This is Episode 5-16 of a serial urban fantasy & paranormal story.

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Part 5-16: Merlon

The inside was not how I remembered it. There’d been a fire burning with purpose in the small chamber beyond the foyer, fostering a sense of residence and that cozy feeling that someone was home. Now it was simply dead and empty.

I knew time was funny in this whole place, and it was possible that the equivalent of centuries had gone by since The Jailer last lived here. Once again, I tried to ignore empathetic feelings for what Dack might have experienced so far, even if it was barely a day since he had been gobbled up.

“You and Persi told us about this joint,” said Fergus.

“It’s where I was given the weapons,” I said. “I’ll show you.”

We went up the spiral staircase, Lobster and his blob backpack scouting ahead on my internal command.

My intent wasn’t a tour though. When The Jailer died, or faded, or whatever happened, he’d been trying to tell us about the key—the literal key—he’d found. I asked him where, and he only mentioned the stars. We’d all talked about it a few days afterward, and the rooftop sanctuary seemed to be the only place that made sense. The only place we’d seen anything like stars in Fort Ticktock.

And when the tree crab died, slamming its energy into the giant clock face, the time had not gone backwards. It did go backwards when I used a silver key to release Willy’s ghost, and when we killed the first freakazoid monster in the park.

So why the inconsistency? A missing step. When a big blob is defeated, a key must appear. The Jailer found the first one and used it. He somehow created another when his spirit departed, and I used that one. Crabtree beastie had to have made one as well—but there was no one around in Fort Ticktock who had any reason to unleash its pent up power.

Until now.

We arrived on the open top of the circular tower, where the sky was a perpetual moonless twilight, prickled with starry pinpoints. It was empty up here too, save a barren wooden rack sitting on the bullseye zone of the roofless floor.

“That’s the weapon rack,” I said. “But keep an eye out for a tiny key. Probably silver.”

We searched the thing, but it proved keyless, and my spirits darkened. I was really hoping that it’d be smack dab in the middle of the top, isn’t that how these things worked?

Fergus suggested we walk in slow, widening spirals, our eyes glued to the ground. I judged it’d take us at least twenty minutes, given the size of the area. Even though we had nothing better to do and the world was on pause outside, this arduous strategy made me even more irritable. But it seemed the only good option.

Thankfully, Lobster must’ve heard my ask, because a few minutes after shuffling around like a weird zombie, he came fluttering down in front of me and dropped the prize at my feet.

“Nice Lobster! Nice. Where’d you find it, huh?” I said, pinching up the little silver key. The end without the teeth was a silver disc, in which a shiny emerald was embedded. Suspended in the green was an inky blotch. I put it in my front jeans pocket before it decided to blink at me.

Lobster took off again, distracting me from a flood of crabby memories that threatened to pierce my resolve. He flew over to one of the blocks that ringed the perimeter, and pecked at its surface.

“It was up on the merlon, no kidding!” said Fergus. “I’d like to think we’d’ve eventually looked there, hey?”

“I sure hope so,” I said, turning in a slow circle. I was counting fast, but was reasonably sure I knew exactly how many blocks (merlons?) there were up here.

“Now we take it to the prison part?” said Fergus.

“Right,” I said, starting for the stairs. But the sudden thought of a narrow space and a big, demented cheese wheel chasing after me froze my feet.

Fergus stopped with me, opened his mouth, and closed it again.

“Sorry,” I said. “But, I’d like to try a shortcut.”

“Boffo,” he said.

“Take my hand.”

He did, and I mentally asked Lobster to have a perch on my shoulder. Once the bird was with us, I shut my eyes and visualized a stony dais, rising a few feet above the floor of another circular room. This one had a high, vaulted ceiling, illuminated by the sick light of fifty-eight yellow cones and two white ones.

I felt a slight buzz.

“Yeah,” said Fergus. “Yeah. Teleportation is absolutely just as convenient as you’d think it’d be.”

I let his hand go and took in the cavernous chamber. It’d been falling to pieces last I visited. Now, there were no signs of destruction, nor enormous villains with enchanted minions. Only the lonely cells showed any signs of life, for lack of a better term. The lights above only reached into the first few feet of the little gated alcoves, but if you looked close enough, you could catch glimpses of movement inside some of them. A twitching elbow. A kicking foot.

“Come on,” I said, more raspy than I thought I’d be. I twisted until I saw the pair of empties, and stalked toward the third to last cell.

We’d gotten about halfway before the spectral interruption.

“Alena—a moment, please.”

At the same time, a hole opened up in the wall above Theodore Roman’s cell. Rising up inside, like she was ascending a set of stairs, came The Keeper, her spiked helm cresting first, followed by the bulk of her plated, king sized mattress of a torso.

I stopped, although a big part of me wanted to keep going. I think the only reason I didn’t was because I was afraid that Fergus or Lobster might get hurt before I could unlock the cell.

The Keeper loomed, perched directly over the cage, underlit by a wavering yellow glow. I turned and eyed The Minder, who stood with his hands on his hips in the middle of the dais.

“Yes?” I said.

“I know what you intend,” he said. “And I quite fancy it. But for The Keeper’s and mine own blessing to proceed without incident, I humbly request you afford me the telling of a quick tale.”

“Storytime?” said Fergus, who kept stealing wide eyed glances at the monster in the wall.

“Guess so,” I murmured. Then, to The Minder: “I’ll allow it.”

“Capital,” he said. “I assume The Jailer mentioned to you the King, the Queen and the ever so troublesome Prince. But, my students, tell me, did he omit the account of The Veilbound Princess?”

 

 

Continued in Part 5-17

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