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

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.

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

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.

Mary: The Brothers Yoshida

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

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.

Josh: Welcome To Japan, Mr. Bond

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."

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.

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

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: Planning A Cruise

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

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.

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

"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."

Mary: Run That By Again?

Just so I understand:

-You are an agent for Homeland Security but you're going under a false name here?

-You tapped someones phone in Japan?

-You're prepared to believe all the crazy stuff that's in this archive, and will even go so far as to send someone to Russia on an offhand reference from a crazy person that killed themselves literally moments after they wrote it?

Not that I'm complaining about you joining up with us on this, but these things spring to mind.

Josh: "If Any Man Says He Hates War More Than I Do, He Better Have A Knife, That's All I Have To Say"- Jack Handey

We knew we wanted to grab the murder weapon before, but with this new info I think it's more important than ever that we get our hands on it.

Yoshida, we know the boat with the knife on it is heading for Japan, so would you go to the port and see what you can do about getting a hold of it?

Mary: Bingo

October 29th, 2008: Josh and I pulled up to the Hollis Nursing Home later than I had hoped after stopping off to buy him his new suits. It was past nine in the evening, and a bright moon loomed large in the Georgia sky. We drove into the parking lot and I pulled into a spot far away from the front door. Josh looked at me quizzically, but I told him that I wanted to find a side or rear entrance to have a look around first to get a sense of what the place was like without a tour guide. He was apprehensive, but I told him to trust me- if we were caught we could simply say that we made an innocent mistake. What we needed to remember was that we were there scouting the home and considering putting my dear, old, infirm, imaginary mother there, which meant we were the customers, and customers are at least theoretically always right, no matter how dumb they are for going in the wrong door.

Remembering our cover as husband and wife, I switched my favorite ring from my right hand to my left and held out my arm for him to take, but Josh just stared at it like I was an alien that had landed next to him on the asphalt. I reminded him that we were supposed to be married, and he said that with his newly-blond hair we looked more like brother and sister. I wish he had told me beforehand that he would find it so impossible to even pretend that we were a couple- I would have come up with something else. Finally, after I insisted, he took my arm and we walked as quietly as we could around the side of the structure in search of an alternate entrance.

On the right of the nursing home, the drooping branches of a line of weeping willow trees hovered over a simple concrete path. Brushing leaves out of our faces as we walked single-file, it was only a few feet until we came to a glass side-door. To my surprise, it opened. Every door but the main one in a nursing home should be locked to the outside at all times, and I joked to Josh that I was already considering dumping my imaginary mother somewhere else that was a little more secure. After waiting a second for a chuckle that never came, I once again held out my arm for him to take, and he again just stared at it like it was a dead fish. Finally I just decided to give up on the cover and walked inside alone into a musty-smelling hallway with muzak piping softly from a loudspeaker in the ceiling.

The hallway stretched out straight ahead for quite a ways, with numbered doors on either side covered in various macramé, knitted and dried-macaroni-covered decorations. I stepped up to a door adorned with a "#1 GRANDMA!!!" plaque and let myself in. Josh hissed behind me to stay in the hall, but I flicked on the lights and took a quick look at the accommodations. The apartment was clean and surprisingly roomy, even sporting a brand-new high-definition television. Of course, it still had the trademark mysterious mustiness that seemingly every old person's domicile possessed, but overall it was probably the most comfortable living arrangements in the entire town. I poked through the nightstand and dresser drawers while telling Josh to keep watch in the hall, and after I was satisfied I crossed the corridor to the apartment opposite and repeated the search. Finally, I had Josh do the same in a third room just in case there was something I wasn't seeing. "Let me know if you find anything in the nightstand or dresser besides clothes, bibles or medication. So far it's all the same story."

He reported back within less than a minute that there was nothing out of the ordinary, with the exception of what he referred to with a shudder as, "A lady's personal pleasure device. With high, high mileage." I rolled my eyes, made my way down the corridor toward the central commons area and froze when I got there.

The nursing home's main room was two stories high with plush leather couches, love seats and recliners scattered about. In the center of the room were three enormous plasma TV's placed in a triangular configuration facing in all directions, the one I could see displaying a silent episode of "Murder She Wrote". One other long hallway connected to the room at a ninety degree angle, the complex built in the shape of an "L". The lights were dimmed and it took a moment for it to sink in that all the many large lumps scattered about the carpeted floor were bodies. Everywhere we looked corpses of elderly people were lying on the ground or on the furniture, their eyes wide with shock and terror. Not three feet away from me an old woman lay prone, her dead body contorted and the area around her mouth scratched and torn by her own bloody hand. There was something else around her lips as well- some brownish goo I couldn't identify.

As I bent down to check the old woman for life signs just in case, I heard someone coming down the other hallway, whistling a tune I didn't recognize. I motioned for Josh to get down behind one of the recliners and hide, and I did the same. The whistling echod off the walls of the main room, then ceased. Slowly and as quietly as I could manage, I eased my gun from its holster, the first time I'd ever drawn my weapon with the thought of having to actually fire it. It was a Glock 26 subcompact slimline model, quite common and easy enough to conceal but still with decent stopping power and ten rounds of ammunition in each magazine. I never carried extra magazines as I had never so much as fired a single bullet in combat much less ten. Besides, until now I had always been of the thought that if it takes more than ten rounds to stop someone then I should probably just put down the gun and concentrate more on prayer anyway. Now, though, hiding behind a love seat and surrounded by wrinkled, bloated corpses, I would not have turned down an offer of extra bullets.

Towards the middle of the room I heard a voice begin to speak and watched Josh's eyes widen in recognition. Silently he mouthed the words, "The Old Man." I thumbed the safety off my pistol, but otherwise stayed stock-still, listening.

I heard The Old Man make a "tsk"-ing sound and say, "Harrison, my good man, this room is a disaster, and there can be no question of it. Do be a fine fellow and open the gas main, we simply cannot leave the old home in such a state. Much as I-"

Rising from behind the love seat and pointing my gun, I yelled, "Freeze!" I had no intention of allowing anyone to destroy more evidence, and knew that I could not permit The Old Man to escape, leaving Josh to take the fall for the murder he had committed. The Old Man was just as Josh had described, even wearing the same clothes, complete with dried blood on his shirt cuff and down his leg where Josh had shot him. He carried a cane, though while it was touching the ground he didn't seem to be leaning on it. Behind him stood an enormous black man dressed entirely in dirty denim, his frizzy, wild hair covered in dust. His smile was wide and never wavered, and it did remind me of the smile on Mrs. Walentowicz's face when we discovered her body. He carried an ancient-looking wood and iron chest-about the size of a microwave oven-seemingly without effort.

Josh hesitantly rose from behind the chair and shuffled over, standing just next to and behind me. The Old Man's expression was one of wonderment, then delight. "Why, Mr. Howland, you are a marvel, sir. A great pleasure to make your acquaintance once more. And what have we here? You must be Miss Stroud. Lovely, lovely girl. If circumstances permitted I would kiss the back of your pale hand and pay you every compliment, but the developments of the day do not permit, I well understand." All the same, he gave a little bow, his pale blue eyes never leaving mine. A shiver went up my spine, and I fought the urge to retch.

I took a deep breath and said, "You are coming with us. You are going to confess to the police that it was you, not Josh, who-"

The Old Man put up a hand to stop me. "I think we both know that will never happen, Miss Stroud. Let us not labor under delusions neither of us share. Now unless you care to shoot me in the back or make conversation that is either more pertinent or agreeable, I will bid you both good night. Come, Harrison." The two men turned, and my finger tightened on the trigger. Foremost in my mind was the fact that if I killed this man, he would never be able to confess to framing Josh for his bodyguard's murder.

I decided to stall him, whispering to Josh, "Call 911, but don't draw attention to it." Then louder, I said, "Then let's make conversation. You know our names- what's yours? How did you kill all these people? Poison? Some kind of gas? Why are you doing this... whatever you're doing? What's your relationship to the driver that crashed into the Howlands and Doctor Yoshida?" My hope was that by bombarding him with questions I might find something he would want to talk about long enough for the police to arrive.

The Old Man turned back to us, as did Harrison, both smiling. The Old Man put out a hand and casually swatted the corpse of an elderly man off a recliner and sat down in the newly vacated seat. He reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out an unfiltered cigarette, lighting it with a match he had hidden in his palm. I was relieved to see the flame as up until then I hadn't been certain that the room wasn't already filled with gas. Harrison remained standing motionless behind him. The Old Man exhaled, cleared his throat and said amiably, "The name is Hollis, of course. As to my relationship... I am an assistant." He seemed to think better of it immediately, shook his head and amended, "No... not even that. I am a mere stagehand, that is all. Or even simply a favored slave who has been given some small access to a few rooms of the master's house." He chuckled a little at this, and turned back to look behind him at Harrison, whose grinning expression never changed.

He leaned back in the chair, getting comfortable and growing expansive, pausing only for the occasional pull on his cigarette. My pistol was beginning to grow heavy, so I lowered it to my side, still aiming it at him as best I could. Hollis continued, "The trouble with slavery was, they decided who should be slaves based on criteria that was far too broad-based, in my own, humble opinion. Why be beholden to the history of the industry when history could not have less meaning? Every Negro a slave? Every one? Preposterous. Have we not all met the rare Negro who was the match and even the better of some white men?" He leaned forward, warming to his subject. "In the perfect world, slavery should be individually decided. Why, have we not all known at one time or another some shiftless, useless layabout that gives nothing to society and only takes? A man who never once considers any civic responsibility but instead grifts and swindles everything they can hold? Would life not be far better if it were these bottom-feeding leeches who were pressed into slavery, all the decisions they had made wrong all their lives suddenly being rightly made for them instead? Do not tell me you have never met individuals who would not fit this criteria, for I would find such a claim impossible to recognize."

Josh and I exchanged looks, both of us for the first time utterly unable to think of a thing to say. Sensing this, Hollis crushed out his cigarette on the upholstered arm of the recliner and stood. I jerked my gun up and aimed it at him carefully. "I can't let you leave." Ignoring me, he turned toward the front door, as did Harrison. My mind scrambled for something, anything that could be used to delay him. Finally, desperately I blurted, "I have a wager for you."

He turned back to us, his eyebrow cocked. For the first time, I believe he was genuinely surprised. "What? What is this? A wager." His smile split his face, exposing a mouthful of dark, yellow teeth. "This is unexpected. Continue."

Taking a deep breath, I said as evenly as I could, "I bet I can tell you the contents of that chest."

Hollis spared a glance back at Harrison then turned back to me, his blue eyes gleaming. "Doubtful. Highly. But it is your wager, my dear. The stakes?"

"The murder weapon. The blade used to kill Mrs. Walentowicz. I want to know where it is. The Driver's name, I want that too." I tried to think of something else and failed.

Frowning, Hollis said, "The first I would provide, but not the second. However, having found the former it would give a clue to the latter. His initials were carved into the knife's hilt long ago." His expression turning more severe, he added, "Do not refer to him as 'The Driver'. You walk, yet that does not make you 'The Walker'. It is insulting and demeaning to his true profession." Before I could ask what I should call him instead he continued, "And for my prize I ask only that I receive a lock of your pretty, pretty blond hair. That is all." The eagerness in his voice made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

Josh spoke for the first time. "F*ck that, old man." Turning to me he said, "Don't do it, Mary. Just shoot the bastard. I don't know why he would want your hair, but whatever he wants that badly would be-"

"I agree to the stakes."

Josh swore again. "Are you entirely insane?! Don't bet with this-"

Hollis raised his voice, saying, "Mr. Howland, the wager is agreed upon." He turned to me confidently. "You may make your guess, my dear. What is inside the chest?"

My heart pounding, I raised my head and said, "Bingo charms."

Giving me his best what the Hell?? expression, Josh put a hand on my arm and began trying to gently pull me back into the hallway. Hollis stared into my eyes for a long moment, then smiled again in that way that made my skin crawl and began softly applauding while still holding his cane. "Bravo, my dear. It seems we may have underestimated you. You are certainly not obligated to answer, but how did you know?"

"It was what I didn't see. There were no charms on any of the bodies, nor in their rooms. Since everyone here was recruited because they were the best Bingo players, it stood to reason that at least some of them would have those charms. I should have thought of it back at Mrs. Walentowicz's house in Milwaukee, but I didn't see her Bingo necklace at the murder scene, either. He took her charm, didn't he? The killer."

Hollis nodded. "He has it in his possession this very moment." He once again sat down in the chair, making himself comfortable and putting a foot up on a nearby corpse. "The game of Bingo began right here in Georgia, did you know that? Back in the twenties. Not the game itself, that had its roots in Europe in the fifteen-hundreds, a game that later was called 'Beano' here in the states until someone was so excited with a win they mistakenly called out 'Bingo' instead and the name stuck." He lit another smoke and continued genially, "The game is played around the nation and the world... it has infiltrated virtually every single city and town in this nation, primarily played by those too old to contribute anything else of worth to the world. It is played in halls and even in churches everywhere, and no one thinks about it for a second." He laughed, a grating sound conveying more cruelty than actual mirth.

He gestured at all the bodies at our feet, saying, "These were the best of the best of them. The world considered them 'lucky' of all things. Ridiculous. Their friends and family were under the mistaken impression that they played Bingo all the time. They thought about playing all the time, but the fact is that the very best played rarely. Played rarely, but won often, and big. We would ask them if they wished to go to one large Bingo contest or another, and you would think that they would all want to go, but it was only one or two every time. Why didn't they all go? Because only one or two knew they would win. They did not win at Bingo because they were lucky or because they played constantly, they won because they only played when they felt that they would win."

Josh stared at him incredulously, "So... all these people were, what... little Bingo Nostradamuses? They could see into the future and tell when they were going to win? Gimme a brea-"

"They didn't know, necessarily, but they felt something. Not with one hundred percent accuracy, mind you, but enough. More than enough." Hollis took another drag and leaned forward in his chair, animated. "Do you have any idea how many people play this game around the globe? With what frequency they sit and stare at that piece of paper, desperate to blot out a single line, their will bent entirely toward that purpose? It is in every community everywhere and no one asks any questions about it because it gives the elderly something to do besides rot, take up space and complain of their own obsolescence."

I considered it. "It's like an experiment. For generations you have people crowd in and take part- actually, they pay to take part- in a system where it's essentially determining, what... how to tell when you are going to win? Seeing the future in a way, is that right?"

Hollis grinned. "Think of the size of the sample... the sheer number of those taking part. Eventually, if someone was paying attention, they could find those impossibly happy few that posssessed... special gifts."

"What about the charms, then?" Josh pointed to the chest. "Those necklaces and bracelets of worthless plastic... are they, what, 'special'? They squirt out of the machine at the factory and give someone the ability to see the future?" I kept my gaze-and my gun-on Hollis, but I could practically hear Josh's eye-roll from behind me.

I took a shot, answering for Hollis, all the while thinking, where are the damn police? "They aren't special when they buy them... but after years and years of being looked at and touched and concentrated on by the best players... they become special?" Hollis winked and gave a single nod.

A thought occurred to me then about something Yoshida had said earlier. Seeing as my guesses had been hitting the mark, I ventured, "The money they won... if these people were the very best of the best- if they somehow knew when they were going to win- they must have made millions. This is a nice facility, but it's nowhere near what they must have been pulling in. The town... all of Hollis Crossroads... this is how you kept it going, isn't it? Subsidizing the entire dying town with money won from the nursing home."

The old man rose from his chair once more and said, "My dear, we have absolutely undervalued you. It is too bad for us that the young gentleman there did not get his way early on as concerns your employment." Hollis brushed a stray cigarette ash off his sleeve and gave an unconvincing stretch. "Well, I believe it is time that I be on my way. While I fully comprehend that the two of you were merely stalling until the authorities could arrive, I found our conversation to be genuinely agreeable." Josh and I shot each other a look, then he continued, "Just so you do not think ill of our local gendarmes here in Hollis Crossroads, I thought it best to kill the town's police force and disable their communications system before the night's foray, so the delay in response time could hardly be considered a mark against them. They are- or were- quite a competent brigade, and I would hate to think their reputation would be slandered based on this evening's events. The call will eventually be re-routed to the sheriff's department, but their travel time is more significant."

I took a deep breath, raised the gun and pointed it at Hollis's head. "I can't let you leave. I want you alive so we can clear Josh's name, but I'll shoot you if I have to. Sit down."

Hollis nodded but didn't move. "I was granted a boon this time around... my special trick. At first I found them unpleasant, but you get used to them. In time. And to answer your earlier inquiry, it was not poison." Another pause, then, "Oh, and to pay up on our little wager, the knife is currently aboard the Liberator, a small cargo ship in the North Pacific bound for Nagasaki, Japan. Farewell, I doubt we shall meet again until the next world."

Tightening my grip and preparing to fire if he took one step toward the door, I began to hear a muted rumbling sound coming from all around me. Keeping my eye on Hollis, I felt Josh tug at my sleeve and whisper my name. Refusing to be distracted, I ignored him, but then he pulled harder. "Mary," he hissed. "Look down." Finally lowering my gaze, I saw the corpse of the elderly woman at my feet shift ever so slightly. A quick scan of all the bodies showed subtle movement. Just then I gave a sharp yelp as the woman's mouth opened and an enormous, black, blood-covered centipede crawled out. This followed by another and another, until centipedes of all shapes and sizes gushed from her open maw, spilling out onto the carpeted floor.

Josh and I staggered back, and we could see that every corpse in the room had centipedes pouring out of their mouths and in the case of the smaller insects, their nostrils. I was petrified that they would begin scuttling over in our direction, but they did the opposite, charging toward Hollis and Harrison. There were thousands of centipedes swarming around his feet, and after a minute we could see that they were moving in a sort of pattern, a figure-eight between his legs. After a few long moments of this, Hollis looked up at Josh and I, smiled that vile, yellow grin and pointed right at us.

Suddenly, all the thousands and thousands of bloody, glistening, writhing centipedes began skittering straight at us. I let out a scream, and this time when Josh pulled at me, I went with him. The two of us ran back down the hallway, the centipedes advancing with astonishing, terrifying speed. The glass door we used to enter had a push-bar on the inside, and we hurtled into it, bashing it open. Josh turned around and began pushing the door closed again, but at the top of it was a hydraulic device that hissed and protested, forcing it to be shut slowly. "Come on, come on," Josh muttered through gritted teeth as the wave of centipedes flowed like an obscene river down the hallway toward us. "Close, goddamn it, close!" he yelled, but it was still open almost a foot wide and the centipedes were almost on us. He turned to me and yelled, "Sh*t, not going to make it. Run!" He abandoned the door just as the insects slammed into it en masse and spewed outside like water through a broken dam. I started to run down the narrow path next to the nursing home heading toward the front of the building, but even as I sprinted I could feel multiple tiny legs begin to crawl up my pantyhose past my ankles and up my calves. I heard Josh scream behind me, "In my pants, biting! F*ck! Don't stop, head for the car!"

We broke from the willows and into the parking lot, the majority of the swarm of centipedes still behind us. I could feel the ones that were on me reach my knee and continue up, their long antennae scraping my thighs underneath my skirt. I screamed again and swatted at them ineffectually as I ran, pulling the car keys out of my purse and praying I wouldn't drop them in my haste. As I unlocked the car with the remote, the centipedes crawled all the way up to my belt and began squeezing through underneath my blouse to my bare belly and back, biting as they went. Finally I reached the car, ramming into the side of it at full speed and nearly losing my balance, narrowly avoiding falling to the ground. Recovering quickly I tore at the handle, flung open the door and dove inside. Once there I pawed at the car door and slammed it shut, then reached over and opened the passenger door for Josh- all while the centipedes under my shirt continued their inexorable, frantic crawl upward, their many wriggling legs grasping for purchase against my flesh.

A moment later Josh threw himself into the car, slamming the door behind him, and the two of us began essentially beating ourselves up, pummeling our own bodies in an attempt to crush the centipedes underneath our clothes. Before we could kill them, though, Josh pointed to the car's dashboard vent, and I saw a pair of long antennae jutting out, waving around tentatively. "They're getting in! Drive, drive, drive, Mary!" I fumbled with the keys, and this time in my panic I actually did drop them on the floor with a clatter. Desperately, I bent over, running my hands over the plastic floormat in search of them. The centipede that had crawled through the vent dropped down right on the back of my exposed neck, and I jerked up with a scream, banging my head on the underside of the dashboard. Before I could completely lose it, Josh quickly swiped at the centipede trying to wriggle up into my hair, pulled it off of me and smashed it against the dashboard, turning it to pulp. A moment later the keys were in my hand, the car was revving and we were peeling out of the Hollis Nursing Home parking lot.

As we hit the street there was a large explosion behind us, and in the rearview mirror I could see flames pouring from the nursing home's many windows. Another few moments and we could see flashes and hear the muffled thumps of other explosions throughout the entire town. "The fire must have traveled down the gas main somehow," I said, my voice sounding distant to me. "The whole town, every building... it's all going, all burning..." I floored it, and Josh and I fled north, bypassing what we could of the ruined inferno that was Hollis Crossroads, the flames reaching up ever higher into the night.

The car swerved all over the road as Josh and I tore open our clothes and crushed the centipedes underneath, their smashed innards mixing with the blood that seeped from our many bites. Modesty was forgotten as we stripped down to our underwear to be certain of killing every last bug, and I never took my foot off the gas. Finally, after driving for a solid half-hour I pulled the car over to the side of the two-lane highway and put it in park.

My voice came out in a husky whisper. "He said not to call him The Driver. Hollis said that he was an assistant... a stage hand, and that he had been granted a 'trick'. Those are show-business terms, and there is only one type of performer that fits the description. I know what to call our enemy now- I know what to call Hollis' master. He was right, he isn't The Driver.

"He is The Magician."

We sat there in silence, our breath ragged, and then I put my head on Josh's shoulder and sobbed, crying and crying until the thought of the swarm of centipedes somewhere behind us spurred me to put the car back in gear and continue the drive back to the city.