

YOSHIDA: The rabbit out of a hat. The Magician. The rabbit out of a hat. He pulls the rabbit out of a hat. The Magician. When someone thinks of that trick, they think of him.

INOUE: Are you all right? You seem odder than normal, with all respect to your family.

YOSHIDA: Mrs. Justina Walentowicz. Her head was pulled down through her torso.

INOUE: Excuse me?

YOSHIDA: Then he pulled it up through the incision in her belly. He pulled it up. He pulled it out of... he was performing the rabbit out of a hat trick with her head, announcing himself.

INOUE: You're making me sick. Settle down now, and I'll teach you.

YOSHIDA: He was showing us right from the beginning. He even put the rabbit's foot in her brain. Rabbit out of a hat trick. The Magician. Of course.

INOUE: Whose brain? What are you saying? You are worrying me.

YOSHIDA: What do you know about the rabbit out of a hat trick? You must tell me everything you know immediately.

INOUE: Well, uh... you require a hat-

YOSHIDA: No, idiot! Not how to perform it. Tell me about it! I want to know everything.

This is the story he told (with corrections and additional information supplied by myself):

In England, in the year 1831, an itinerant magician was wandering between towns, performing magic tricks for food. On one of his stops, a member of the local aristocracy happened to notice that he had a rabbit caged along with his belongings. The lady was a grand supporter of the newly-formed Animal Protection Legislation Act (much like your similarly misguided American SPCA), and she fetched the local constable to report the magician for animal cruelty.

The magician was quick on his feet, informing the constable and the lady that the rabbit was in fact part of his act and not dinner, and the lady demanded to see what trick the rabbit could possibly assist with that very night. As you can surmise, at the finale to his show, the magician thanked his "friend" for all his help that night, pulling the rabbit from his hat to the wild applause of the crowd and the great annoyance of the thwarted lady.

This is the first record of any magician ever performing the "rabbit out of a hat" trick.

The magician was known as The Great Gagasti.

Cynthia: Sodalitas

2009-02-16T12:44:00.004-06:00

Detective Ward and I shared a quiet dinner tonight while Garrett lurked about somewhere downstairs, and despite the fact that there is a reasonable chance that one of the two men is, in actuality, the Magician, I have grown so accustomed to the possibility or even probability of my own demise by his hand, that I was able to block the thought out completely and enjoy myself. Since Jeffrey's incarceration I must confess that I have been dreadfully starved for pleasant company, much less an actual, well-considered conversation.

I continue to employ a security guard to watch over my home despite the fact that I have no illusions as to his ability to actually protect me from our foes, and I suppose I do so merely to keep Garrett in check in the event that he proves himself to be nothing more than a brute, and not the Magician. Women in my condition have been known to be abused and worse under the supposed "care" of their own assistants, and the thought of being victimized by a perfectly ordinary and commonplace thug whilst all around us our supremely powerful enemies plot against us is particularly mortifying.

Regardless, as Sun-Tsu once remarked, "Keep your friends close and your enemies closer".

It was very, very good to read that you both reached Japan safely. As an aside, I have wondered lately if perhaps the "G.G." on the knife's hilt could in fact refer to two people? Perhaps two individuals serve to carry out the duties of the Magician? Inquire as to the first names of Yoshida's uncles next time it is convenient just to be certain.

Mary: Meeting Yoshida

2009-02-16T11:14:00.009-06:00

November 24th, 2008:

Once we'd settled in to our apartment in Kyoto, we had a surprise visitor: Doctor Kisho Yoshida, our longtime correspondent. When the only contact you have with someone is through print, you get a certain picture of them in your mind, and the image I had absolutely did not match up with the man in the flesh. Yoshida was eighteen going on sixteen, with unkempt, black hair, glasses, some acne and a significant overbite. He wore a work shirt with Japanese lettering and a logo of a cartoon, smiling whale embroidered on the breast pocket, the garment clearly not coming fresh from the laundry. His pants were chinos, and his black shoes were scuffed and had Velcro instead of laces.

Once we opened the door for him he gave a little nod to Josh before walking to a chair by the rain-streaked window, sitting down, pulling out a handheld electronic device and staring at it. Josh and I went from glancing curiously at each other, to him and back to each other, Yoshida not saying a word. Kimi, our translator introduced him and bowed, but he never looked at her or acknowledged her in any way.

Finally, the silence having deepened to an unbearable length, Josh said, "So, can I get one of those shirts? It's kitchy in a sick way, which is kind've my thing."

Without looking up from his PDA, Yoshida said, "I've cross referenced every permutation of the number '13' with whales, practical magic, stage magic, bingo, centipedes and a dozen other topics and subjects, but besides the predictable 'lucky' or 'unlucky' cultural biases there is nothing of interest." Without pausing or making eye contact, he continued, "What type of whales were they?"

"Uh, humpback. You want a Coke or something? Or maybe a shower? With soap?" I elbowed Josh, and he looked properly abashed, but Yoshida didn't seem to notice.

"Humpback. You should have made a note of that in your post. Typical. Their population numbers approximately eighty-thousand. Do you stand firm in the statement that you killed one thousand of them?"

Josh grimaced. "I really hadn't thought of it like- yeah, I guess so. About that many."

Yoshida nodded and tapped on his electronic device. Then he rose, walked to the door, opened it and went out.

I said, "Whoa, wait! That's it? You're just leaving?"

He stopped and turned around, looking me in the eye for the first time. "Yes."

I just stared at him, speechless. Meanwhile, Josh stepped in, carrying on the conversation in the hall. "Did you tell your uncles that we were your 'comrades'? Mary and I have a bet going." I considered elbowing him again, but was too curious to know the answer myself.

"No."

Josh nodded. "Okay, thanks. It did seem a little-"

"I told them that you were my friends. My uncles' assistant confuses the two words."

I'm ashamed to say that at this point I gaped openly. "You said we were your friends?"

Yoshida cocked his head slightly, puzzled. "Of course. What else would we be?" This time even Josh was speechless. "I will call you if there is a breakthrough with the number." He turned to go once more.

I called after him, "Your uncles left phones for us. You can call at-"

He spoke as he stepped into the elevator at the end of the hall, once more looking down at his PDA. "I handle my uncles' communications. I know the numbers. I have all the company cell numbers memorized."

As the elevator doors began to close, Josh asked, "How many cell numbers are there?"

"There are seven hundred and fif-" his voice cut off as the doors closed in front of him. For all I know, he kept talking all the way down, never noticing we were gone.

Josh: Welcome To Japan, Mr. Bond

2009-02-13T13:40:00.000-06:00

This is the first time I've ever written a post first with pen and paper (I know, those are still around? Who knew?), then typed it up later, but as all our electronic equipment was blown out I didn't have a whole lot of choice.

I'll recap a bit then continue where Mary left off, filling you in on the happenings of the last two days:

As we continued north to Japan, we all began noticing a low hum, combined with a high-pitched whine. We thought it was probably the engine out of joint somehow, so Riku and Mochizuki opened the hatch and began poking around the motor, commenting to each other in Japanese and doing a lot of shrugging. As we continued the hum got louder and louder until finally Captain Maeda decided to shut things down so they could better attempt to diagnose the problem.

Problem was, the motor stopped but the sound didn't.

It was then that Riku rose from the engine and went to the side of the boat, pointing and shouting. Mary's post was right, there were hundreds of whales surrounding us in constant motion, the water churning with their passing. The Captain scrambled up to the top of the boat with his binoculars, and shouted down that they were moving around us in a circle, with another circle being formed right next to it.

"Like a figure eight?" Mary called up to him. He nodded. She turned to me. "Infinity."

The Captain, Mochizuki, Riku and Mary all put their hands to their heads suddenly as the hum and vibration increased a notch, with Mary complaining that her teeth hurt so bad she felt like they might explode.

Riku staggered back from the rail, and Mochizuki translated for him, informing us that the sensation was worse the further you got from the center of the boat. Meanwhile, though the sound and sensation was annoying, I really can't say I was in much, if any pain.

The hum upped its intensity again, and I could hear the rivets in the boat rattling in their holes. Another moment, and the anchor came free from its mooring and plunged into the ocean, the chain clacking its way over the side behind it. Immediately Riku lunged aft to secure it, the Captain right behind him.

As the two men reached the rear of the boat, their hands covering their ears, they reached down for the black anchor chain and then suddenly were gone. There was no puff of smoke or flash of light, it was just: one second they were there and the next they weren't. In less than the blink of an eye, Captain Maeda and Riku disappeared off the face of the Earth.

Stunned and blinking, I stood there dumbfounded for a moment and even called the men's names, but to no avail. Then the hum increased in magnitude once more, and I could now hear the silverware in the tiny galley jangling in its drawer.

The sound gave me an idea. If the knife could hurt Crayton, maybe it could be used against the whales as well as both seemed to be doing the Magician's bidding. Perhaps all of his creations and lackeys were vulnerable to it.

Mary and Mochizuki were huddled at my feet in the center of the deck, their hands wrapped around their heads, and I shouted to them that I was going to use the knife. "How?" she yelled through clenched teeth.

It was a good question. The intensity of the hum was increasing by the second, and I imagined we only had moments before we too would disappear like the Captain and poor Riku. I obviously couldn't reach down from the boat's deck and start stabbing whales. For one thing I couldn't reach and for another there were just too many of them.

Without waiting for a plan to come to me I darted below, threw open the door to our cabin and hastily lugged the steamer trunk out onto the deck. Tearing open the trunk lid, I scrambled through the artifacts: the knife, the top hat, the cape and the box of bingo charms. First I picked up the knife, then the top hat, the key chain held within its secret compartment rattling inside. Shaking my head I replaced the hat, then grasped the cape, lifting it up, and for a split second I almost thought I could hear a child's desperate, plaintive cry, but then it was gone.

Finally I opened the box of bingo charms, their garish colors and designs looking surreal and ridiculous in the situation. I spared a glance at Mary and Mochizuki, the two of them curled up in the fetal position and looking like they wouldn't last more than another moment. I stared at the knife in my hand and then at the bingo charms, shrugged and muttered, "When in doubt, stab something. It's worked this far." Holding the knife in both hands, I lifted it up and stabbed down into the box, the knife's blade striking one of the metal charms and creating a single, blindingly-bright, white spark.

There was what sounded almost like an enormous sigh, like air was suddenly let out of something huge, and when my vision cleared I looked down and saw that the charm I hit had actually melted, the liquid flowing over the other charms and down to the bottom of the box.

It was suddenly, amazingly, blissfully quiet, and I helped Mary and Mochizuki to their feet and stepped over to the side of the boat, peering out over the ocean.

Every single one of the thousand or so whales that surrounded our boat was dead.

After we'd fired up the engines and slowly wended our way out of what had suddenly become an enormous whale graveyard, we gunned it for Japan, unable to call for help as our radio and all our electronic equipment had somehow been fried out. I have a feeling that First Mate Mochizuki will rapidly become Captain Mochizuki, because all of his hard studying had paid off. He expertly guided us north (through a storm, no less) straight to Kyoto without delay, not even bothering to sleep for the next two days as he wanted to report the incident to the authorities as quickly as possible.

We hit port on a gray and drizzling early morning, and I was able to finagle a cellphone from one of the local fishermen to call Yoshida and let him know we were all right, and also to tell his uncles to make certain to hustle us into the country without anyone from customs involved.

Not more than ten minutes later, a sleek, black limousine materialized on the docks and disgorged three men in traditional Japanese garb. They were the only ones on the dock not dressed in Western-style clothes, but no one gave them a second look, other than to bow deeply and humbly. The brothers Yoshida were middle-aged and impeccably groomed, and they glared at both Mary with a look that transcended the language barrier by saying, immediately and without question: "We hate you."

Regardless of their personal feelings, their assistant ushered us into the limousine behind them, and after a brief, deeply-grateful farewell to Mochizuki we drove into Kyoto.

We were in the limo not more than fifteen minutes before it pulled to a stop in front of a sleek, silver skyscraper, the Yoshida brothers' assistant gesturing for us to exit the car, handing us each plastic swipe cards. "My masters wish you to know that you are under their protection while you are in Kyoto. Kisho-san requested of his venerable uncles that every courtesy and protection be extended to you, his comrades."

Mary and I looked at each other. "Yoshida called us his comrades?" I asked in disbelief.

"Every courtesy?" asked Mary, entirely dubious.

The assistant nodded. Mary and I looked back at each other, our expressions incredulous. The assistant continued, "A translator waits in your apartment. Is there anything else you require?" There was a long pause as the rain ran down our necks, soaking our clothes.

Finally I asked, "He said 'comrades'?"

Followed by Mary's, "Every courtesy?"

Bowing and nodding once more, the assistant got back in the car without another word, and the limousine glided off.

I shook my head. "If that's what Yoshida actually said, that's weirder than the whole whale thing."

Once we had reached our room, introduced ourselves to the interpreter (an adorable, young, Japanese girl named "Kimi", who giggled charmingly at every one of our questions [actual photograph below]) and showered, we settled in, me to write this post and Mary to start making phone calls, checking up on some things back in the States.

Reading our posts back, I now see all the crazy 'static' breaking up Mary's writing. "Hey, Mary, did you count these? The slashes break up the asterisks at every thirteenth interval. Is that what the whales were 'saying', you think? The number thirteen over and over again?" She shrugged. Breathing a sigh and running my hands through my hair, I said, "All I know is, I'm happy it's the 24th of November and not Friday the 13th, that's for sure."

Yoshida: 34

2009-02-12T12:34:00.002-06:00

Two days since their last post, and still no word.

The situation looks grim, but Howland has been declared dead before. I'll believe it only when I see the corpse.

Yoshida: 33

2009-02-12T12:21:00.003-06:00

I spoke with my uncles, and they inform me that there has been no S.O.S. reported. I then asked them to inform the Coast Guard of the missing vessel, which they did. No further word thus far.

Cynthia: Cesso, Pergo

2009-02-12T12:15:00.003-06:00

It has now been over twenty four hours since their last post. Doctor Yoshida, contact your uncles and determine if any mayday was transmitted from the Dial Up's general location, if you please.

If it was not, then I believe it is time to risk alerting the authorities that the Dial Up is lost at sea. Make no mention of Joshua's or Mary's names. Thank you.

Cynthia: Cesso

2009-02-12T11:19:00.003-06:00

It has been more than three hours since your last post. If you can read this and are able to respond, please post an update with your condition as soon as possible.

//M***/////////*

2009-02-11T19:09:00.004-06:00

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Cynthia: Auxilium

2009-02-11T19:04:00.002-06:00

Joshua, Mary, never mind the artifacts. Call for help on the radio. If you can still read this, send out an S.O.S. before you secure the items.

Mary: Vibration*s

2009-02-11T12:41:00.005-06:00

Capta*in Ma/eda final*ly turne*d off th*e en*gine just* so w*e coul*d stop th*e awful h*um and vib*ration *throug*h the b/oat.

The en*gine tu*rned off. T*he hum* did*n't st*op.

R*iku bega*n poin*ting and* yellin*g to sta*rboard, a/nd the o*cean as f*ar as we* could see w*as fill*ed wit*h whal*es. Hun*dreds..*. mayb*e thous*ands of t*hem, al/l surrou*nding t*he Dial U*p.

Th*e nois*e... th*e hum.*.. that* helli*sh viba*tion is* com*ing fr/om them*.

Yoshida: 32

2009-02-11T12:33:00.003-06:00

Are you aware of the typos in your posts? Is your keyboard broken in some way, or is your computer somehow being affected by the hum? E-mail me your latitude and longitude in case the engine explodes so we may recover the Magician's knife and other accessories. Make certain that they are safely inside the trunk so that there is a chance that it might float.

Ma*ry: Engine Trouble

2009-02-11T12:25:00.003-06:00

Our pleasant sea voya*ge is growing more unpleasan*t by the minute. The engine hu*m is out of control, and the Ca/ptain has decided t*o shut it do*wn to diagnose th*e problem. My h*ead is ringin*g like a be*ll. So hard to w*rite. Mo*re later.

Cynthia: Fortuna

2009-02-11T11:55:00.003-06:00

All is well here. My efforts these past few days have been spent on attempting to place legal pressure on the Department of Homeland Security to release Jeffrey from his detention, and I believe I may be making some headway, though only time will tell. It is my opinion that the incoming regime change in the Presidency has made them more hesitant to invoke powers they may soon no longer possess.

I also decided that while my experiments to determine whether or not my caretaker Garrett is in fact the Magician have come to naught, there is yet another man with a "G" name here in Milwaukee- Detective Gary Ward- whom I at the very least wished to look in the eye to determine if any information could be gleaned from mere contact.

Under the pretence of desiring to discuss pertinent details of the Walentowicz murder, I invited Detective Ward to my home and offered him some tea while we discussed the case. While the investigation has been taken out of his hands by the Federal Bureau of Investigation, it was obvious that the grisly nature of the killing had affected him deeply, and it appeared to me that he wanted to talk about it just to unburden himself of the awful memories.

Detective Ward reminded me a little of poor Agent Pierce, a dogged investigator, world-weary and in over his head. Is he the Magician in disguise? After spending the better part of an hour conversing with the man, I must confess that I still have no idea. I have invited him back tomorrow night just for tea. If he is the Magician, he can kill me at any time anyway, it seems. If he is not, then I will enjoy the pleasure of his company, resigned to whatever fate has in store.

Mary: Two Days To Kyoto

2009-02-11T11:30:00.004-06:00

November 22nd, 2008:

Our sunshine is finally gone, covered over by a high, thin layer of gray clouds. It's growin*g colder as well, and our days of tanning on the deck appear over. Still, only two more days and we'll be arriving in Kyoto.

The whale watching has been phenomenal. Gazing at these majestic creatures as they cruise gracefully below the surface, you can't help but feel awed. And before you mention it, Yoshida, there is no harpoon on board. Bastard.

Mrs. Howland, is there any word on how Jeff is doing? Has Garrett been treating you decently? It's been a couple of days since we've heard from you and I'm becoming concer*ned.

One problem with our shipboard life has been this hum that the engine's been making. Mochizuki and Riku have been looking at it for the better part of an hour, but have yet to come up with a solution. After our encounter back on Wardang Island, I don't have to tell you how petrified I am of a breakdown and floating dead in the water.

Josh: The Captain's Tale

2009-02-11T10:26:00.006-06:00

JOSH: I can't take it anymore. Why is this boat called the Dial Up?

FIRST MATE MOCHIZUKI: The Captain was a very wealthy man. He pursued and received his Captain's license merely so he could sail his yacht. He and his business partner owned one of the largest dial up Internet companies in the '90's, then when it was clear that broadband was next, the Captain wanted to upgrade while his partner insisted that no one would pay for high speed Internet. When the bubble burst, the Captain got out right at the very end, using the last of his money to make certain that his employees were paid what they were owed. His business partner kept his half of the money instead of paying. Just to make ends meet, the Captain was forced to go to his wife and ask her family to loan him the money to buy this boat. She did, but as a condition she made him christen it the Dial Up as a reminder of his failure.

JOSH: Owwwww.

MOCHIZUKI: Hai.

JOSH: So his wife is waiting for him back in port?

MOCHIZUKI: No. Last year she left him- for the business partner.

JOSH: And in the end, she and the partner got in a fiery car accident and died, right? That creepy girl from The Ring sucked them through a TV? Tell me something terrible happened to them.

MOCHIZUKI: No.

JOSH: That ain't right.

MOCHIZUKI: No.

JOSH: He has his honor, though. That's got to be worth a lot in your culture, hm?

MOCHIZUKI: Not as much as it once was. Not nearly as much.

After this fantastically uplifting conversation, I scurried back to Mary in our cabin and curled in next to her, a shaft of moonlight spearing down at the foot of our bed through the porthole. "Mary, if I ever have a business, and my business partner is a jerk and I have to buy a boat, don't make me name it something nasty, okay?"

"I don't see you as ever having a boat. Or a business partner. Or a business."

"Er, okay. That makes me feel so much better."

She grinned. "And if you did, you'd probably name it the 'Pwned' or the 'Mace Windu' or the-"

"That guy did everything right. He knew what do to, he was loyal to his friend and he paid his people what he owed. He did everything right and g*ot totally screwed." I propped myself up on an elbow and looked down at her, her face looking like a beautiful statue in the moonlight. "We might lose, Mary. We could do everything we need to do and the Magician might still end the world."

She gave the perfect answer- the one I needed to hear. She kissed me.

Afterward, I leapt up in amazement. "You know who Mace Windu is! You nerd!"

Mary covered her face with her hands in mock-shame while I did an enormously awkward and un-sexy naked victory dance next to the bed. Finally I crawled back in and spooned behind her. "The 'Mace Windu' wouldn't be a bad name for a sailboat."

"Goodnight, Josh."

"Goodnight, Mary."

Josh: You Spend Your Entire Life Searching For Your Soulmate, And Then You Find Them... And It's An Elderly, Drunk Guy Who Doesn't Speak English

2009-02-11T09:48:00.010-06:00

Riku for president! I know the election is over, but this guy is the greatest. He smiles all the time (one tooth and all, drawing below taken from nataliedee.com. Normally I just rip off the pictures, but someone actually drew that, and just on the off-chance that the Magician doesn't murder me and the world doesn't end and I'm not executed in Georgia on that murder charge, I'd like to not get sued. God, that was a depressing sentence to write), drinks sake or beer twenty-three hours a day, does his job so well that no one else on the boat really needs to do anything, and he's so humble that this morning I almost caught him bowing to a seagull. If I hadn't just fallen head over heels for Mary, I'd have some serious, stone-skipping, soul-searching walks on the beach as to whether I should ask for his hand in marriage.

Our daily routine: Mary and I sleep late in our tiny cabin, then rouse ourselves for breakfast with the Captain while we read the current events on the Internet. Then Mary and I lounge around in the back of the boat tanning and whale watching until late afternoon, when she goes to the helm to drink tea and talk smart with Captain Maeda and I set up the dominoes board and get stinking drunk on sake with Riku.

Not to leave out the First Mate, Mochizuki, who is a decent guy as well. He's studying to be a Captain himself, and is just very dedicated to learning all he can. He spends all day looking at nautical charts and books, though when the day is over he's happy to unwind with the rest of us.

That was how the last three days have gone (probably should have put a time stamp at the top- today is November 21st, 2008). Weather-wise, today was probably the last day of sunshine we'll have as there is a moderate-sized storm system to the north, though the Captain assures us it's nothing to worry about. Meanwhile, of course, this (below) is what I'm imagining we're actually heading into.

In health news, my ankle is feeling much better, with the eel bite healing fast. The antibiotics did the trick. Another late night with Riku, however, and my liver might just jump overboard.

Yoshida: 31

2009-02-11T09:41:00.003-06:00

Today I learned how to saw a woman in half. I never imagined that I would actually find stage magic to actually be interesting, but I'm fascinated by how such a simple trick could fool an entire room full of people that magic is being done. Tomorrow I learn the "art" of levitation.

Mary: The Dial Up

2009-02-10T11:30:00.005-06:00

November 18th, 2008:

I had been hoping to spend a little time in Guam upon our arrival, but the Dial Up was waiting for us to board before beginning their voyage back to Japan, so all we saw of the tiny island was a small section of the port as we sprinted toward the other end of the docks, our luggage careening wildly behind us as we pulled it along.

The Dial Up was a small fishing and cargo boat, definitely in the "boat" and not "ship" category, with only a three-man crew. We were hastily but very courteously welcomed aboard by Captain Maeda, whom I had spoken with to book our passage- a middle-aged, paunchy man with sunken eyes and a resigned but benign demeanor. The Captain spoke English quite well, and after we'd launched he took great pains to make certain we were comfortable in our cramped, but exquisitely clean quarters.

His First Mate Mochizuki was a young, skinny man not more than twenty years old, a professional, business-like fellow who trailed after the Captain and studied his every move as he went about his work.

Finally there was Riku, a short, ancient, shirtless man with only a single tooth who grinned and bowed to everyone else on board so often and rapidly I thought he would throw his back out before we hit land.

In all, despite the language barrier and our cabin being half the size of the one on the Reliant, we felt far more at ease on the tiny boat. While the crew on the Reliant had been polite, their manner made it clear that they were a cargo ship first and a cruise line a distant second. Meanwhile, in no time at all Josh and Riku had bonded over beer and dominoes, while the Captain made me feel more than welcome at the helm with him discussing world events.

Even when First Mate Mochizuki informed us that there appeared to be some storm activity brewing between us and Japan, we didn't worry about it overmuch, putting ourselves in the affable, capable hands of the crew. Besides, with how Josh and I were feeling in general it was difficult to work up bad feelings about anything at that point.

In all, while the voyage on the Reliant had felt like business (with the exception of the final day, of course), the Dial Up felt more like a vacation, and our first day had been nothing short of a delight.

Josh: Um... Thanks?

2009-02-09T13:42:00.004-06:00

That was the nicest thing you ever said, Yoshida. Of course, it was buried amid insults, weird sex stuff and rampant misogyny, but I was still actually kinda touched.

Yoshida: 30

2009-02-09T13:25:00.004-06:00

I have had great difficulty with women. Virtually all of them are too brainless and puerile to even bother carrying on a conversation with, and the very few who actually have some small semblance of reason are usually so homely as to make any sexual congress with them out of the question.

I usually simply hire prostitutes for my needs.

While Stroud possesses a vile temper, a filthy mouth and a propensity to neglect to provide a reasonable amount of data when it is called for, the important thing is that you have found someone whom you can tolerate.

The fact is, I envy you and wish you the best of luck.

Josh: Love... Exciting And New, Come Aboard, We're Expecting You... The LOVE BOAT, Soon Will Be Making Another Run (Stuck In Your Head Now, Right?)

2009-02-09T13:11:00.007-06:00

It's our final day on board the Reliant. We'll be arriving in Guam within the hour, and, like Mary, I never want to leave this rusty bucket 'o scrap. Maybe we can just rent out this cabin and travel around? Get a couple of frilly curtains for the porthole so Mary feels more at home?

Probably not.

I could wax on about how in utterly in love I am, but the thought of Yoshida reading it and commenting is a daunting prospect.

Mary: Thank You

2009-02-09T10:59:00.003-06:00

November 17th, 2008:

It seems so amazing that the drab metal cabin that I had grown to absolutely loathe is now a place I never want to leave. The ship arrives in Guam tomorrow and suddenly the trip seems far, far too short.

I can't write any more. Josh can blab about seemingly every embarrassing detail of our lives without blinking, but for me it's agonizing.

Thank you so much for understanding, Mrs. Howland.

Cynthia: Amor

2009-02-09T10:44:00.003-06:00

Mary, don't be ridiculous. You have nothing whatsoever to be sorry for.

Do I strike you as a particularly frivolous or flighty woman? My dear, my late husband collected Ford Mustangs, of all things. When Scott and I were given the gift of three nineteenth-century reproductions by Leopold as an anniversary gift last year, my husband thought it would be a good idea to hang framed prints of comic book covers next to them.

In other words, there is no woman on Earth who can comprehend and sympathize with your plight better than I. The heart wants what it wants.

Don't imagine you can change him overmuch, give him a single room in the house to keep however he likes and may God have mercy on your soul.

Mary: Day Six At Sea

2009-02-09T10:35:00.004-06:00

November 17th, 2008:

Of all the posts I've had to write, this is one of the most difficult. Mrs. Howland, I just want to say that I'm sorry. I've written and deleted page after page just for this one post, unable to put into words how I feel. I suppose the bottom line is that I can't control how I feel about your son, and while I have done my absolute best to behave in a professional manner and make you proud of me, I have let you down. I'm very, very sorry.

Josh: Candlelight

2009-02-09T09:10:00.008-06:00

Realizing there was a tiny chance that I had been ignoring Mary on our little jaunt out to sea, I set out to make it up to her. Excusing myself from our cabin that evening, I went on a little scavenger hunt and returned from the ship's galley with candles, a bottle of wine, a couple of bowls of goulash and two packs of Ho Hos. I also asked around for music, seeing what I could borrow from the crew, and got three CD's of death metal, a disc of Mozart and The Best of Barry Manilow. The Manilow guy also had ABBA Gold: Greatest Hits.

"Does it have 'Waterloo' on it?"

He nodded, smiling, "You bet."

"Keep it, then. You know the date for Waterloo is wrong, right?"

Ignoring his weird look, I headed back to my cabin and hastily assembled our dinner as Mary looked on. Then I lit the candles on the table, held her chair for her as she sat down and put on the soothing sounds of Slayer in the background.

"This is actually really nice, Josh. Even though this music sounds like one long car accident."

I nodded, and we ate our goulash in silence, sipping at the wine. When the meal was done I swapped out the Slayer for Mozart and we began the dessert course, munching our Ho Hos by candlelight.

I took a deep breath and asked softly, "Don't answer this if you don't want, but was it very hard when you found out you couldn't have kids?"

"Yes."

"Because your husband wanted them?"

"That, and I wanted them too. Not right then, but... someday."

I poured us both the last of the wine. "What about adoption?"

She shrugged. "He didn't want to. I would, but 'Private Investigator' isn't the sort of job they look for in a single mother at the adoption agency." Mary shook her head and gave a bitter laugh. "And now that I'm wanted for accessory to murder... even if I clear my name at some point... I'll never... they'll never give..."

Regretting I'd asked the question, I tried to lighten the mood by saying, "Hey, you've got me. I'm child-like. Or child-ish. Either way, the word child is prominently involved."

A tear made its way down her cheek, the drop sparkling in the candlelight. I slid my chair back, stepped around the table and put my arms around her as she sat, her ear against my belly. "It's all right. It'll be all right, Mary."

Her voice came out in a whisper. "How can it possibly be all right? In all this death and horror, against these monsters, what is all right?"

I ran my fingers gently through her golden hair. "I didn't want my dad to die or my mom to be paralyzed, but I can't deny that everything that's happened has... I don't know if it's changed me as much as its shown me who I am. It's given me a purpose. It's given me you." I took a deep breath. "I don't know how it's all going to turn out... hell, I barely know what's happening now, but no matter what occurs I'll always have this. I'll always be running my fingers through your hair. I'll always be brushing my hand over your soft cheek. I'll be drying your tears. I'll always be here." I shook my head. "The Magician and all the others who are so busy 'conquering' and killing... they can never have this. They'll never look at someone the way I'm looking at you right now. Even though you don't feel the same way about me, it's what makes us-"

Mary rose from her chair then, never leaving my grasp and kissed me lightly on the lips, the softness of the touch startling me. Then she kissed me again slowly, pulling me closer. I broke away after a minute, my voice coming out in a croak. "I know how you feel about letting my mom down. Don't do anything that you don't want-"

She gave a rueful grin. "I'm not made of stone, Josh. I did my best. I just hope she'll understand."

"I did stab a guy for you. That's long been considered an unassailable term of endearment. What chance did you have?"

"Hush, now."

The Reliant churned northward through the Pacific as the sun fell into the sea- the horizon losing its battle against the night once more, and we could not have cared less.

Mary: Day Five At Sea

2009-02-09T08:50:00.003-06:00

November 16th, 2008:

MARY: We know the Magician is heading for Japan. We know he wants to perform some grand "trick" there, but what is it that the trick does, exactly? It gives him a new assistant, like Hollis or Crayton? It messes with time somehow?

JOSH: Uh-huh.

MARY: Taras kept coming back to the theme of conquerors taking Kiev. Is that what the Magician is doing? Using his trick to conquer new lands? Does the fact that he's going to Japan mean he hasn't conquered it yet? And what does that even get him? It's not like anyone but us has ever even heard of him.

JOSH: Absolutely.

MARY: If the Magician turned us into cheese, we could eat ourselves and I'm sure we'd be delicious.

JOSH: Right.

MARY: There is a fire axe just outside our door, and I am going to go get it and hack up your video game to pieces if you don't stop playing it right now.

JOSH: So, how've you been? Good? You look good. Let's talk about your feelings and stuff.

Yoshida: 29

2009-02-09T08:19:00.003-06:00

My research into stage magic proceeds. I decided that I would seek out a sensei to show me at least some rudimentary tricks, and found a man whom, in exchange for my doing his taxes, is demonstrating how to perform various slight of hand illusions. Memorizing the steps is simple, but making my hands do what I want them to is maddeningly frustrating.

In more important news, all the arrangements have been made to sneak you both into Japan. My uncles and their servants will be present upon your arrival.

Mary: Day Four At Sea

2009-02-09T08:16:00.001-06:00

November 15th, 2008:

I have read the Internet. All of it.

Mary: Day Three At Sea

2009-02-06T11:30:00.005-06:00

November 14th, 2008:

How can Josh just sit there and shoot things on a screen all day long? It's bizarre. Is he even human?

I am now completely and totally familiarized with every inch of our cabin. I know every paint-peel and loose rivet. This is not a good thing.

Four days until we dock at Guam and change ships. I finalized the arrangements today with the captain of the The Dial Up to take us aboard before he sets out for Kyoto, Japan.

Mary: Day Two At Sea

2009-02-06T11:23:00.004-06:00

November 13th, 2008:

Nothing new to report. Weather has continued to be sunny and nice. I briefly considered going out on deck and doing a bit of tanning, but with the all-male crew somehow I don't think I'd feel all that comfortable.

Josh: As He Pushes Pause, Josh Asks Himself: "Can I Really Do NOTHING But Play Video Games For Two Straight Weeks?" Yes. Yes, I Can. Duh.

2009-02-06T10:45:00.006-06:00

Mom, I think you should stay put. We know Japan is where the Magician is heading to perform his "trick", so the farther away from there you are the easier I'll sleep. Whatever help you can give, you can do it just as easily in Milwaukee, I'd think.

And Jeff won't be locked up forever. Either we'll somehow defeat the Magician and clear or names or... we won't be around to worry about being sent to prison anyway.

I believe you're right about Japan being where everything will culminate, one way or another. I can practically feel it as the ship gets closer. It's hard to explain, but there's something about the place, now that I know where we need to go, that feels... all right, it's not hard to explain, it's impossible to explain. I just have a feeling that everything will end there, for good or ill.

Cynthia: Ligatio

2009-02-06T10:39:00.003-06:00

The agents of Homeland Security were unimpressed with my counterfeit act of compliance. Jeffrey remains incarcerated. I do not know what else I can do to free him, and feel more helpless than ever on the matter.

With all of the events pointing firmly towards Japan, I am considering hiring a private jet and flying there to join you despite the obvious risks. I simply feel that whatever resolution is going to come will come there, and soon.

Mary: Setting Sail

2009-02-06T09:52:00.005-06:00

November 12th, 2008:

While it wasn't perhaps the best possible introduction to the ship's crew to have Josh screaming obscenities at his computer screen in our cabin the first night, it was at least nice to see someone besides me yelling after receiving one of Yoshida's posts for a change.

The Reliant has just set sail (not that it has sails. I'm going to have to brush up on my nautical terms, I suppose) and Josh is fully settled in and playing his video games. So far the crew has been businesslike and reasonably polite, clearly used to having the occasional passenger on board. The ship is totally utilitarian and without any charm whatsoever, and my biggest regret before leaving the dock was not buying a vase of flowers and some throw pillows (below: the exact opposite of our cabin).

Also making life interesting is that the ship's captain was under the impression that Josh and I were married, so we only got one cabin with one full size bunk, but we're making do.

Yoshida: 28

2009-02-05T10:35:00.003-06:00

I should clarify, the company used to hunt whales, but over the last couple of years we merely harvest them for "research", which is still quite legal, though contested.

At any rate, I personally have never touched a harpoon. In fact, I do not even set foot on the boats, as I am prone to seasickness. My job entails collating data as far as the whales' seasonal movements and creating charts- planning where and when to sail so as to maximize the harvest. My uncles estimate that my work on the project has enabled them to up their catch more than fifteen percent, which makes me far more valuable to the company sitting at a computer than actually out at sea.

And I certainly don't hate whales, despite your wild overreactions. In fact, I find them delicious.

Josh: "The Family That Harpoons Whales Together, Fails Together", And Other Rhymes I'll Be Chanting Outside Your Door When I Get To Japan

2009-02-05T10:25:00.006-06:00

They're whalers? They actually harpoon whales? Jesus, and you work for them?! I'm a goddamn member of Greenpeace, you @sshole! You have got to be kidding me! Every time you save our @sses and I start liking you just a tiny bit you have to go and type something else, Yoshida. It's uncanny.

What do you do, go out on weekends with the family just to slaughter some whale babies? Do you know how smart they are? How generally peaceful? Goddamn, you make me want to throw up, Yoshida. What do you do in your spare time, stab baby seals?

Yoshida: 27

2009-02-05T10:20:00.002-06:00

They own the Bengosha Whaling Company, second largest whaling fleet in Japan.

Josh: Come Again?

2009-02-05T10:18:00.001-06:00

Greenpeace terrorist organization?? Just what is it that your uncles do, exactly?

Yoshida: 26

2009-02-05T10:11:00.003-06:00

Best if you don't attempt to communicate with my uncles, even if it's to thank them. Words cannot properly express how much they detest foreigners, Americans specifically. Their recent run-ins with your "Greenpeace" terrorist organization have soured them even further.

I would expect that you will be met at the Kyoto dockyard by intermediaries, but should you have the misfortune of actually physically encountering my uncles, my advice is to avoid eye contact and be silent.

Bon Voyage.

Mary: The Reliant

2009-02-05T09:31:00.006-06:00

November 11th, 2008:

Mrs. Howland, I've considered shipping either the knife or the charms (or the top hat and cape) separately, but I just don't trust letting them out of my sight. We fought so hard to get them, and coincidences seem to occur so often in the Magician's favor that I've decided, with reservations, to keep them with us.

As to informing on us, please go right ahead. Homeland Security probably already has the information anyway so I don't know that it will do any good, but at least it will give you the appearance of cooperating. Jeff's incarceration is really weighing on Josh and I, so if there's anything else you can think of that we can do to help on that front, please don't hesitate to let us know.

Josh and I have managed to book passage to Guam. As we'd need to use our fake identification to get a hotel room (and our I.D.'s have been flagged by the police), we're just going to board the ship and stay there tonight in dock. It's a large cargo ship called the Reliant (Sample photo below. Not the exact same ship, but close.), a name that caused Josh to jump up and down with glee. "That's the name of Khan's ship in Star Trek II! Awesomeness incarnate!"

"What happened to it in the movie?"

He shrugged. "Oh, it was utterly destroyed, all hands murdered. The original captain had a mind controlling bug in his brain and killed himself, too. Hey, will they have X-Box Live on board, do you think?"

While I put my head in my hands and tried to think happy thoughts, Josh dashed out to an electronics store and bought something called an "Iridium Beam Remote Satellite Modem", which is a fancy name for a gadget that will allow him to play X-Box games with other fourteen year-olds around the world as we travel, just in case there's no Internet connection on board the ship. So that's a relief.

I'll post again when we're out to sea tomorrow.

Oh, and Yoshida, thanks for the tip on our blown cover. And please thank your uncles for their help in getting us through customs into Japan.

Cynthia: Singulus

2009-02-04T19:22:00.004-06:00

Leopold remarked in his post:

"It is quite probably too late to stop the charms, but the knife and his blood may yet be within your grasp. Keep them separate..."

Now that we possess the items, I am uneasy keeping them together against Leopold's advice, yet I am apprehensive to have them shipped elsewhere individually. Is there another option?

On another matter, I had a notion to contact the agents from Homeland Security that are holding Jeffrey and inform them as to your general whereabouts, Joshua and Miss Stroud. It is possible that they have not received the information from the Australian authorities as of yet, and they may believe that I am being genuinely cooperative and release Jeffrey in turn. It seems to me that we would lose nothing since they will be apprised soon enough as to your location at any rate, if they have not been already.

I leave it in your hands, however. Do contact me with your decision as swiftly as possible.

Mary: Planning A Cruise

2009-02-03T13:15:00.003-06:00

November 11th, 2008:

Josh and I went down to the docks and inquired as to gaining passage to Japan, eventually finding a ship that will take us as far as Guam. From there I'm making arrangements for transport to Kyoto, though we might have a bit of a layover.

It appears as though the trip might take us as long as two weeks. I'll save any further reflections on recent events for the journey as it looks like I'll have plenty of time to write.

Yoshida: 25

2009-02-03T12:59:00.002-06:00

I have spoken to my uncles, and while they despise Westerners in general, I have convinced them that you have worked diligently to assist in finding my father's killer, and that the trail leads here to Japan.

Do not attempt to fly as airport security will surely flag you. If you travel by boat to Kyoto, my uncles will get you through customs.

Mary: Stuck Down Under

2009-02-03T12:21:00.006-06:00

We made it out of the hotel, and they hadn't yet frozen all of Josh's accounts because he managed to get a few thousand in cash and another quarter of a million in bearer bonds. There's a good chance that that might be all we can withdraw out of all the money Leopold left him, at least for now.

Better not to push it at this point, I think, because money is not our top priority at the moment. Josh and I need to get to Japan, and without passports that's going to be impossible. We'd love to find a forger here in Australia, but going in without any contacts would be problematic at best. We've used up the raw materials Leopold gave us just to make these last fake identities, so for the moment we're stuck in-country.

I will say, though, that of all places to be trapped, we could do a lot worse than the city of Adelaide. It's right on the ocean, beautiful and as a big plus for us it has a large immigrant population so Josh and I don't stick out too much.

Sooner or later, though, we're going to have to present some I.D. Ideas, anyone?

Yoshida: 24

2009-02-03T10:34:00.004-06:00

Stroud, Howland, your cover is blown.

Someone has tipped off the Australian authorities that you are traveling under false identities. If I were you I would withdraw all the cash you possibly can and leave your hotel immediately. Do not use your passports.

In scanning the latest jurisdictional Australian websites your names came up along with descriptions and Stroud's fingerprints, which I imagine you had to give at some point to acquire your Private Investigator license.

I would imagine Crayton or one of the others discovered the names you checked in under at the Port Victoria Hotel, and informed the police of your real identities, though I don't imagine the specifics of how it occurred are all that important to you at this point. I'd say there is an excellent chance that the SPSU (or State Protection Support Unit, the Australian equivalent of your American SWAT teams) is en route to your location as of right now with orders to shoot to kill if necessary.

On a more important note, I find the fact that Japan is not on the globe key chain to be absolutely fascinating. If you somehow manage to escape capture or death, take scans of every section of the globe and e-mail them to me as soon as possible.

Josh: I'll Take A Blue Question For A Pie Piece, Please. Yes, I Know My Specialty Is The Pink Category In Trivial Pursuit, But Humor Me

2009-02-03T09:14:00.011-06:00

"I know where the Magician is going. I know the place he's been looking to conquer the entire time." I was planning on strutting in and playing it cool for a bit; chatting about the weather and how great life was now that I had discovered the fantastic new world of prescription painkiller abuse, but of course the words just spilled out of me the second Mary answered her door.

I had spent the afternoon in my room with the Magician's top hat, dumping out the contents, staring at them and replacing them over and over. There was something about that cheap, kitchy, globe key chain that nagged at me, and I spent a good half-hour tossing it up and down, twirling it on my finger and just generally being captivated and owned by it like a hippie with a kaleidoscope.

When I saw it I rushed next door to Mary. "The answer is on the globe on the key chain. Look at it."

She took it, skeptical. "I have looked at it. What do you see?"

"Take another look. Tell me what you see. More to the point, tell me what you don't see."

Giving me a withering look (which, on a scale of one to ten, with one being a corgi puppy staring at you after they figured out that you tried to trick them by not actually throwing the stick during a game of fetch but just hiding it behind your back instead, and ten being my Mother even when she's not giving a withering look, I give Mary's withering look about an eight), Mary said, "Why don't you just tell me what you've found."

"I actually detected something important before you did! Can't I revel a little? Just look at it. What isn't there?"

She sighed and gave it another look as I closed the door behind me and threw myself down on her bed. "There are no cities on here. It's too small. Is that it, Josh?"

"It's not a city. Think bigger. Mind if I turn on your TV?"

"Yes. There are no names on the continents, only the drawings. It's missing writing?" I shook my head and pointed at the key chain, indicating that she should look again.

Scowling, Mary sat down on the hotel chair as I turned on the TV, making sure to keep the volume low. On the screen was a woman staggering around a mud pit while a soccer ball was fired out of a cannon about a hundred feet straight up into the air. It hung there at its apogee, then plummeted down straight into the woman's face as she tried to catch it, the ball making a loud "POOONG" sound as it ricocheted off her head. She fell face down into the mud, paralysed with pain.

Mary looked up at it, aghast. "What the hell are you watching?"

"Game show."

She shook her head in disbelief. "What kind of sick, weird game show would-" Her eyes widened and she stared back down at the globe key chain. "It isn't there. Why isn't it there? You're right, Josh. That's where he's going. It's where he was always going. I thought the destination was only misdirection, but the truth is he didn't care if we knew it or not.

He's going to Japan."

Cynthia: Forceps

2009-02-03T08:02:00.002-06:00

My plan to bite Garrett and draw blood has come to naught. When I feigned choking, he calmly took his time fetching a pair of forceps and a tongue depressor, at no time placing his fingers in my mouth. Had I actually been gagging I certainly would have been dead by the time he completed the procedure.

I actually hope that he is the Magician. To despise an ordinary man with this much vigor seems ignoble.

Mary: The Tools Of The Trade

2009-02-01T14:25:00.014-06:00

November 11th, 2008:

Josh and I woke up in our posh, adjoining hotel rooms in Adelaide, and while we both slept a bit fitfully- him because of the pain in his ankle from the eel bite, me because every dream eventually morphed into a nightmare of Crayton licking my ear- we made up in quantity what we missed in quality, only getting out of our beds after a good twelve hours.

Once we'd wolfed down our enormous trays of breakfast goodies, Josh trekked out to see a doctor about getting some antibiotics for his ankle while I placed the Magician's knife, cape and top hat on the bed and stared at them intently for a long, long time before examining them one after the other.

First, the knife: Like the hat and cape, the Magician's knife was obviously very old, perhaps a hundred years or more, though unlike the other two the knife was far from being in pristine condition, the blade razor-sharp but adorned with numerous scratches, the wooden handle worn smooth. The blade was slightly curved, and the only discernible markings on the handle were the letters, "G.G.", carved by hand. I picked it up and gave it a couple of test-cuts through the air before I remembered that this was the weapon that was used to disembowel poor Mrs. Walentowicz back in Milwaukee and hastily put it back down on the bedspread.

Second, the cape: I looked it over, front and back, and even dared to try it on, finding the silkiness of the interior to be quite comfortable, but after a moment of wearing it I recalled Taras' story about the disappearing boy, broke out in a cold sweat and immediately tossed it back down next to the knife. The exterior of the cape was black, the interior crimson. It contained no pockets or tags to indicate where it may have been purchased.

Finally, the top hat: Like the cape it had an antique look, but there was not so much as a frayed string anywhere on it. I almost put it on, but I still had the shivers from wearing the cape and decided against it. I peered inside the hat, finding nothing.

Josh returned from the doctor's then, popping pain pills and in a much better mood, though he gave all the items on the bed a wide berth, eyeing them suspiciously. Eventually he slumped down in one of the hotel chairs and joined me in simply staring at them, hoping that some secret would be revealed by the mere act of observance.

After a few minutes he asked, "There's nothing in the hat? In Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoons, Bullwinkle is always pulling stuff out of his hat." I shook my head, then because he'd got me thinking about it I looked inside again, finding nothing.

He pressed on. "Maybe you have to say some magic words?"

"Judging by what we've seen come out of the Magician's assistants' sleeves, I'm not sure we want something to pop out of there, Josh."

"What about the practical magic Yoshida was studying? Maybe we could test out some phrases, or toss a red-string Kabbalah bracelet in there. I'm just spitballing here."

"Clearly."

Growing inspired, he stood up and limped around as he spoke. "Maybe it responds to physical, sexual energy! We could find a couple of volunteers to give each other rubdowns nearby, thereby triggering-"

I rolled my eyes, "How many of those pain pills have you had, exactly?"

"Five. I wasn't talking about us, necessarily. Though if that's what you're proposing, I'm on record as saying I'll take one for the team, as unpleasant as it might be."

Deciding to ignore him, I once more picked up the hat, turning it over and over again in my hands. "I think you're right, Josh."

His eyes widened. "Excuse me?"

I gave his arm a whack, shaking my head. "Not about that. About Yoshida. More specifically, about his abandoning the study of practical magic and getting more into stage magic. Let's look at how a stage magician would use it."

Josh rubbed his arm, then his chin as he pondered it. "Does the bottom come off, so stuff can pass through it?" The two of us inspected the underside of the hat, taking our time but finding nothing. "Nice try, anyway. We went over every damn inch of it."

That struck me. "Did we? Let's be sure." I picked up the hotel phone, called down to the front desk and asked if they could bring up a sewing kit. In minutes I had one, and from it I pulled out a yellow and black tape measure. Josh held the hat steady as I began to measure it, inside and out, a smile creeping over my face when I'd finished. "It's over an inch longer on the outside than in."

"Whoa. False bottom! Which isn't a bad name for a gay spy band, either, now that I think of it."

Shooting him a look, I dug down inside the hat, feeling around the dark interior for any sign of abnormalities, and eventually my finger snagged on a tiny tag at the bottom edge. I tugged at it, and a moment later I pulled the hat's false bottom up, revealing a secret compartment within.

Not wanting to reach my hand in where I couldn't see just in case there was some nasty, sharp surprise waiting, I turned the hat upside down on the bed, and when the contents fell out with a clatter on the comforter, Josh and I stared for a long moment, befuddled.

Lying on the bed was an old skeleton key attached by a thin chain to a small plastic globe of the Earth, the kind you could find for sale in any tourist trap or airport newsstand. Josh scowled. "A cheesy key chain? Fantastic. It was all worth it."

"When we were opening it up you were thinking about Raiders of the Lost Ark again, weren't you?"

His scowl deepened. "That's hardly detective work. When aren't I thinking of it?" Picking up the hat again and peering inside it, he asked, "So the key chain rattled on the bed... how come it didn't jingle around in the hat when we were shaking it?" He carefully reached down into it and pulled loose a rolled-up piece of newspaper, tossing it down with disdain on the bed next to the key chain. "Wow. A wad of trash. Hide it before the Nazis find out. I stabbed a guy in the spine for this crap?"

I unrolled the piece of newspaper, the paper yellow with age. The page was half-torn, but at the top were the words, "Het Laatste Nieuws". A quick Google search discovered that it was a Belgian newspaper.

Now Josh began nodding. "Okay. That's something. My uncle- rather, my great-great-great-great grandfather Leopold was from Belgium. I don't know just what that means, but it's better than nothing, I guess."

I stared at the torn sheet, gazing fixedly at it for so long that Josh eventually had to tap me on the shoulder. "What? It's Belgian, I get it. What do you see?"

"I don't know what this means exactly either, Josh, but I know that Indiana Jones can eat his heart out. This piece of paper looks to easily be decades if not a hundred years old. The page is yellowed and you can just feel how fragile it is to the touch. I bet if we had it carbon dated it would confirm what we see and feel." Josh leaned in, wanting more, but I couldn't take my eyes off the page.

"Tell me."

I pointed. The date at the top of the page read: February 1st, 2009.

Josh's jaw dropped. "But... how... it's what, November of 2008!"

All I could do was shake my head slowly and place the page and the key chain carefully back inside the hat, closing the false bottom over it once more as Josh popped pain pills number six and seven of the morning.

Yoshida: 23

2009-01-30T11:41:00.008-06:00

Well played.

On another subject, having had the great pleasure of abandoning my research into so-called "practical" magic, I amazingly enough found myself inspired by Howland's tedious, interminable account of his attempt and failure to originally acquire the Magician's knife in the sunken Liberator. There was a section where he described the actions of Crayton inside the vessel:

"With the flourish and panache of a stage magician, he opened his sleeves to show me there was nothing inside of them, then a moment later he extended his arms in our direction and bubbles began to appear from his cuffs. There were only a few at first, then there were so many bubbles that it was like watching jets from a Jacuzzi."

It was this "nothing up my sleeve" gesture as well as the style of the Magician's disappearing trick described in Taras' post that made me consider that perhaps some clues as to our adversary's methodology could be gleaned not from the study of that gibberish pseudo-science of Crowley's, but oddly-enough, instead from actual performance magic.

Of course, these books are talking about mere tricks: slight of hand, misdirection and so forth, but my hope is that I might discover some small nugget of information that we might find valuable.

Frankly, it's only because there is so little need for me at my uncles' business at the moment that I am even busying myself with this research, but I must occupy my mind somehow.

Cynthia: Minuo

2009-01-29T11:20:00.007-06:00

Thank you again, Doctor. Your remarks were just the motivation I required to devise a suitable plan of action that would enable me to determine which of our suspects is the villain.

Without delay I phoned Doctor Godfrey and relayed my deep concern and apprehension that the assault on my person by the Aborigine Smiler (not conveyed in these terms, obviously) had in some way infected me with any of a number of blood-borne diseases, as I had been, in essence, showered with gore when Jeffrey shot him. The Doctor did his best to mollify me, but I made it clear that I would not be satisfied until he had run a complete blood-test on me.

Adjusting his schedule accordingly, Doctor Godfrey paid a visit to my home, and I insisted that both Garrett be present as well as my newly-hired security guard, should there be any trouble. I then set my computer to type and transmit all that I said in the event that the Magician, upon his unmasking, simply decided to eliminate me then and there- at the very least the three of you would be aware of his true identity.

As the Doctor prepared to insert the needle in my arm, I feigned an episode, where I claimed that the attempt to murder me and the subsequent grisly aftermath had left me scarred and terrified, and while I desired nothing more than to be certain that my blood was unpolluted, the act of penetrating my flesh with a needle was anathema to me.

As I expected, neither the icy Doctor Godfrey nor the dour Garrett reacted or cared much about my fictitious predicament, so I sweetened the pot, offering them each ten thousand dollars on the spot if they would only draw their own blood first, reassuring me that the process was indeed harmless.

The Doctor attempted to console me, telling me that the procedure could not be safer or more commonplace- and in any rate I would obviously feel nothing- but I refused to be accommodated, building upon my depiction of the neurotic patient and upping my offer to twenty thousand dollars. The Doctor hesitated, then finally agreed with an avaricious grin. Rolling up his sleeve, he turned the syringe upon himself and drew a small amount of blood, thereby unwittingly crossing himself off our list of suspects.

I pressed Garrett then, but he appeared repulsed by the entire proceeding. Shaking his head and cursing that he wanted no part of it, he stalked from the room.

Informing the Doctor that I no longer wished to go through with the procedure, I used my teeth to write him his check and to his consternation notified him that he was fired.

One down, three to go, and I believe I will take you up on one piece of advice, Doctor Yoshida: tomorrow I will give the appearance of choking, and when Garrett goes to clear my windpipe, I intend to bite him.

Yoshida: 22

2009-01-29T11:11:00.004-06:00

Only three (or possibly two) of the suspects are innocent. There is a 25% chance that the first person cut will be the Magician, leaving the rest above suspicion and out of harms way before any further damage is done. Those strike me as acceptable odds.

Besides, I was not suggesting a fatal stab wound, only a blow sure to draw blood, perhaps to the stomach or groin.

If you do not hire a criminal to do the task for you, what can you possibly accomplish? Will you ask them all to line up so you can bite them?

Cynthia: Nullus

2009-01-29T11:04:00.004-06:00

Thank you, Doctor, but when my plans begin to revolve around randomly stabbing passing acquaintances, it will be time to bring this investigation to a close. Can we not formulate a more sensible, civilized and sane stratagem that won't involve assaulting innocent people?

Yoshida: 21

2009-01-29T10:41:00.003-06:00

There is another we have encountered with a "G" name: Detective Gary Ward, with whom Stroud made contact early in our investigation. The fact that he was the officer in charge of the Walentowicz murder makes him a prime suspect in my opinion.

Also, there is another possibility that occurs to me: what if "G.G." actually stands for two separate people? Perhaps Garrett and Godsby work together in some fashion, or Ward and Glen, or some combination thereof? It is a more outlandish concept, but I thought it best to introduce the idea.

As far as testing these theories, the most foolproof way appears to be through blood. In Leopold's one and only post, he tells us that the Magician has no blood running through his veins.

You should immediately hire someone to stab them all and see if they bleed.

Cynthia: Littera

2009-01-29T08:27:00.004-06:00

While the two of you luxuriate in your well-earned rest, perhaps Doctor Yoshida and I can ponder this clue as to the identity of our adversary. While it is entirely possible that the Magician- or "G.G." as the letters carved into his knife inform us are his initials- is completely unknown to us, I believe we will be best served by forming the assumption that he has in some fashion had contact with us, however briefly.

And so the list of those with whom we have been presented over the course of our investigation, and the admittedly wildly subjectively deduced probability that they are secretly the Magician:

-Garrett, my new caretaker. Since the authorities arrested and detained Jeffrey, my first caretaker, his replacement has proven himself to be an uncaring lout, without any interest in human interaction with me of any kind beyond the obligation of his profession. I understand all too well that caring for a quadriplegic can be a tedious and degrading assignment, but he truly does appear to gaze upon me as simply a slab of flesh that is being kept alive for no discernible reason.

For all that, while I detest him, I find myself crossing him off of the list of suspects simply because he is so thuggish. I tend to consider the Magician- while existing as a creature of staggering malevolence- to be more refined in his countenance. However, perhaps knowing this, he would present a more brutish face in an attempt to play on my expectations.

-Doctor Godsby, my physician. I have only written about the Doctor in passing, and in truth I barely know the man, but on my list of suspects I believe he should be at the very apex. Smooth, refined, exceedingly cold and brusque... he is most as I would imagine the Magician to be.

-Glen, owner of the shipping boat, the Liberator. (Miss Stroud, an update on his last name, if you please, at your convenience) While the description given of the man made it seem as though he was incapable of plotting even the most basic of schemes, again as with Garrett this could well have been the Magician praying on our assumptions of his natural disposition.

And allow me to relate on a personal note that I have never been more proud of you, Joshua, nor you, Miss Stroud. This last exploit in Australia was an enormous victory for us, and while I remain more committed than ever to our enterprise, if nothing else comes of this investigation, I can rest knowing that some measure of revenge has been meted out to our enemies.

Mary: Win/Win/Win

2009-01-28T13:55:00.015-06:00

November 10th, 2008:

The Port Victoria Bingo Hall was an unremarkable, one story, beige, rectangular building with a tiny sign hanging outside the door that read "BINGO" in prim, black and white lettering. There were two doors, one in front and one in back, and in defiance of all building codes there were no windows. The sign on the front door was turned to "CLOSED". It was probably the only bingo hall in the world without a trace of neon or any color at all adorning the outside, the building squatting there in the Australian scrub doing its best not to get noticed. A lone cargo van stood in the dusty parking lot, and the hood was warm to the touch, though that could have been from the sun and not recent use.

It's a common misconception that all Private investigators know how to pick locks. People also seem to believe that we can all roll our own cigarettes, fire two guns at the same time or jump cars over gorges. Me? I know how to fill out a form allowing me to deduct gas from my taxes. I know how to hand someone a subpoena (How? Quickly). I can sit still in a car for four hours at a time and watch a house.

What I do not know how to do is pick a lock. I can, however, find something heavy, which is what I did outside the Port Victoria Bingo Hall. There were two lawn statues out front (despite the fact there was no lawn), one of coral with eels coming out of it (and yes, it absolutely gave me the creeps) and one of whales with sandstone water coming out of their tiny blow holes. There was no way I was picking up the eels, so with no small effort I tugged the whale statue out of its hole, reared back and tossed it underhand through the plate glass front door, the crash sounding, in that moment, like the loudest thing I'd ever heard.

I briefly considered picking up one of the shards for use as a weapon, but concluded that It would probably do more harm to my hand than to an enemy. In the end I decided to follow Josh's lead, go back to the rental car, open the trunk and grab the crowbar. My main plan was still to run for my life if I saw any sign of Crayton, but having something solid and metal in my hands was comforting, and while it was a false sense of security at this point I was willing to settle for any sense at all.

Hesitating for only a moment at the doorway, I carefully ducked the glass shards that still hung from the top of the door frame and stepped inside, finding myself in a large, carpeted, modern, air-conditioned room covered in neon and Christmas lights, with large, flat-screen TV's adorning every wall. Every expense that had been spared on the outside of the structure had been spent inside, which wasn't too surprising considering that Crayton was catering to the world's best bingo players and wanted them to feel absolutely comfortable and on top of their game, focusing their energies in such a way that the act of winning somehow charged up the bingo charms they clutched in their withered hands.

Hollis' speech on bingo came back to me then, about how the game is played in virtually every city and town in the entire Western world, and is accepted in these communities without a second thought just because it's about the only thing that gives the elderly something to do. Despite the thought being terribly depressing even at face value, it was even more wretched knowing that the game of bingo had been designed and propagated merely to discover those with special gifts, gather them in one place and put them to use charging up bingo charms, in some way empowering them for the Magician.

I had hoped that the charms would be left out and in plain sight, but all I saw were long tables with plush, padded chairs pushed under them in the middle of the room, a bar area to the left and a raised dais toward the rear of the room where presumably they'd set up the "blower" and call out numbers.

In the back of the main room was a closed door, and I instinctively and ridiculously tip-toed back to it despite the fact that I'd just made the loudest noise since the Big Bang in smashing through the front door.

Once to the rear door I slowly turned the knob and entered into a hallway with five dark, wooden doors, two on either side and one at the end. A thin strip of daylight crept under the back door at the end of the corridor, and I made a mental note to run through that door to the outside in case there was trouble as I was now closer to the back door than the front.

I paused there in the hall for a moment and took a deep breath, thinking: Four doors, one cache of charms. They weren't out at the tables, so they're collected in one place, if they're still here at all. And behind one of these doors could be Crayton, just waiting for me. If he isn't, is that better? That means he'd be waiting for Josh right now...

Shaking my head in an attempt to banish these unhelpful thoughts, I gripped the crowbar tighter and chose the left-hand door closest to me, turning the knob carefully and opening it onto a wholly disappointing accounting room, a bookshelf on the right-hand wall filled with ledger books. I didn't know how they would be of any use, but I did step over and grab one at random, my intention to ship it to Yoshida to give him something to pore over for a while, and with the hope that there was at least a chance that the pages were covered with some kind of contact poison.

I closed the door to the accounting room behind me, and holding the ledger in one hand and the crowbar in the other, I made my way over to the door on the right side of the hall, opening it and stepping through into an office with a large, dark green-colored safe sitting in the corner on the left and a mahogany office desk in the middle of the room.

Even though I fully expected to run into Crayton, I was not at all prepared to see a small, bikini-clad woman with tight, bouncy, brown curls atop her head kneeling down with her back to me going through the safe. I dropped the ledger in shock, my jaw open. "Keane? Helen! My God, you're-"

She turned her head then, still sitting down, and her eyes stared into mine, her face split by a wide, fiendish smile. I heard my own voice murmur, "Oh... oh, no. Oh, God. What has he done..." Keane stood then suddenly, and I jerked back, stumbling into the door on the other side of the hall. What had been Keane began to walk toward me, slowly and steadily, her wide, unblinking eyes never leaving mine.

"Helen... don't do this. Fight it, fight him! You can do it... please..." Keane never stopped, never gave any sign that she'd heard a word I said. I was frozen there in the hallway, staring into those eyes, the thought of fighting her simply not entering into my mind as an option. "Remember who you are, Helen! Don't let him win! I'm begging-"

Just then the back door opened and the hallway was flooded with sunlight. Standing in the doorway was an older man in a security guard uniform, a gun in its holster at his side. Graying hair peeked out from under his guard's cap, and he was muscular enough to be called stocky instead of fat. Keane stopped and turned to look at him, standing right next to me in the hallway.

The guard quickly sized up the situation and decided he didn't like it a bit. Scowling, he growled, "All right, now, just hold it up. What's the story here, and keep steady, if you please."

Thinking fast, I blurted, "She broke in! She's on drugs, just look at her face! Let's get her to a hospital, now!"

The guard stared at her for a long moment as she looked back at him, then he nodded. "Right. Hospital. I'm calling for a divvy van, so just hold tight. Christ, but she's gone."

From behind the guard came an old, raspy voice, tinged with amusement. "That won't be necessary, Will. The woman is with me." Crayton stepped around behind the guard, his bloodshot eyes glaring at me as he opened his mouth, revealing yellowed teeth and making an expression that was somewhere between a smile and a sneer. Crayton was dressed in a heavily wrinkled three-piece suit, his gray hair wild and dishevelled. "The American is the intruder."

The guard looked confused, but did turn his focus on to me, his brow furrowing. "All right then, Miss. Enough games. Come with-"

"Kill her," Crayton said casually, his eyes turning toward the guard. "Shoot her, if you don't mind."

"What? Mr. Crayton, I... I can't do that!" Will looked positively aghast.

Crayton smiled patiently, the rest of us rooted to our spots. "She has a weapon, she broke in... no court will convict you, I assure you. I will give you..." He mulled it over. "...A quarter of a million dollars. Tax free." He nodded back toward me. "Go on. Kill her."

Will turned back to me, his face conflicted and confused. There was a long, long pause until finally he licked his lips, shook his head and moaned, "I just can't do that, Mr. Crayton. Let me call the police-"

"Bad news/good news time," Crayton said as he ushered Will into the building through the door and into the hallway with Keane and I, the two of them a full twenty feet away from us. Crayton's tone was reassuring and casual. "Bad news is you're fired." Before Will could react he continued, "Good news is you won't have any of those nagging 'basic needs' to worry about any more." Crayton lifted up his arm, pulled his shirt cuff up very gently and a giant moray eel shot out from inside his sleeve and directly into Will's face, its fangs latching on immediately to the bridge of his nose.

I screamed as blood poured from Will's face, the eel flapping about obscenely, its tail slapping the hallway walls with wet smacks. Amazingly, even as Will fought to pull the writhing eel off of his face, he still managed to draw his gun and shoot Crayton right in the stomach, the gunshot echoing deafeningly off the close corridor walls.

Peering down at the bloodstain spreading slowly over his vest, Crayton frowned and muttered, "Now, that's a nuisance." Then he reached out both arms, pointed his open palms at Will, and suddenly that end of the hall was filling up with frenzied, blood-crazed eels all covering and biting the doomed guard. He gave one final scream as they piled on him in a gigantic mound, until nothing could be seen of him at all.

I covered my mouth in horror, unable to move or speak as Crayton slowly walked over to me, the eels doing their best to flop and slither out of his path. His voice now came out devoid of mirth, his tone sharp and guttural. "Take her to the safe room." Suddenly Keane's arm shot up, her hand gripping my neck with impossible strength. I fought through the pain and managed to raise up my crowbar to smash over her head, but as I looked into her eyes, for a moment, all I could think of was that bouncy, energetic girl from yesterday- the sweet and tough Aussie who'd become one of us.

One moment's hesitation was a moment too long. Keane's other hand swatted upward, knocking my hand back into the hallway wall and jarring the crowbar loose, falling to the carpeted floor with a muffled thud. Then she both pulled and dragged me forward into the safe room, my fingernails clawing at her hand in a vain attempt to break her grip. The next thing I knew she pivoted and lifted me at the same time, slamming me down on the office desktop flat on my back, my head ringing with the impact.

I strained to peer over at the door, Keane still pinning me down as Crayton sauntered into the room. "I prefer to kill my enemies. A simple philosophy, but effective. Back in my soldiering days I learned hard lessons about not leaving the enemy breathing at the end of a battle. Why the Magician toys with you is beyond me. I see an enemy, I kill 'em, like with the old woman who employs you back in America. Did I wait for him to give me the order? Hell, no." The old man knelt down next to the desk and his rancid breath in my face would have made me gag if I wasn't also being strangled to death by Keane at that moment.

He glanced up at Keane's smiling face. "Do you know how I made her? All I did was tell her a little secret." Now I could feel his breathing on the side of my face, his lips brushing against my ear. "You want to know it? You want to know?" Crayton chuckled with perverted glee. "I'll tell you. Listen close. Listen, and become mine forever." His trembling tongue touched the outside of my ear, running from the bottom of the lobe all the way up as I writhed in disgust, still pinned hopelessly. "Lifetimes of servitude for you... pleasures and pain you cannot imagine. Are you ready? Here it comes. Here's the secret." He took a deep breath and leaned close into my ear.

"I'll tell you a secret, @sshole." The voice came from behind Crayton, and suddenly Josh's face was right over his shoulder. "I found the knife."

Crayton screamed, his eyes bulging wide as he crumpled to a heap on the ground next to the desk, Josh standing up behind him holding a bloody, eight-inch knife at waist-level. The next moment Keane took her hand off of my neck and lunged for Josh, and he brought the knife up reflexively, barely nicking her forearm, but she instantly fell to the carpet face-first and stayed there. Josh hastily rolled her over, only to discover that she was stone dead.

Meanwhile, Crayton bellowed in agony and rage as he writhed on the carpet, his back covered in blood. "I cannot feel pain! I cannot be hurt! I was promised! Damn you, damn you! I can't move my legs!"

Josh began pulling me towards the door, but instead I rolled over the desk to the safe, took a quick glance at the box inside, saw it was filled with bingo charms and hurdled the desk back to him. "Now we can go," I said, my voice coming out in a raspy croak through my damaged windpipe.

Stealing a meaningful glance down at the knife, then to me, Josh asked, "And him? Do we..."

Before I could begin to consider the question, Crayton let out an anguished roar, lifted himself on one arm and pointed the other arm at us. Reacting quickly, I shoved Josh out of the room just in time to avoid a stream of eels, their jaws snapping open and shut hungrily as they crashed into the door on the opposite side of the hall.

We ran from the bingo hall, Crayton's tortured wails echoing in our ears as we fled. In seconds we leapt into Josh's new pickup truck and tore out of the parking lot, tires squealing.

An hour later, on the road to Adelaide, we finally calmed down enough to talk about it.

JOSH: Getting around the Smiler he'd left at the house was no picnic, but once I found out Crayton wasn't there, I knew he'd be at the bingo hall, so I grabbed the goods and put the hammer down. There's an old top hat and cape in the trunk back in the truck bed, too.

ME: How did you know the knife could actually hurt him?

JOSH: I didn't. I just saw you there and... did what I did. I didn't think about it.

ME: (Pause) My ex-husband divorced me because I can't have children. We both wanted them. We tried everything.

JOSH: Okay.

ME: You asked about him... and what happened with my marriage.

JOSH: Okay.

ME: We did it today, Josh. We got the charms, the knife... we crippled Crayton, and I think that's permanent. Somehow the knife-

JOSH: Yep.

ME: I have never heard you say this little, ever.

JOSH: I just stabbed a guy. I know that's as commonplace as rolling cigarettes or jumping gorges in your profession, but as a Philosophy grad student it doesn't come up as often.

ME: Would it help if I put my head on your shoulder as you drive?

JOSH: That would probably make me more nervous.

ME: Oh. Nevermin-

JOSH: But I'll take my chances.

We got a hotel in Adelaide. We are going to sleep for the next hundred years.

The initials carved into the knife hilt are: G.G. I'll try and do some deducing when I eventually come to.

We did it. We really did it.

Josh: I Could Try And Think Of Something Profound To Say, Too, But We All Know I'd Just Wind Up Ripping Off One Of Gandalf's Speeches From LOTR

2009-01-27T15:20:00.014-06:00

I parked my new truck off the road (and by "new", I mean it has over a hundred thousand miles and smells like four generations of sheep farted in the cab. Below: One of Australia's mysterious kangaroo-sheep) and hid it as best I could in the scrub off the road by the ocean. There's a police car in front of Crayton's house, but the cop watching the place doesn't seem overly alert and I think I've got a shot at sneaking around the side and getting in. The only problem is that that, again, the cop isn't overly alert, so Crayton could already have crept past him and be inside right now. Even if he isn't, he could still have Smilers set to guard the place, or booby traps by the doors or windows, or he could have the Magician's knife hooked up to explosives.

Optimism abounds.

Is this the best plan? Who the hell knows. I'm going on no sleep at all, my ankle where the eel bit me last night is killing me and all I've had to eat in forever is a ham and cheese sandwich prepared by an old person, which means that it tasted like bland with an extra spoonful of bland and bland on the side.

All I know is that I feel the same way Mary does about it. I'm sick and goddamn tired of going up against these monsters and winding up with nothing. We're either getting the knife or the bingo charms. For once we're going to stick it to them, no matter what the cost.

If this is my last post, I just hope someone listens to my last request: For God's sake, someone stop George Lucas before he f*cks up Star Wars any further. Thank you.

Mary: Aunt Grace

2009-01-26T12:43:00.011-06:00

Josh and I sat and drank tea in the cozy corner house of Keane's Aunt Grace, the two of us battered, bruised, hungry, exhausted and most of all desperate for a way to explain with any measure of sanity just how it was her niece had come to be murdered the night before.

Grace was a sweet old woman, her home comfortable if not modern, with the pleasant sound of the Beatles drifting in from the kitchen. The decor seemingly hadn't been altered in thirty years and despite the fact that it was half a world away from Milwaukee, for some reason I found it oddly familiar.

We had each been served a cup of tea almost before we were all the way through the door, once we mentioned we were friends of Keane's. Josh even jokingly mentioned that he'd love a Vegemite sandwich if she had one (and I swear, if he attempts to serenade me one more time with Men At Work he's going to get punched), and she had one in front of him within thirty seconds.

After advising her that this was his first ever taste of Vegemite, she cautioned him gently that it wasn't for everyone, but insisting his terrible hunger could overcome anything, he took a bite and swallowed. Grace smiled, her well-worn laugh-lines criss-crossing her face pleasingly. "What do you think, young man?"

Josh has not often spoken diplomatically in situations such as this in the past, but I hoped that in such a delicate juncture he would reach within himself and find something resembling a civil comment. As usual of late, my hopes were dashed.

"It tastes like a combination of a cow's salt lick and three-week-old @ss."

I cringed as Josh then guzzled the rest of his tea and began pawing at his tongue with his napkin, and I began to apologize on his behalf, but Grace just giggled and slapped her thigh, tickled by the whole thing. "Everyone from O.S. comes in wanting a taste of Vegemite. They think it's going to taste like manna from heaven but bongo. God bless that 'Down Under' ditty. The faces they make when they have their first bite is just too bloody precious." Laughing as she tottered back to the kitchen, Grace exchanged his Vegemite sandwich for a ham and cheese, which he gratefully gobbled up in seconds.

We talked about the weather, the surf, the Port Victoria Hotel, her niece's boat, her first mate Lachlan, some of the rudimentary differences between American and Australian politics and whether or not mayonnaise belonged on a good ham and cheese sandwich. She was thrilled to talk because she was lonely and we were relieved to have any excuse to delay informing her that her precious niece-her one and only family member she still cared about- was gone.

Eventually the conversation petered out, our common ground exhausted, and the burden of informing her as to Keane's fate could no longer be ignored. I took a deep breath, summoned up what strength I had and began, "Grace... about Helen. Last night, she-"

She jumped up then, startling both Josh and I (would he be upset if I mentioned that he also let out a girlish yelp of terror in that moment? Hm). Grace trotted into the kitchen and turned up the Beatles song, grinning and dancing around as best she could on arthritic legs. "'When I'm Sixty-Four'. I do love it so. Red raw... I never thought I'd look back on that age and think about how young I was then." She giggled again, and it was easy in that moment to imagine her as a young girl. It also wasn't difficult to see the resemblance between her and Keane- they had the same lust for life, a similar energy that reminded me of her lost niece so strongly that I had to fight back tears.

I peered over at Josh to see if he was affected as I was, only to find that he wore instead a startled, puzzled expression. He stood up slowly as if in a daze. "What did you just say? That part about how... something red?"

Grace kept doing her little shuffling dance in the kitchen, serenaded by a young Paul McCartney, who had himself turned sixty-four only a couple of years ago. "What's that, my dear? Oh, what... red raw? It's nothing, it just means sixty-four, that's all."

Frowning, then nodding, Josh sat down slowly once more. "Oh, okay. Sounded familiar. It's just an Australian saying, then? I swear to God, you people just love screwing with the English-"

She shook her head. "No, dear. It's not Aussie. It's bingo!"

Now we both shot off the couch, eyes wide, saying in unison, "What?"

Grace nodded. "In bingo, when number sixty-four is drawn, you say 'red raw'. Most of the numbers have another little nickname. It's just a silly thing to say while you play."

My voice sounded distant in my own ears. "You play a lot of bingo?"

"All the time! Some of the best bingo players in Oz live here in Port Victoria! They actually recruit players to live here, can you believe it? We have our own electronic bingo hall so we can take on those in other parts of the world as well. It's a little odd in that you have to leave your bingo charms there when you're not playing, but it's first rate. Why, this house is paid for with winnings, not that I'm saying I'm any great shakes... just lucky, you know." She did her best to look modest.

Flipping out his Blackberry, Josh searched through his previous posts to the one he wrote when he first got to Atlanta. "This is from the encounter with the man outside the storage locker, the man with the Australian accent who was almost certainly Crayton. He said:

"Red raw to blower. Bongo, advise." A pause, then, "Acknowledged. Knock at the door need to know only."

I walked over to Grace and smiled to try and put her at ease as she had now clearly become aware that something more serious was going on. "You said 'bongo' a minute ago, too. Is that a bingo term as well?"

She nodded. "it's just... if you made a mistake. You say 'bingo' when you get bingo, but if you say 'bingo' and it turns out you don't actually have it, that's called 'bongo'."

"What about the rest of it?" Josh showed her the quote on his Blackberry. "Any other Australian bingo terms in there?"

Grace squinted at the tiny screen. "Hm. 'Knock at the door' is what you say when they call the number four. And of course the blower is the machine that makes all the little balls float around." Say, what's the story? Why so interested?"

We mumbled out a stream of excuses and lies and fled, stumbling out into the bright street. In no time we reached our car and sat there on the curb idling with the air conditioning on, the two of us breathing heavily and staring straight ahead over the dashboard. On the walk over Josh hastily Googled and found the Port Victoria Bingo Hall, the address listed as a mile or so out of town.

MARY: There's a chance Crayton hasn't retrieved the chest with the knife yet. If he hid it at his house, the police are watching it. The bingo hall has to be run by Crayton too, stockpiling bingo charms as they get charged up from use. If I had to guess, he's probably there collecting them now in preparation for leaving.

JOSH: Who says he isn't just killing the police at his house and getting the knife now?

MARY: No sirens, no alarms. There's no guarantee, but that's my bet.

JOSH: Okay, so which place do we make a try for, his house and the Magician's knife, or the bingo hall and the charms?

MARY: Both.

JOSH: Uhh...

MARY: Hear me out. He can only be in one of the two places, and there's a reasonable chance that he's in neither. Plus the longer we wait the greater the probability that we come up empty. We need to do this and do it now. That way we're almost guaranteed to come away with something, either the charms or the knife.

JOSH: And the other person is almost guaranteed to be dead.

MARY: If he's in either place. And would we have any chance against him with two instead of one? What difference would it really make? (pause) I'm tired of going up against them and coming away with nothing. I want to hurt them. I want to take something away from them. For Keane, for Lachlan... for Dylan and Pierce and Jeff and-

JOSH: Erg. All right then, don't go all Braveheart on me. Let's rent another car and flip for which site we each take.

Once we discovered we had to drive almost an hour to find a place to rent a car, Josh decided to just buy one in town, a process that is far less painless if you don't bother to haggle. He bought an old four by four with a gun rack, though the owner refused to part with any of his guns in the deal.

We are going to each site now. We flipped a coin, and Josh is going to Crayton's house to find the knife while I'm heading to the bingo hall to see if I can grab the bingo charms. I would be surprised if Crayton wasn't at one of the sites, so there is about a fifty-fifty chance this is the last post I ever write. I wish I could think of something profound to say.

I have a job to do and I'm going to do it. I guess that's all that really matters. Wish me luck.

Cynthia: Erro

2009-01-25T17:10:00.003-06:00

Joshua, your recent post describing your encounter on Wardang Island evoked memories from an earlier confrontation. When I was assaulted by one of the Smiling men the night of Agent Pierce's demise, I had at the time identified my assailant as a black man. The room was darkened and the circumstances did not easily permit a close inspection of the attacker, but in retrospect I believe that the "Smiler" that invaded my sanctum was not in fact African-American, but was instead of Aboriginal descent.

I had assumed that it was Mr. Hollis that sent his minion to murder me, but now it appears that it was Mr. Crayton. At one time I had at least subconsciously considered all of those who had dealt with the Magician as cut from the same cloth, but the fact is that they have all proven themselves to be quite distinct from one another. I can think of no practical use for the knowledge, but wished to put down the correction immediately for the sake of completeness.

Josh: Whoops, Forgot To Provide A Reasonable Answer to An Actual, Legitimate Question

2009-01-22T12:46:00.005-06:00

Mom wrote:

"Joshua, do you still possess the Swiss army knife you took from Crayton? Perhaps it might contain some physical evidence to be used as proof? Also, did you by chance happen to maintain your grip on his identification during your encounter?"

I gave the knife to the cops and they're dusting it and doing all that C.S.I. stuff (below). I doubt it will amount to much, but it can't hurt. I just don't think Crayton's going to show his face again, at least not around here. His house looks abandoned and there's no trace of him.

Unfortunately I dropped his wallet when I ran from him in the Liberator. Mary told the police divers to look for it, but it was gone. Crayton probably picked it back up again after Lachlan and I fled.

Josh: Yoshida, I Promise All Of This Will Make Sense After You Hit Puberty

2009-01-22T12:33:00.004-06:00

You know how some people have a chime on their computer that lets them know when someone posts something? I just listen, and when Mary stares at her Blackberry, turns red and starts yelling obscenities, I know you've written something, Yoshida.

You just go back to your day job as a clerk for the DMV, or a telemarketer, or foreman at the kitten-strangling factory or whatever the hell it is you do. We'll take it from here.

Yoshida: 20

2009-01-22T11:24:00.005-06:00

My study of "practical" magic has been the most boring and degrading endeavor of my existence thus far, with the possible exception of reading one of Howland's staggeringly long and impossibly self-indulgent posts. Are you unaware of the editing functions on your computer? Three dead, Crayton escaped and you failed to acquire the knife. That's all that really needs to be said, yet you slog on through page after agonizing page.

Regardless, my research into "magic" has been a complete waste of time. Every so-called "sorcerer" merely attempts to drape the trappings of science over impenetrable jargon and scrambled words. I have read the scribblings of Crowley (below, laughably attempting to appear arcane and imposing) and Gardner, studied astrology and even explored Kabbalah, the imbecilic gibberish cult promoted by your dried-up Western whore, Madonna.

All of it is rubbish.

I am beyond frustrated. I am abandoning this line of study and returning to my job. My uncles are displeased enough with me taking as much time off as I have as it is. When there is something worth investigating, let me know.

Cynthia: Indicium

2009-01-22T11:10:00.003-06:00

I, of course, pass along my condolences for those lost in the dive for the Liberator. When time permits please do forward any information regarding funeral arrangements and next of kin, as I wish to see that their expenses are paid and their loved ones recompensed.

On a practical note, Joshua, do you still possess the Swiss army knife you took from Crayton? Perhaps it might contain some physical evidence to be used as proof? Also, did you by chance happen to maintain your grip on his identification during your encounter?

My thoughts are with you, and with those whose lives have been forfeit in our investigation.