Viva, Las Vega IX by J.S. Morin

Author:J.S. Morin
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781643551326
Publisher: Magical Scrivener Press

Four towering chairs surrounded a circular table some twelve feet across. Each was carved and sculpted from a clever mixture of stone and wood. To Mordecai’s left, in a seat fashioned in the image of a griffon, complete with sapphire eyes, sat Nebuchadnezzar. To his right, fretting beneath the ruby-eyed scowl of a gargoyle, sat Tom Ping. Mort ignored them both from his dragon-shaped throne as he glowered at the fourth attendee to this meeting.

“I call to order the first Council of Ghosts,” Nebuchadnezzar intoned formally, holding up an unrolled sheet of parchment as if he couldn’t recall those nine simple words without aid. “As such, there is no old business. Moving on to new business, the immortal fate of Wizard Keaton Whitehead, formerly of Eaton, Cambridge, the Convocation’s cultural outreach program on Vega IX, and, most recently, known associate of Wizard Thaddius Bluth.”

Mort drummed his fingers on the carved scaly forearm of his dragon seat. “Does the petitioner have any preliminary statement?”

The fourth chair was a kraken, towering and menacing, with amethyst eyes and tentacles that lashed Keaton in place. The latest aspirant to the title of Mortslayer strained against bonds that held him in place more metaphorically than physically. Even had he gotten loose, there was nowhere to flee, no action to take, no escape of any kind, manner, or form.

“It was never personal.”

At an eyebrow-raised glare from Nebuchadnezzar, Tom Ping drew a sigh and scribbled down the statement. It was, of course, entirely unnecessary. This was all a show, a sham, trappings meant to intimidate a man who appeared to need perhaps just a little more.

“I’ve found, with great experience in the matter, that rarely is anyone assuaged by that sentiment,” Nebuchadnezzar commented.

Mort continued to drum his fingers. “Oh, I don’t know… It suggests that absent a business-related motive, maybe he’d be amenable to working with us.”

“Yes. YES! Anything. Whatever you want, I’ll do it.”

Nebuchadnezzar chewed on the feather of his quill. “Not buying it. Seems a little too eager to help.”

“Point of order, this place has that effect on people,” Tom pointed out.

“Seconded,” Nebuchadnezzar grumbled.

“Fine,” Mort agreed. He couldn’t have set this up any better if he’d warned Tom and his grandfather ahead of time. “So, here’s what I’m going to need from you.”

“Name it.”

“For starters, everything you know about Thaddius Bluth and the wooden nickel gangsters he’s taken up with.”

“Naturally,” Keaton replied, licking his lips and swallowing hard. He flexed a hand, unable to lift it from the arm of his chair but for the grasp of the sculpted tentacles. “If you’ll just provide me a quill and ink…”

“Nope.”

“Oh,” Keaton said, clamping his mouth shut and awaiting further instructions.

Mort let him stew a moment. With the phenomenal rate of time passing within the confines of Mortania, he could afford the delay; it only amounted to fractions of a second. “No, that’ll come later. For now, use your imagination. I want to see what you know.” He waved a hand, and across the table sprawled a model of Henderson rendered in miniature.

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