face, gaped openly and stepped back two more steps even after Ransom had lowered his hand. Coming back to himself, the door guard drew a Sigma handgun from a holster strapped to his side in a shoulder rig.
“How'd y'all do that?” he asked, leveling the weapon at Ransom.
“Old trick. From an old trickster.” Ransom returned his dagger to its special pocket with a flourish and pointed to the man’s gun. “You can put that down now.”
The man shook his head. “No, sir. You want to leave now. That's what's gonna happen here. You ain't got no appointment.”
Ransom sighed. Like he had time for this stupidity. “You do realize where you work, right?”
“Uh-huh. I ain't dense, ya know. And I know who you is. Don't matter to me, though. This here Sigma's got some special ammo. Don't think you'd like it much, even with your old tricks.”
Special ammo? Ransom decided he didn't care, but didn't want to take chances either. “Mishnana,” he spoke.
The gun burned in the man's hand. The metal turned instantly red hot, then white, before he could react. Ransom watched the flesh steam, smelled the odor of barbecued pork. The man yowled and tried to drop the weapon that was now seared to his skin. Shaking his arm violently he managed to get the Sigma to tear away, flying to the floor to clatter down the hall, bouncing off the closely set walls. “You…you burnt me! You burnt me! I'll kill you, you filthy mudsucker!”
Mud sucker? Ransom wondered. What was a mud sucker?
The man lunged for Ransom. Ransom brought the dagger back up defensively, blade first this time.
He never reached Ransom. He became stuck in mid-lunge, suspended in the air in front of Ransom, eyes wild with hate, his body stiff.
Not Ransom's doing. Which meant…
“Hello, Jack Ransom,” the deep voice echoed at a level below normal human hearing. From the end of the long hall stepped a shadow wearing a black cloak. Holes that should have been eyes, as deep as the depths of space, peered out at Ransom. The power that held the man suspended in air came from this being.
“Hello, Al'Gamesh,” Ransom greeted him. “I tried to get your employee here to tell you I was waiting.”
“No appointment, Ransom. It is not your time.”
Chills washed over Ransom every time Al'Gamesh spoke. His skin crawled as the voice broke against him. “I know that. I don’t have time to make appointments with you. I need to—”
“You need
NOTHING
,” Al'Gamesh interrupted in a tone that left echoes like thunder shuddering through the air and allowed for no argument.
Ransom planned on arguing anyway.
Al'Gamesh turned his attention now to the man he held in stasis. As Ransom watched, the man's head severed along a neat horizontal line, the body crumpling to the floor. Blood pooled. The head twisted in the air until it was looking at Al'Gamesh. “We will speak of this later,” the dark voice promised. The bodiless head desperately tried to scream, the jaw muscles twitching, the tongue lurching in place. Still alive. Not allowed to die.
Al’Gamesh directed the head through the air to settle it down on a table next to the door. Ransom had a brief moment of sympathy for the guy before Al'Gamesh was standing right in front of him.
“You interfere in my business,” the terrifying voice told him. Inside the depths of the hooded cloak there was only darkness folding in on itself.
“Your business has become my concern,” Ransom answered.
Silence. Then, “Yes. I suppose it has.”
Chapter 2
Al’Gamesh turned away and started down the hallway. Ransom followed. To the end, and then to the right a stairway led down. Most people never came this far. Not willingly. Ransom had been here several times before. Back in the days when he worked for people and beings like Al’Gamesh. Back then he hadn’t cared where his income came from, as long as he made his
“How'd y'all do that?” he asked, leveling the weapon at Ransom.
“Old trick. From an old trickster.” Ransom returned his dagger to its special pocket with a flourish and pointed to the man’s gun. “You can put that down now.”
The man shook his head. “No, sir. You want to leave now. That's what's gonna happen here. You ain't got no appointment.”
Ransom sighed. Like he had time for this stupidity. “You do realize where you work, right?”
“Uh-huh. I ain't dense, ya know. And I know who you is. Don't matter to me, though. This here Sigma's got some special ammo. Don't think you'd like it much, even with your old tricks.”
Special ammo? Ransom decided he didn't care, but didn't want to take chances either. “Mishnana,” he spoke.
The gun burned in the man's hand. The metal turned instantly red hot, then white, before he could react. Ransom watched the flesh steam, smelled the odor of barbecued pork. The man yowled and tried to drop the weapon that was now seared to his skin. Shaking his arm violently he managed to get the Sigma to tear away, flying to the floor to clatter down the hall, bouncing off the closely set walls. “You…you burnt me! You burnt me! I'll kill you, you filthy mudsucker!”
Mud sucker? Ransom wondered. What was a mud sucker?
The man lunged for Ransom. Ransom brought the dagger back up defensively, blade first this time.
He never reached Ransom. He became stuck in mid-lunge, suspended in the air in front of Ransom, eyes wild with hate, his body stiff.
Not Ransom's doing. Which meant…
“Hello, Jack Ransom,” the deep voice echoed at a level below normal human hearing. From the end of the long hall stepped a shadow wearing a black cloak. Holes that should have been eyes, as deep as the depths of space, peered out at Ransom. The power that held the man suspended in air came from this being.
“Hello, Al'Gamesh,” Ransom greeted him. “I tried to get your employee here to tell you I was waiting.”
“No appointment, Ransom. It is not your time.”
Chills washed over Ransom every time Al'Gamesh spoke. His skin crawled as the voice broke against him. “I know that. I don’t have time to make appointments with you. I need to—”
“You need
NOTHING
,” Al'Gamesh interrupted in a tone that left echoes like thunder shuddering through the air and allowed for no argument.
Ransom planned on arguing anyway.
Al'Gamesh turned his attention now to the man he held in stasis. As Ransom watched, the man's head severed along a neat horizontal line, the body crumpling to the floor. Blood pooled. The head twisted in the air until it was looking at Al'Gamesh. “We will speak of this later,” the dark voice promised. The bodiless head desperately tried to scream, the jaw muscles twitching, the tongue lurching in place. Still alive. Not allowed to die.
Al’Gamesh directed the head through the air to settle it down on a table next to the door. Ransom had a brief moment of sympathy for the guy before Al'Gamesh was standing right in front of him.
“You interfere in my business,” the terrifying voice told him. Inside the depths of the hooded cloak there was only darkness folding in on itself.
“Your business has become my concern,” Ransom answered.
Silence. Then, “Yes. I suppose it has.”
Chapter 2
Al’Gamesh turned away and started down the hallway. Ransom followed. To the end, and then to the right a stairway led down. Most people never came this far. Not willingly. Ransom had been here several times before. Back in the days when he worked for people and beings like Al’Gamesh. Back then he hadn’t cared where his income came from, as long as he made his
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