Hardacre Investigates: The Slurp Conspiracy

[Fabulous Secret Powers]

THE SLURP CONSPIRACY


A "HARDACRE INVESTIGATES" DETECTIVE NOVELETTE


WRITTEN BY BASHIR KHATARA


EDITED BY I. IMPETUOUS


PUBLISHED BY PARIAH PRESS


"WE'LL PUBLISH ANYTHING, AND WE DO MEAN ANYTHING!"


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THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION, AND ANY AND ALL CHARACTERS, EVENTS AND PHENOMENA DESCRIBED WITHIN ARE PURELY FICTIONAL. RESEMBLANCE WITH REALITY IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL, UNLESS INTENTIONAL. ANY SIMILARITIES ARE NOT ADMISSABLE IN ANY COURT OF LAW. OUR LEGAL TEAM KNOWS WHERE AND HOW YOU LIVE.






For M, who taught me how to read between the lines.

[Fabulous Secret Powers]

CHAPTER I

High above the Souk of Salt and Spices, hateful Pra'raj offered little solace to the various vendors that huddled against a seedy alley's sunbleached walls. The peeved peddlers swabbed handkerchiefs against their clammy faces, amidst the vain hope of seeing some customers come their way. A foolish notion, as the Souk only had three stalls that people ever actually visited. This was due to the extremely limited attention span of the average Ephian.

The cheapest of the stalls in this dingy back street, a ramshackle assembly of wood and nails, was sheltered from the heated glare amidst breezy shadows. Outside, on top of a roof full of holes, a sign read "DETECTIVE LOOKING 4 CASES". Inside, sat a half-elf whose expression was one of such irritation that it did little to attract customers. Former detective extraordinaire, current trophy husband sensuale... Jo Hardacre.

Asymmetry was supposedly in fashion, so the handsomely beautiful detective had dyed one side of his naturally raven hair red with henna, his hairstyle an asymmetric bob. The splashy groknak hide jacket upon his tautly muscular figure bore a pink zebra stripe pattern on one side, and a scandalously detailed depiction of the elven folk hero, Durlan Dahast, on the other. There was no way that he would later come to regret these fashion choices, absolutely not. There was categorically no possibility whatsoever that his friends and loved ones would mention this look to him at each and every opportunity in the coming years. None whatsoever.

Jo heard footsteps. Sandals, made out of the finest leather, brushing against ash and sand. As the steps ceased, he looked up to see who it was. It wasn't a customer, yet the sight brought a great big smile to his lips, anyway. Agatino Hardacre, the elf who had been adopted by some lovely humans. Jo's hot husband. Former Nadiri, current tuque mogul. The tuque business had so much dinar in it that it didn't make much sense to study magic with insane wizards. So, despite being offered a position as Zenithar, Agatino had deemed it prudent to focus on tuques and tuques alone. It was the right decision, as it had made him ridiculously rich.

As for the youthful mogul's appearance... Agatino didn't chase trends. He started them. He was an eternal personification of masculine cuteness. So, he wore sandals, tight shorts that revealed a little too much of his sizeable rear, and a sheer half-shirt. Above his ginger curls, the most tasteful tuque ever crafted, made from the finest shahtoosh. Truly a timeless style.

"Honey muffin... Any luck with cases?"

"NO! Bloody Alkabi!"

"Cupcake... Please don't start again... Our two darlings, Oingo and Boingo, are terribly impressionable, and while I can sort of handle my husband having questionable opinions regarding people based merely on their nationality, I can't handle it from cats..."

"They come here and take all ta detective jobs! Should go back ta rotating crops in a highly efficient manner! Bastards!"

"My sweetest halva... I know that Alkabi Al has been solving a lot of cases, but he specializes in crime that is vaguely related to antiques... You hate antiques... You don't even like going antiquing with me... Which is really disappointing, since I go on every sandfishing trip with you and I don't particularly care for that..."

"The case of Orentes VII's haunted chamber pot coulda been mine! Mine I tell ya! And what are ye talking about...? I love going antiquing with ye! I just don't like all that Yaxatan shite that ta stores are full of these days... It's so fecking passé! And ever since that bloody goblin moved in, he's jacked up all ta prices... I ain't affording nah antiques on me salary. Yer rich, but I occasionally want ta buy ye shite, and is just plain embarassing not being able ta do that!"

"Aww... My dearest maamoul... That's so adorable... Anyhow, I'm sure that you'll get a case soon... In fact... You might be getting one just now..."

Just then, a Nadiri transformed into a minotaur transformed into a giant scorpion transformed into a parrot flew in. With a cacophony of different sounds, it dropped a letter onto the table of Jo's detective stall. Soon, the confused creature began begging for a tip.

"Chrrp! Nadiri want baublium! Brraak!"

Jo shoved some loose baublium, which he was keeping in his pocket for important reasons, into the Nadiriparrot's beak. With a satisfied whistle, it flew away...

And soon afterwards, exploded into a cloud of colorful plumage while on route to the Tower. Baublium was highly explosive, in theory. The theory just happened to be completely sound.

Jo began reading the letter, as Agatino massaged his shoulders. The sloppy lettering had been scrawled with a hurried and addled hand. Agatino, being the faster reader, soon rolled his eyes as he realized who the letter was from.

Legate Gruffudd ap Delwyn. Agatino couldn't stand the bitch. Neither could Jo, but his dissatisfaction came two minutes later than his beau's. Which told a depressing tale of the detective's reading skills, because the letter was quite short:

   GOT A CASE FOR YOU.

   LEGATE GRUFFUDD AP DELWYN

Jo had to think fast. Well, he didn't, really, as usually you could meet the Legates casually over the length of a few months before committing to anything at all. However, he did have to ponder the opportunity carefully. On one hand, he hated the bitch, and Agatino wouldn't approve of working with him, either. But on the other hand, these sweet goverment funded cases paid at least a tenth of the average Banda Rossa contract. If the average Banda Rossa contract in question was a five minute lavatory stakeout where you had to make sure that the client didn't keel over while taking a shit. Still, it was dinar, money that Jo could use to buy some gifts for his rich husband, instead of just lounging around the house all day.

"I'll take ta case!"

"Oh, my beloved kahk... If that bitch, whom I absolutely despise, gives you any trouble, just forget about the case and come home... Here's your weekly allowance," Agatino murmured, shoving a giant pouch of coin inside Jo's underwear seductively. Well, it would've been seductive if it had actually fit inside, but since the detective's choice of attire was so sheer and tight, and Agatino's wealth was so absolutely ridiculous, the sack simply dropped right onto the sands.

"This is so fecking embarassing," Jo muttered, and bent over to pick up the purse. He rolled his stall sign over to the "ON TA CASE" side, and gave Agatino a big smooch on the cheek. And a slap on the butt. Then, he began moseying along towards the Palatial Pyramid. Slowly. Very slowly. Hurrying to the Pyramid was never worth it, even during such a particularly scorching day. The slow steps also gave Jo plenty of time to see the heron (babies) nestled atop the rooftops. What an adorable sight!

What a shame it was that he eventually reached the Pyramid.

[Fabulous Secret Powers]

CHAPTER II

THE FOLLOWING CHAPTER HAS BEEN EDITED FOR CONTENT BY THE OFFICE OF COMMON DECENCY

The Palatial Pyramid, the corridor on the Fourth Floor. The Scribes had placed stylish armchairs, adorned with tasteful floral upholstery, outside the Legatine offices. Most people didn't use them. Instead, they hung from the ceiling like rabid bats and yelled obscenities at any poor Scribe that passed them by. Such was the way of Ephia's Well. Jo didn't care much for tradition, however. He only cared about hot guys and solving crimes. Since he had attained the former already, he could focus all of his efforts on the latter. Solving this case would require a lot of sitting in tastefully decorated chairs, so that's what Jo did.

Crossing his legs aloofly, the detective puffed some smoke up into the air. Because he was too embarassed to ask for cigarette money from his beau, he had been reduced to smoking cheap beedies. They tasted awful. Yet the Palatial Physician, Doctor Tarfellow, had recommended a daily intake of at least five grams of pipeweed, as the nutrients contained within were absolutely necessary for maintaining a healthy complexion. So, in the interest of maintaining his gorgeous appearance, Jo did what he could on an Ephian detective's salary.

A tiny bee-like figure ran towards Jo. "The Legate will see you now!" she yelled. Senior Scribe Pam Padam. A blonde hin with a piercing gray gaze. Many rumors surrounded her person, all of it utter hogwash made up by some jealous wastrels. She was the head clerk of the Office of Reception. A most busy office, since there was a lot of stuffs and things that had to be received in some fashion inside the Well. Pam Padam had received over a gadjillion badjillion stuffs and things during her venerable career. She opened the door for Jo, then hurried off to receive the daily diamond shipment. The Well's camels would be eating well tonight.

Jo stepped inside the office, and closed the door shut. However, his sensual musculature was so powerful, and the door so cheaply constructed, that the ramshackle assemblage was pulled right off the doorframe, after which it proceeded to fly out of one of the windows, which the Legatine offices definitely had.

"MY DOOR! I was going to snort spice off it! LOVE you, Hardacre!" yelled the drug-addled Legate. Whatever musculature he had once carried upon his form had been completely ruined by extensive drug abuse, and his formerly black hair had transformed into a curious white, mostly because it was covered in slice spice. It did match his white toga. Well, it would have, if it were not for the fact that the toga was covered in disgusting splotches of a black and unctuous substance, which was of far lower quality than petroleum.

Jo had interrupted the so-called "ten-finger discount", a favored maneuver of many a scorch-head. If you injected just a little bit of scorch into each finger, it'd get you way more doped up than injecting a lot of it into one digit. Supposedly, anyway. The ways of the scorch-head often involved a lot of esoteric nonsense.

"Maybe if ya spent some of that sweet tax money on better doors, instead of snorting all of it up yer nose, that wouldn't have happened."

"I do not snort all of it up my nose! I also inject it. Presto!" Gruffudd yelled, and proceeded to stab his eyeball with yet another needle of scorch. Said needle was the size of a hin's arm.

"NNGGH! THAT'S THE GOOD EXCREMENT! YEAH! Anyway... Why are you here? I have a lot of drugs to do, Hardacre. There's so many drugs, Hardacre. YEAH! You wouldn't believe how many drugs there are, Hardacre. WHOO! And how many different ways there are to take them, Hardacre. WOW! Hardacre."

"Ya sent me a letter, ye stoned dingus! As an aside... how's yer husband?"

"A letter...? I have a husband...? I don't remember any of that COMPOST. Let me get a reminder..." the dingusy Legate murmured, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Then he scarfed some dirt down his mouth like a disgusting worm. Which describes all worms. And this Legate. 

"WOW! DUNG! Oh yeah, I do have a husband. How is he?"

"I just asked ye that! Ya don't know how yer own husband is doing?!"

"Hardacre, Hardacre... WOW, THAT FECULENCE HITS REAL GOOD! Hardacre... You have to understand. I have a problem. I have three loves... My husband... Asterabadian philosophy... And drugs. Cherishing my husband takes a lot of time, since he's a really emotional guy. Asterabadian philosophy takes a lot of time, since it's so PASSIONATELY convoluted and all of the books are hidden away by fat guys with disgustingly smelly beards. And drugs take a lot of time... BECAUSE THERE'S SO FORNICATINGLY MANY OF THEM! GOOD SPOKES THERE'S SO MANY DRUGS! HOLY DOODOO! Anyway, I only have two times. I can't turn two times into three, Hardacre! I have two times!"

"That don't make any bloody sense."

"IT MADE SENSE TO ME AT THE TIME I SAID IT! Anyway. Letter. Letter. Netter. Begetter. OH YEAH! Oh yeah. I have a case for you... What do you know about the Drink?"

"Some weirdo goop juice that ta Sisters cook up in their secret moonshinery down in their grandmama's basement... What about it?"

"Well... The Drink is pretty good stuff... DAMN! But get this... Get this... There's something better... The Slurp!"

"'Ta Slurp'? Ye talking about cactus slurp? I prefer wine, meself..."

"CACTUS SLURP!? Don't be an utter CARESSING bore, Hardacre! The Slurp is like the Drink times a thousand! IT'S THE GOOD ORDURE! You take it, and all the troubles in the world go away... Also, you get a bunch of weird LOVING visions, that might crumble down the very pillars of your psyche, but who gives a EXCREMENT?!"

"So, uh... Ye want me ta find out who's making the Slurp, and stop them...?"

"What?! BONK no! I want you to find them, and get me connected! I need that PUER! I need all of the drugs! THEY SHOULD ALL COME TO ME! RIGHT INTO MY EYEBALLS!"

"So... There ain't nah murder... There ain't nah dead body, even... There's just drugs... and ye don't want me ta stop ta drugs... Ye just want me to get ye some?"

"YEAH! I'LL PAY YOU A THOUSAND DINARI! THAT'S A LOT OF ROMANTIC MONEY, HARDACRE! IF YOU HAVE A THOUSAND DINARI, YOU'RE DEFINITELY RICHER THAN ANYONE IN BAZ'EEL! I DEFINITELY UNDERSTAND ECONOMICS!"

Jo stared at the excessively loud Legate as if he were a festering rat carcass that the cat had dragged inside. Which his two cats, Oingo and Boingo, did far too often. He sighed, then managed to mutter words of acceptance, though he had to force himself to do so.

"Fine... I'll take ta bloody case..."

"HECK! YEAH! Go meet with the Waradim, Duilio. He sees everything. And he only drinks copious amounts of coffee! What a bore! Well, what are you waiting for?! Get to it! GET ME MY ADORING DRUGS!"

Jo felt like punching the Legate, but he didn't feel like committing treason, even if it was for perfectly understandable reasons, and admissable in court. So, he just walked away. As he crossed the corridor, he could hear the horrible sounds of copious injections, snortings, lickings, nail slidings, ear pushings, eyeball rubbings, osmosis and various other ways that the endless supply of drugs polluting the Well could be ingested in.

It was nightmarish. Yet he had to solve this case, or he would be forced to go home and accept his new position as a trophy husband. As he neared the elevator, he saw a most curious figure step out of it. The most immense Stonefolk he had ever seen, dressed all in brown. A veritable big boy, colossal chap, and large lad. His towering stature evoked many a question in Jo's mind. How did he fit inside the elevator in the first place? Just how many hours of his day were filled with back pain? Was every part of him as blessed in size?

The stream of questions was interrupted by the traditional greeting between two tall fellers... the nodding of the head. Passing by the giant gaffer was a difficult task, requiring Jo to press himself against the wall while sidestepping towards the elevator. As he stepped inside, Jo could see the bulky bloke stomping towards Gruffudd's office. In fact, it was all that he could see, before the elevator began shuttling downwards, emitting a series of clanks and whirrs.

Jo knew his destination, despite the fact that Duilio spent most of his time moving between places in a wild frenzy, rather than staying anywhere in particular. Yet the dunes outside the Gate of Roses were so steep that the frantic Waradim would often get stuck between them as he attempted to climb atop. And so, to the dunes Jo would go.

[Fabulous Secret Powers]

CHAPTER III

The Rose Dunes. Endless heaps of ash and sand, piled atop each other over countless aeons. Hateful Pra'raj was particularly bitter today, directing its malice upon any and all whom dared to journey into the desert proper. Which, in addition to Jo, included throngs of giant scorpions, bundles of groknak (babies) and murders of novice goatherders. The harsh environment had Jo questioning his chances. Could he find Duilio amidst the dunes, which seemed to go on forever? He soon overcame these doubts, as he witnessed a bony man with untamed hair slide down one of the mounds of ash. A shirtless bony man.

Duilio. Chosen of Warad. He saw more than most. This was mostly because he insisted on running backwards, which technically allowed him to see in the direction that was otherwise perused by just owls and contortionists. He also loved backflips, which enabled him to see directly upwards for a fraction of a second. You could also achieve that for a far longer period of time by just laying down, but then you wouldn't be moving. Never stop moving.

Duilio started running towards Jo. His choice of direction lasted only momentarily, as he was soon distracted by a horde of orcs. He backflipped into the middle of them, and was immediately killed. Hardacre winced, and began digging through his pockets for his tiny-yet-deadly crossbow, ready to take revenge on these foul greenskins. Yet there was a flash of pristine light, and Duilio sprung back to his feet. He jumped into the air, spun his legs around in a wild circle, and proceeded to behead each and every orc like the deadliest dreidl to ever dreidl.

Then Duilio ran into a throng of sibilant, and promptly perished yet again. He was resurrected, kicked their heads off, after which he ran into army of goblins, and died...

This ordeal reoccurred ten more times, each time with a different army of different horrific monsters, before Duilio finally managed to make his way to Hardacre, who was staring at his pocket watch impatiently.

"Hardacre. Live. Run. Drink coffee. From his coffee shop. Him being Manny. Ask questions about nature of life. Cope with attention deficit."

"Yeah. Okay. Oi. Duilio, do ye know who's slinging this Slurp shite?"

Before Jo could even finish his question, Duilio had ran off. He was doing spinnies along the Well's walls, jumping from Shade pylon to Shade pylon. This was totally fine, and didn't pose any danger to the Well whatsoever. After all, the kids of the Well would often skip school to throw bottles at the pylons so that they could witness an improvised light show, and this juvenile tradition hadn't caused any problems over the years, beyond a few minor lacerations. Duilio's malnourished form weighed far less than the average bottle, so he was less of a risk to the Well than those poorly educated kids. With a singular backflip, he returned to the conversation.

"Slurp. King Gruffudd wants. Bad juju. Ask Sister Tasia. Smile all day. Sling narcotic on side."

"Tasia?! I went ta school with her... Tablet School of Hard Knocks! Taught me everything I needed ta survive ta harsh streets of ta Tablet... Can't do nah door-to-door begging if yer knock ain't loud enough!"

Duilio nodded at Jo's street wisdom. Then, with yet another backflip, he flew home, all the way back in Il Modo's harbor. He dropped through the chimney, to be greeted by his loving family, which consisted of his mirthful wife, Edvige, and their twelve hyperactive children. Their names were Efisio, Isotta, Remigio, Jacopo, Carmina, Delia, Tullio, Clementina, Raul, Savino, Vanni and Angus.

"Husband. Live. Eat tasty eel pie. Enjoy Modini tradition, such like hide the eel, stab trade partner in back, eel oil drinking competition."

"Wife. Children. Met Hardacre. Strange man. Will regret style of choice. Folly of youth."

Duilio embraced his wife in a loving hug. Their children ran circles around them at such supernatural speeds that they drilled a trench into the floor. Duilio's family was now fully prepared for the second War of Pearls. Considering that pearls were once again considered the hautest of haute couture, the war could've started abruptly at any moment. How blessed Duilio was to have such ingenius children!

Back in the dunes, Jo finished yet another beedi. He had no idea what they were wrapped in, and he didn't care... until the contents struck at his lungs like a hot poker, forcing out a violent cough. His regular cigarettes didn't make him cough. Not since he was a teen, anyway. He could remember how it used to be... There was a strange allure to it, bumming cigs from the older boys. They'd laugh, hand you one, then laugh even more when you couldn't handle even one single inhale. They weren't good company, but they were company nonetheless. 

Another torrid cough interrupted Jo's trip down memory lane. What were these bloody things wrapped in? Pipeweed or mizzar Jo could handle, yet whatever ragweed they had used here was truly vile. He dropped the dross to the sands, and stomped it out with his tasteful boot. How someone had managed to ruin some perfectly good pipeweed to such an extent was truly a mystery. Jo shrugged, and began walking towards the Well. Yet his journey was soon interrupted by a strange voice... A strangely familiar voice...

"—ooooooooooooooooooooooo!"

[Fabulous Secret Powers]

CHAPTER IV

Jo's gaze drifted along the dunes like a rampant dust devil, yet he could not locate the source of the strange voice. Who could it be? His inability to come grasp with the memory its familiarity hinted at was beginning to annoy him. So, he just yelled out of frustration.

"Who ta feck is there?!"

"Helloooooooooo it's me Hardacre oh I don't mean that I'm you I mean that it is me and I am talking to you Hardacre it's just really difficult getting your point across when you talk as fast as I doooooo anyway how have you been?"

Jo was startled, as the origin of the voice seemed to be right next to him, despite him not seeing anything at all. Years of detective work had given him such superior senses that even invisibility magicks could not fool him, so it was simply impossible that it was someone under the veil of illusion. As he stared at the seeming emptiness in front of him, his eyes gleamed with sudden realization.

"Wait... Issat ye, Slight? Nobody's seen ye in months! Didja lose height, too, or what ta bloody feck's going on here?"

"Oh you see Hardacre well you don't see but anyway the combination of the teachings of Sheikh al-Siddiq and the South Alkabi diet had left me so enlightened and so malnourished that I no longer had a need for a body so I became just a thought-form existing purely as a mental construct which is great because I had severe body image issues which were solved because I no longer had a body to be ashamed of."

"Okay. Fine. Whatever. I'm happy fer ye. I don't really get it, but I'm happy fer ye."

"Thank you Hardacre you are a true ally to the thought-form community oh nooooooooo look out it's the lads in broooooooooooown!"

"Lads in brown?! What are ye—" Jo stammered, as a punch whiffed just past his head. Said punch originated from the fist of a truly corpulent lad, one dressed in all brown. He was joined by two others, one lanky lad and another lad who was of truly medium proportions in all size-related regards.

Jo responded in kind, showing these lads the essence of street knowledge. Which mostly involved punching and kicking people until they either agreed with you, or ceased their aggression out of fear. Either outcome worked. Like a whirlwind of kicks and punches, he pounced on these poor fools, making them regret the folly of their actions. His fighting style was quite efficient. Using the energy released from a well-placed blow, he could cock his pocket crossbow at the same time, allowing him to shoot a ne'er-do-well right in the shins after punching them. Or kicking them. He wasn't particularly choosy. Slight provided helpful exposition during the tussle.

"The lads in broooooooown are these strange guys who show up to hassle people who get too close to the truth not all truths mind you just really particular ones like the truth about Djinn abductions or what the Office of Minor Nuisances really does or where the third and fourth Legates are hidden or the Seventh License or the Sluuuuuuuuuurp oh nooooooo—"

The corpulent lad in brown, being of corpulent intellect – that is to say, extremely stupid – tried to assail Slight with his fists. As Slight had no body, he was quite unsuccessful. So unsuccessful that he proceeded to fall over, causing him to curl up into a ball of disgusting fat. He then rolled down the dunes, and fell into the pit of a giant antlion, which proceeded to eat the lad with one singular gulp. Then, in a truly repulsive show of exoskeletal shedding, the antlion metamorphosed into a massive lacewing. It began its maiden voyage, its translucent wings touching the very heavens for a mere moment... After which it died immediately, falling to the sands to be devoured by some vultures. The disgusting cycle of life.

Back in the fray, amidst a flurry of blows, Jo was confused. His most trusted maneuver – a swift kick to the crotch – was not working. Yet the truth soon dawned on him... These lads lacked balls. He had to change tactics... So, he just shot them in the head with his crossbow. That seemed to work, as they quickly fell over to the sands. In fact, they were dead, so it was as efficient as solutions for ordeals like this could get.

"Eh, I probably shoulda questioned these fellas, but what can ye do? Happens."

"Oh noooooooo Hardacre they wouldn't have answered any of your questions anyway as they are trained professionals and they've probably taken some sort of voooooooow of silence under threat of agonizing pain so in a way you did them a favor by killing them because they don't have to go back to their angry bosses anyway I'm going to help you solve the mystery of the Sluuuuuuuuuuuurp!"

"Yer going ta help me? Why? Also, why do ye talk like former Purple candidate-for-Legate, Bartholomew 'Bart' Fargo, now?"

"Oh the Sluuuuuuuuuurp just fascinates me it was actually the subject for my thesis before I got kicked out of the Tower you see the Astronomers are horribly retrogressive and do not approve of thought-forms as members they really should doooooo better don't you think anyhoooow I've also dealt with the Sisters a looooooot so I can easily tell you if Sister Tasia is lying doesn't that sound useful also I don't know what you're talking abooooout I don't talk like him at aaaaaaaall?"

"Uh. That does sound helpful, if ye can actually do that... Fine. Just stay quiet, I suppose, and they won't even be aware of yer existence!"

"It's sooooooooooooo great because I'm really shy so people not being aware of my existence is the greatest gift I've ever received let's go to the Kraaaaaaaak now I heard they're having a three for one sale on cactus sluuuuuuurp which shouldn't be mistaken for the Sluuuuuuuuuurp!"

And so, Jo and his new partner in crime solving began their journey back to the Well. Towards the Krak, where bottles of alcohol clinked against each other amidst muffled screams of agony. Where goat herding—based fortunes were made and lost in the blink of an eye. And where, perhaps, answers regarding the Slurp could be found.

[Fabulous Secret Powers]

CHAPTER V

Jo took heavy steps across the Krak's aged ashlar, his gait burdened by the weight of troublesome knowledge. Being aware of the lads in brown had him second-guessing everyone matching the description. It made him excessively paranoid, as there were a lot of lads in the Well, and many of them were attired in brown. Previously, Jo had only paid attention to lads to check out their butts. Checking their pockets for knives and other deadly paraphernalia was nowhere near as interesting or enjoyable.

As he took the stairs down to the Verdant Stage, Jo noticed a familiar figure. It was the titanic Stonefolk that he had met in passing at the Pyramid! The immense individual had apparently just finished some business with the Rose, and was stomping towards the Gate of Roses in quite the hurry. As hurried as a Stonefolk could get, anyway. As they passed each other, the mutual nod was once again exchanged, a gesture of respect that only two truly lengthy lads could understand. "Really nice chap," Hardcare thought to himself, before climbing up the next set of stairs.

Upon arriving to the Priory's door, he delivered his signature Tablet Hard Knock upon it, attracting the attention of everyone inside. In fact, the knock was so commanding and so charismatic that even a few of the Banda peeked in Jo's direction from the safety of their Fortress. As they recognized the source of the Tablet Hard Knock, they began nodding sagely, in full understanding that only such a handsomely beautiful detective could command such an enormous knock.

"Ya there, Slight?" Jo murmured, glancing over his shoulder.

"I'm heeeeere Hardacre I'll never leaaaave yoooouuu well maybe when you go to the lavatory or when you sleeeeeep or when you consummate your marriage for the thousandth time!"

"Please shaddap."

"Will dooooooo!"

The priory's door opened. Jo saw nobody... until he lowered his gaze. A tiny little elven shape, garbed in the robes of an Acolyte, had answered the knock. She was barely half as tall as Jo. Some elves were nearly as tall as the tallest hin.

"Yes...?" the Acolyte questioned, making Acolyte-like gestures with her hands.

"Detective Jo Hardacre. Here ta see Sister Tasia," Jo answered, and took out his detective sticker from his pocket. He lowered it down to the tiny Acolyte's level. She was obviously impressed by the tasteful craftmanship of the sticker. Everyone was. The Well loved stickers.

"Ooh... Please come in... Sister Tasia is engaged in a thrilling game of tawla... With herself! I'm not sure who is winning!"

The door crept open quietly, and Jo stepped inside. The Priory's reception was quite the sight. A quaint little enoteca, its walls adorned to the brim with various vintages, both mundane and extraordinary in their contents. Fungal wines, popular during periods of famine and war, where there really wasn't anything else to eat but mushrooms... Bottles of Blue, aged to perfection by a thousand years... In ages past, the wine was called a "Booby Blue", due to each and every bottle having an image of the blue-billed booby emblazoned upon their label.

And then, there was the olive wine... People didn't talk about the olive wine. Its creation was a horrible mistake.

Amidst these fine vintages, in the middle of the room, sat a mysterious Sister, her gaze focused upon a game of tawla. She seemed to have an eternal smile stuck on her lips. The sight had Jo's thoughts drifting towards memories of his youth. Even back then, Tasia was always smiling, no matter the occasion. It would have been inspiring if it were not for her tendency to do so even at funerals, of which the Tablet had an abundance of. When the smile was combined with the piercing gaze of her glassy gray eyes, she had the poise of an all-knowing crone, one that seemed to know each and every sin that you had ever committed. Due to this, her childhood had been completely bully-free, because a kid who looks like an all-knowing crone is really creepy.

Jo walked up to the gaming table, and sat down next to Tasia. As he did so, the Sister's glassy gaze shifted towards him. Jo could swear that her already profuse smile became ever so slightly more pronounced upon seeing him.

"Be greeted, oh beloved Jo. It has been some... YEAH! RIGHT IN YOUR FACE!" The Sister's greeting was interrupted by an abrupt celebration. She had just claimed victory over herself. Most people just lost to themselves, but not Tasia. She was built different. In his youth, Jo had made the mistake of playing various games with Tasia. No matter the competition, the end result would always be the same... Tasia would win, and she would be the worst victor there could ever be, goading about it as if were the most important achievement she had ever accomplished. After regaining her composure, she soon continued welcoming the beautifully handsome detective.

"Ahem. Some years have passed since our last meeting... It brings me great delight to see you. I have also heard tidings of your joyous union to Agatino... Congratulations. Amidst these dying sands, it is good to see love bloom and prosper."

"Yeah. Okay. Oi. Thanks. Why are ye playing against yerself, anyhow?"

"Well, beloved Jo... Does anyone truly know the inner workings of their mind and soul? Nay, say I. So, the most challenging opponent of them all, be it in a game of tawla, Royal Dragon, or in a truly rousing round of hide-and-seek... is yourself."

"Blimey. That's deep. Anyhow... Are ye slinging and dealing the Sl—"

The elven Acolyte ran in, and screeched to a halt in such a manner that the interruption-prone detective was yet again interrupted.

"Sister! Sister! I have bad news! One of the masons from the Tablet mistook your cat for a floor pillow, and flattened him like a manakish! He made kittykish, Sister! One of the street chefs, who is most definitely not a brooker, offered him up as a new form of appetizer! It is horrible, Sister!"

Tasia's hands clenched into fists, her fingers jittering to a maddening degree. Yet she kept smiling.

"This is fine. There will be more cats. Ones that I can love to the same extent as I loved Belote."

Tasia waved off the Acolyte with a fave. A fist wave. The Acolyte ran off, dropping countless sacks of coin in her trail.

"Blimey, that's a bloody shame, Tas... Me condolences. Ta death of a loved cat is always a tragedy. Anyhow, are ye sl—"

The Acolyte soon returned, with a far quicker gait than before, most likely due to the fact that she was missing a couple tons of dinar.

"Sister! Sister! More bad news! The medicine that you gave to one of the orphans was actually the essence of a djinni! Now she's floating and spinning around the ceiling, vomiting and yelling out horrible curses like 'heck', 'gosh' and 'adventuring license'!"

Tasia's fists clamped to such an extent that her nails were digging into her skin. Yet she kept smiling.

"This is fine. We will have to exorcise the foulness from her. Again, this is fine."

The Acolyte shrugged, and ran off, playing a song which, either due to its inspiring nature or its strange bardic magicks, made her as fast as a hare on scorch.

"Feck! Is there any place in ta Well where strange shite ain't happening every minute?! Oh, and sorry about ta orphan, Tas. That's so sad. Anyhow, about ta Sl—"

Yet again, the elven Acolyte returned. Now, she was moving almost as fast as Dulio, finally released from all of her material possessions except for her itchy robes. Which is to say that she was moving at about tenth of the speed of one Dulio, as one Dulio was the fastest measure of speed there was, and ever would be.

"Sister! Sister!"

"Bad news. Yes."

"No! Good news!"

"Oh...? How wondrous! What marvelous tidings do you bring, Acolyte Orianne?"

"I saw a golden ground squirrel! Can I go play with it...?"

Tasia's fist nearly hit her tawla board, yet she managed to stop it right before impact. She was still smiling.

"Yes. Go play with the squirrel. In fact, have the rest off the day off, beloved Orianne. I hope that you and the squirrel form an eternal bond of friendship that shall endure against the many trials that we currently face."

"Hooray!"

And so, Acolyte Orianne hopped and skipped away at supernatural speed, oblivious of the various plots and schemes surrounding her.

"Ye know, Tas... I gotta ask. How in bloody blimeyny blazes do ye manage to smile with alla this bullshite going around ye?"

"Oh... I simply aspire to maintain a positive attitude. If we cannot focus on the good things in life, then what else do we have, in the end?"

"Damn. Don't think I could manage that... I just try ta not give a shite, really, meself."

"Also, it helps that the lower half of my face is completely paralyzed and my lips are utterly stuck this way. It really... really... really... helps, beloved Jo."

"Aight. Okay. That's horrible. I feel kinda shite now, for having ta ask this, but... I'll make it quick. Ta Slurp. Are ye dealing, slinging, wheeling, pushing... ta narcotic... known as ta Slurp?"

"The Slurp? Absolutely not, beloved Jo. Why would you even consider such?"

"She's lying Joooooo," Slight whispered in Jo's ear, in a barely-there sort of way.

"Yer lying."

"Curses! How did you manage to see through my tawlah face... Look! Orianne and the golden ground squirrel are playing hopskotch together! Exactly behind you!"

"They are?! How ado—"

As Jo turned to look behind him, he soon realized that there was no Acolyte, no golden ground squirrel, nor hop or skotch behind him. Just mushroom wine. Endless rows of mushroom wine. And as he returned his gaze to the tawlah board, he could not help but groan, as Tasia had disappeared.

"Why didn't ya warn me, Slight...?"

"Oh I wanted to see the cuuuuuuute squirrel tooooooo I am soooooo disappointed that there was noooooooooo cuuuuuuute squirrel hold on let me gasp for air elongating vowels is so tiring hnnngh oh there we goooooo anyhoooooow there she is at the exit doooooor don't let her get away Jooooooo!"

Jo managed to see a mere glimpse of the Sister's robes before the front door was slammed shut. He rose from the chair, dusted some tawlah residue off his trousers, and took a deep breath.

Then he ran right through the door, leaving behind a handsomely beautiful hole...

This was a massive improvement for both the aesthetic and air flow of the enoteca.

[Fabulous Secret Powers]

CHAPTER VI

Jo ran down and up the stairs that surrounded the Verdant Stage. Detective work involved a lot of stair running. Especially since the most horrid crime of all, community theatre, kept being committed between these two sets of steps. Stair running was the secret to Jo's buns of steel. Along with the hundreds of provocative squats which he did upon a daily basis, a diet which consisted of salad, legumes and muhammara, and the elven tendency to have big butts. Admittedly Jo only had half of that tendency, but it was still enough.

In the distance, he could see a feminine figure in black robes scooting off at a hurried pace. Tasia had always been a scooter, whereas Jo was more of a dasher. This was perfectly suitable for his dashing looks. Chasing after Tasia was still no easy task, as he had to dodge countless drunks, monkeys protesting for a Voice of their own, parrots which prattled about peckers... And a Nadiri whose enormous sack of dinar blocked off half of the passageway to the Plaza, leaving some navigable space only near the very ceiling.

Using the Nadiri's colossal coin pouch as a makeshift springboard, the detective leaped outside to the Plaza. The pounce was fortunate, as he managed to land right next to Tasia. Yet his luck did not last for long, as Tasia, with the skilled hand of an experienced sommelier, threw some purple goop juice right at his face. Sometimes a sommelier simply had to throw wine at an unruly customer. Tasia had done so many times, all with a smile.

Jo did not ingest any of the nasty goop juice, yet the Slurp was so potent that mere contact with lips was enough to induce powerful hallucinations. And so, the statue of the Pilgrim, which stood ever vigilant at the center of the Plaza, soon shifted into the form of his first boyfriend. An elven lad, by the name of Earynspieir, a silver-haired stunner with abs like cast iron: flexible yet sturdy, and highly resistant to heat. Jo could not pronounce his name, nor could anyone else in the Tablet. So, everyone just called him Spear, instead. A suitable nickname, as he had been blessed with quite the spear.

The vision was extremely distracting, and not just because of those grandiose abs. Yet Jo still managed to follow Tasia adequately enough as not to lose track of her. As the predator and the prey passed by Elossi's, the hallucinations increased in number and frequency. Soon, Elossi's transformed, shifting through every permutation of Hardacre's childhood home... Each and every time eaten by groknaks of varying sizes. A complex mix of emotions flowed through Jo like a meandering river. A river filled with both joys and regrets. Which was most rivers, since you'd find either cute animals or someone else's disgusting trash in them. As harrowing as the experience was, Jo was still able to keep running...

Until Tasia threw more of that horrid Slurp right in his gorgeous face. The increased dosage made the visions far worse. Now, Jo was going through the most embarassing moments of his life... The time when he tried flirting with his best friend's dad... When he supposedly had a turn to religion, which lasted all of two days... That time when he attempted to lie that he did not like big butts, despite his inherent incapability to do so convincingly... And curiously enough, that day last week, when he decided to don his current asymmetrical style.

Jo found himself leaning against the wall of the Speaker's Mound, tears streaming down his face, ruining his elaborate makeup. In his mind, he was somewhere else, however... The front door of a beautiful boy, who had asked him to come over one fateful night. The door that he had knocked upon, in the usual Tablet style... The door which he had ran away from, before the knock could be answered, out of sheer self-doubt. How could someone so well-off be interested in a Tablet boy like him? It would never work, it couldn't work, he was utterly worthless...

The hallucinatory nightmare was soon interrupted by a loud smack, as a steel glove slapped Jo right across the cheek.

"Check yourself, boy! Damn! Get back into the fight! Catch that hussy! Ain't got a clue why you're chasing her, but it must be for good reasons! Never give up!"

The voice and slap originated from a robust Agasian, clad in heavy plate armour. Jo's strange behavior had interrupted his daily sermon, the gist of which could be summarized as "war is good, actually". Usually such slaps would initiate a savage slap fight, the manliest form of fighting. Except for oil wrestling, arm wrestling, tickle wrestling... Any form of wrestling, really. Slap fights did make the top ten list, at least, and they absolutely were most manly in nature. However, as the man's intentions were good, and the slap had interrupted a most painful hallucination, Jo forgave him.

"Thanks, chap. I bloody needed that. Didja see where she went...?"

"She went thataway," the Agasian claimed, and pointed towards a decrepit building near the Glaziers. The former home of Scribe Dule, who had been fed to the lions for the foul crime of sticker forgery. To achieve such an atrocity, the depraved Scribe had engaged in brooking, and his home was said to be cursed, and possibly haunted. As Jo did not believe in ghosts, he simply gave the Agasian a manly elbow bump to say goodbye, and began walking towards the supposedly apparational abode. Apparational in the sense that there might have been apparations, which Jo definitely did not believe in, not in the sense that the building itself was a ghost. That would be just silly.

As Jo arrived to the entrance of the estate and gazed upon the broken glass of its windows, he shook his head furiously. The dilapitated state of the building was evident enough, yet he was certain that no spider, no matter how flamboyant, could ever spin webbing that exhibited the full spectrum of a rainbow... alongside colors that he had never seen before. As powerful as the manly slap had been, it seemed like it hadn't been enough to cease the entirety of the Slurp's effects. With a shrug, he stepped inside. A simple task, as someone had recently loosened the boards from the front door.

Inside, he was faced with a horrible sight. Dust covered each and every surface... Corpses of rats and rat boys, piled so high that they reached the very ceiling... Shattered glass decorated the moldy floorboards, produced by the juvenile hobby of bottle throwing. As lazy as Jo could get with his cleaning, he could never allow his home to decline to such a state. Not that he could in his current life, as Agatino would do his best to embarass him for sloppy tidying, calling him a "dirty boy" in public as an act of retaliation. As such monikers were best left for the bedroom, the strategy worked very well, and Jo hadn't forgotten to clean after himself in months.

The rampant dust was a blessing in disguise, as it made tracking Tasia far easier. Her passing had left behind an obvious trail, each footstep an informative clue towards her whereabouts. They led upstairs, every step of the stairs marked with a slipper-shaped absence of dust. "More stairs, great," Jo thought to himself. The thought was not sarcastic. Jo loved stairs. Free gluteal exercise. As an added bonus, the middle of the staircase had collapsed, offering the opportunity to leap across.

His stairful exercise soon saw him reaching the second floor. The change in elevation was not an improvement as far as the condition of the abode was considered. Yet there was a sudden shift of mood, and Jo could swear that there was a noise of some sort... An eerie sound. Could he be wrong about ghosts? No, it was the ghosts who were wrong. About their own existence. Which they would have believed in, if they had existed. Jo began following the sound, using his superior detective senses. As he crept nearer, it became obvious that it was some sort of groan... A cry of pain? A death rattle? Was Tasia torturing someone? Jo had to act quickly! So, he haphazardly chose a door that might've been the source of the sounds, and kicked it open...

It turned out to be the correct choice... Or perhaps it wasn't, after all, as Jo soon wished that he hadn't went inside. He had to bring his arm up to his lips to stop himself from vomiting.

Mounted against the room's defaced wallpaper hung the maimed form of Sister Tasia. She had been impaled by a giant harpoon, which had pierced through her stomach at a deadly velocity. The murderous implement had seemingly flown in from one of the room's windows, judging by the clutter of splintered boards laid in front of it. Blood still gushed outwards from Tasia's abdomen, her entrails splayed across the floor like an inept butcher's display. Her crimson gloves reposed against the metal, as if she had made a futile attempt to push the bolt away from herself. She was still smiling.

Jo could not stand the horrifying sight. He turned away, and began digging through his pockets in a hurried fashion. His fingers were shaking. He could barely hold onto the package of beedies, and almost dropped them. Somehow, he managed to light one. He was in shock, his breathing an uncontrolled hyperventilation. A familiar voice echoed from behind Jo, startling him.

"All right Jo breathe calmly I just need you to breathe calmly focus on me oh focus on my voice just focus on it alone."

"What ta feck...? How didja get here, Slight...? How are ye so calm...? This is... it's bloody awful what it is..."

As the smoke from the beedi entered his lungs, Jo began coughing furiously. He retched, just barely managing to keep the contents of his own stomach inside.

"I'm always with you Jo except when I'm not look you really need to breathe I know this is horrible but you need to compose yourself also you shouldn't be smoking it's not helping your breathing at all now build a tiny pyramid around your nose and lips and inhale and exhale deeply."

Normally, such a request would have been answered with a flurry of insults and swearing. Yet Jo hated these beedies. He never knew that he could actually hate pipeweed in some fashion, but these horrid things had managed to have him doing so. So, he dropped the accursed blunt down to the floor and put it out with the steel tip of his boot. Then, he proceeded to build a tiny pyramid around his face with his hands. Inhale. Exhale. His hyperventilation soon ceased.

"For feck's sake, Slight... Me childhood friend just got hunted down like a fecking whale... A pusher, now, sure, but... still..."

"I know and if you want to actually help catch her killer we're going to need clues and I can get those for you we'll go to the Astronomer labs and look through them with professional equipment all right?"

"Okay. Fine. All right. Sure. Whatever."

Jo handed his detective bag to Slight, and stepped outside. With psionic urgency, Slight began filling the bag with plenty of clues and evidence. The combination of the two was known as cluevidence in detective circles. Which was a small community, admittedly, due to situations like this. For the remainder of their time here, Jo proceeded to stare at the decrepit walls in an unfocused manner, not saying a single word. For some sights, silence was the only proper response.

[Fabulous Secret Powers]

CHAPTER VII

The crime solving duo moved through the back alleys of the Plaza, searching for the secluded laboratories. These back alleys certainly had an abundance of stairs. Jo loved it. What he didn't love, on the other hand, was the fact that these alleys essentially formed a narrow maze, where you could get shanked at any moment. It wasn't the muggers that would shank you, however, as the thieves of the Well only engaged in robberies inside high-security fortresses, instead of unguarded dark alleys. The thieves of the Well were excessively stupid. This had allowed violent psychoshankers to corner the alley shanking market, which was admittedly inevitable considering their profession of choice.

Finally, they were able to locate the laboratories. As they made their way inside, Jo could not help but wonder if they had merely wandered around in a circle and returned to where they started, as the indoors of this place were just as squalid as Dule's manse. The rusted metallic walls were covered in cobwebs and disgusting splotches of who-knows-what, also known as whoknowswhatium. What was worse, however, was the smell. Far, far worse.

"Oi! What ta feck is that stench!?"

"Oh that's just the quaint aroma of this place the Nadiri just kind of experiment with stuff they don't understand at aaaaaaaaaaall and then leave without cleaning this has been going on for yeaaaaaaaaaaars so it's really quite smelly you get used to it though!"

"Ye didn't get used ta it, Slight... Ya just don't have a nose anymore."

"That's like soooooooooo tulpaist Jooooooooo I absolutely can smell thanks to my psionic olfaction I expect better of yoooooouuuu!"

The tension was so thick that you could it cut with a knife. You could've done that to the air as well, because some Nadiri had accidentally invented butter gas. As it could not be spread on bread, or thrown in a pan to fry some tasty okra, it was mostly an useless concoction. Even its sole positive trait, the aroma, was completely meaningless when surrounded by the smelly mistakes of other Nadiri. Jo did the androgynously manliest thing an androgynously manly man could do to alleviate such a tense situation... He apologized.

"Okay. Fine. Whatever. I'll try ta be more respectful of yer... psionic... state of being... I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted Joooooooo let's get inside the alchemy lab hm hmm hmmm I don't remember which ooooooone it iiiiiiiiiiis!"

Slight's forgetfulness was understandable, as the installation housed more than a hundred rooms, some of which weren't even actual laboratories, really. One such irregularity, which Jo found particularly interesting, was the Zenithar Bhuta School for Industrious Chicken, where the chicken of tomorrow could attain education all for the cost of a modest tuition. In actuality it was all a front, a two-part scheme to pump sweet government funding from naive chumps like Legate Delwyn, and to gather all the chickens of the Well in one place so that they could be turned into familiars.

Jo's curiosity towards the ZBSIC proved useful, as the alchemy lab happened to be right next door to it. So, the duo stepped inside. They started unpacking the contents of Jo's detective bag, laying out each and every clue on the floor. It was a limited assortment, consisting simply of the giant harpoon that had led to Tasia's demise, along with the copious bottles of Slurp that were found inside her sisterly pockets.

Using her astounding psionic powers, Slight began opening the bottles, and dumped their contents inside the various cylinders, flasks and vials that laid atop a dirty alchemist's table. Jo, on the other hand, began studying the harpoon. It was not easy, as the image of Tasia's mutilated form was still fresh in his mind. Yet he was able to block it, due to the fact that most of his days were spent denying his dark past. Which wasn't dark due to any particularly immoral actions, but rather because he couldn't afford to properly light his childhood homes. Lantern oil was very expensive.

"Well... This ain't a harpoon. It's a bolt. A bolt from an APB."

"What is that Joooooooo?"

"Alkabi Personal Ballista, it's a—"

"Alkaaaaaabi Jooooo please don't tell me this is sooooome prejudice of yooooooours again?"

"What ta feck are ye talking about? Alkabi Personal Ballista. Is a real thing. They make them down Alkab way. Basically an arbalest but bigger. Way bigger. Ain't many lads or lasses who can use it, since it's ta size of an average groknak (baby). Need a big fella ta even cock it."

"Sooooo the killer was a laaaaarge laaaaaaaaaaad or laaaaaaaaady?"

"Yeah. Much larger than ta average large lad or lass, too, considering ta average groknak (baby) is much bigger than ta average large lad or lass."

Loud fizzing emerged from the equipment, as some colorful foam spilled upon the table's soiled wood. Within the various glasswares, an impromptu light show was developing, as the liquids within shifted through every hue and tint imaginable, including those new ones that the Slurp had introduced Jo to. Jo shook his head, and rubbed his eyes. It didn't make the neocolors go away, but it did wake him up just a little. A curious cooing, carrying the tone of Slight's voice, could be heard from above the freshly pigmented table.

"I've finished analyzing the Sluuuuuuuurp seems like it consists of 35% port wine 35% Baz'eel Blue 10% cactus sluuuuuuuurp 10% glimmer pearls 3% dirt the drug that is 3% slice spice 3% scoooooooooorch and 10% soooooomething eeeeeeeeelse!"

"Wait, wait, wait. Something ain't right with that... Why ta feck does it got glimmer pearls in it?"

"Well Joooooooooo some people believe that glimmer pearls are a natural aphrodisiac and they alsoooooo believe that the best way to obtain said hornifying effects is to cheeeeeeeew them which is why dentists get a loooooooooooot of horny people with broken teeth as patients!"

"Aight... Makes sense. Ain't absolutely nothing else wrong with that, uh... composition. Perfectly normal. Fer dangerous narcotics, anyhow."

Jo noticed that there was a particularly cute spider nestled in one of the coves of the room, one of those fluffy spiders with captivatingly big eyes. He was terribly distracted by the absolutely adorable sight. So, he proceeded to stare at it for five minutes. It was a pleasant moment, free from all the burdens that had been straining him lately. Then he realized something important, even if said importance was related to maths, which were usually really unimportant.

"Wait, wait... Don't that add up to 109%? How ta blazes is that possible? I dunno maths, since maths ain't sexy."

"The something eeeeeeeelse seems to be breaking the very faaaaaaaaaabric of reality which is why it doesn't follow the rules of maaaaaaath which are kind of made up anywaaaaay anyhoooow it's really spoooooooooky Jooooooo this means that the more Sluuuuuuurp is produced the moooooore reality breaks dooooooown!"

"That ain't good. It ain't good, right? I don't really get how any of this works. I just kinda walk ta places and talk ta folks and shite happens and then ta case is solved. Thanks ta me superior detective senses, which are reflexive."

"It ain't goooooooooood Jooooooo we must stoooooop the Sluuuuuurp!"

Jo sighed, and began digging through his pockets for a hit of pipeweed. He really should've stopped smoking. These beedies, that is, not smoking in general, since smoking was an important part of his healthy lifestyle. People who didn't smoke were not only unhealthy, but utterly boring as well. Jo lit the colorfully wrapped beedi, and inhaled deeply. Yet again his lungs were under assault, as the scorching smoke struck at his lungs with a violent volley. Jo erupted into a crescendo of coughs, each one harsher than the last.

"Jooooooo as nasty beedies can beeeeeeee they shouldn't be making you coooooooooough sooooo much let me run a test on them tooooooooooo!"

Jo handed the lit beedi to Slight. In the direction of her voice, anyway. She grasped the blunt telekinetically and dropped it inside one of the vials. The vial began bubbling and brewing, the liquids within going through a spectrum of colors... before settling on the rainbow medley that the previous vials had also concluded on.

"Oooooh myyyyyy gaaaaaaawd who is Izdu by the way Jooooooo these beedies are wrapped in dehydrated Sluuuuuuuurp you've been smoking the Sluuuuuuurp all this time!"

"What."

"Yeaaaaaah have you been seeing weird things?"

"Well... I saw a Nadiri transform into some... minotaur... scorpion... parrot... mishmash... Which I knew, even though he just looked like a parrot, really...?"

"Nadiri Jyā does thaaaaaat it isn't unusuaaaaal!"

"I saw Legate Gruffudd inject scorch right inta his eyeball! T'was bloody disgusting!"

"Yeaaaaaah he does thaaaaaat he believes it opens his miiiiiiiiiiiiind's eye which is ridiculous since that doesn't have anything to do with actual eyes."

"Well, uh... Other than that... I guess I saw Duilio get resurrected, about... a dozen times...? But that's normal fer him, since—"

"Oh come oooooooon Jooooooooo do you seriously think that Duilio can get resurrected just because he's the Chosen of Warad if he could actually doooooo that people would beeeeeeeeeee worshipping him as the Pilgrim that was a hallucinatiooooooooon!"

"Huh. Shite. Guess that didn't happen then. Weird. Also, I saw him take off to ta skies and fly... Which obviously didn't happen, either, come ta think of it."

"Don't beeeee silly Jooooo all Waradim can flyyyy of course he did that anyhoooooooow where did you geeeeeeeeeeet these beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeedies from and when?"

"Oh, I bought 'em last week... From this old fogey at ta Souk... They were real cheap. Liked 'em at first, since they seemed ta get me real inspired... Which is why I went with this avant-garde look!"

"Joooooooooo your horrible fashion choices were brought upoooooooooon by the Sluuuuuuurp!"

"What horrible fashion choices?! Yer looking at bloody brilliance, here!" yelled Jo, tapping two fingers against his gaudy jacket. The cheap dye peeled off, coloring his digits thoroughly pink. He coughed nervously.

"Joooooo you looooooook like the outcome of a tryst between a flamingo and a parrot a nasty tryst tooooooo the kind where it's between two birds who kind of hate each other but there's this underlying tension that leads tooooooo forbidden luuuuuuust which is unleashed in the form of fuuuuuuurious rutting which is to say that you look fucking ridiculous."

"That bad? Huh. Well, twentieth person's ta charm. Yer ta twentieth person ta tell me that. Ta thing about birds. In that exact way."

"Gooooood tell you what Jooooo you gooooooo home and change into your regular tasteful haberdashery and then  think about the case extra haaaaaaaaaard while I run further teeeeeeests your horrible fashion crimes are distracting meeeeeeeeee oh and say hi to Agatino for meeeeeee!"

"Sure. Whatever. Uh... Have a good one, I guess...? Cheers."

Jo gave Slight some space, and left the smelly laboratory. He began moving through the seemingly endless halls. As he walked, he dug out his tasteful pocket watch, and stared at it ponderously. Tonight would be a hectic night, one with a myriad of responsibilities, all of which had to be accomplished in an utmost professional manner. He had to solve the identity of the killer... He had to locate them... He had to stop any further manifacture of the Slurp... And he had to make love to his beautiful husband. Could he manage to do it all on such short notice?

Probably.

[Fabulous Secret Powers]

CHAPTER VIII

The following chapter has been written by I. Impetuous.

JO OF HARDACRE RETURNED TO THE FIGURATIVE LOVE NEST OF HIM AND HIS HELPMATE. THEY REFERRED TO IT THUSLY AS A "NEST" BECAUSE PERSONAGES MADE VAGUE ALLUSIONS TO BIRDS WHEN SPEAKING OF LOVE. HE KNOCKED ON THE FRONT DOOR EXACTLY THREE TIMES TO INFORM HIS HELPMATE OF HIS ARRIVAL. THE VOLUMINOUS MANSE MEASURED EXACTLY 7,2 METERS TALL, YET INSIDE THE FLOORS WERE BOTHERSOMELY UNEVEN, WITH THE FIRST FLOOR MEASURING AT 3,65 METERS AND THE SECOND FLOOR MEASURING AT 3,13 METERS. THIS WAS DUE TO INEXACT CALCULATIONS MADE BY THE MENTALLY CHALLENGED ARCHITECT. AS THE DENIZENS WERE PERSONAGES, THEY DID NOT EVEN MAKE RECORD OF THIS VEXING MISTAKE.

UPON MOVING HIS PHYSICAL FORM INSIDE, JO OF HARDACRE EMBRACED AGATINO OF HARDACRE IN A LOVING HANDSHAKE. THE EXCESSIVE SHOW OF EMOTION HAD BOTH OF THEM FORGET ABOUT THE FUTILITY THAT WAS MORTAL EXISTENCE.

"HELPMATE OF MINE... REGISTERING YOUR VISAGE BRINGS JOYOUS EMOTIONS TO MY THOUGHTSTREAM," STATED AGATINO OF HARDACRE.

"FELLOW MATEHELPER. BLOODY BLIMMY. RELAYED GREETINGS FROM SLIGHT THE THOUGHT-FORM, WHOSE STATE OF BEING IS SUPERIOR TO OURS DESPITE HER FOOLISH NOTIONS OF CLINGING TO PERSONAGEHOOD. NOW LET US THE NASTY DO, BY ENGAGING IN THE MAKING OF LOVE," STATED JO OF HARDACRE.

THE TWO PERSONAGES ENTERED THEIR GARISHLY "COLORED" RESTING SPACE. THEY DID NOT REALIZE THAT THE PHENOMENA THAT THEY MISTAKENLY IDENTIFIED AS "COLOR" WERE MERELY AN ILLUSION BROUGHT UPON BY THEIR LIMITED MENTAL FACULTIES, AND THAT ACTUAL COLOR WAS FAR MORE MULTIFACETED TO BE PROPERLY UNDERSTOOD BY ONE INHERENTLY FAULTY SENSE. IN ACTUALITY, IT REQUIRED SEVEN PERFECTLY CALIBRATED SENSES.

"LET US REMOVE OUR EXOSKELETONS OF FABRIC... FOR WHAT IS TO OCCUR IS CERTAIN TO BRING SO MUCH THERMAL ENERGY TO OUR INSUFFICIENT FORMS THAT THE LEAKAGE OF BODILY FLUIDS SHALL BE OCCURRING," STATED AGATINO OF HARDACRE.

"YES. LET US DO THAT. BLIMMY," STATED JO OF HARDACRE.

THE TWO PERSONAGES THEN BEGAN REMOVING THE VARIOUS WOVEN ARTICLES FROM THEIR ASYMMETRICAL SHAPES, UNTIL THE BARE MINIMUM, CONSISTING OF WOOLEN SWEATERS AND WOOLEN TROUSERS, REMAINED.

"SUCH A LACK OF COVERAGE IS TRULY SO IMMODEST AS TO BE TITILLATING TO THE PERSONLY SENSES," STATED AGATINO OF HARDACRE.

"SANGUINARY TRUTHS, BELOVED MATEHELPER. LET US BEGIN THE RITUAL OF LOVE," STATED JO OF HARDACRE.

AFTER ENGAGING IN ANOTHER SCANDALOUS HANDSHAKE, THE TWO BEGAN MAKING LOVE. THE ULTIMATE ACT OF LOVE WAS THE SHARING OF RECORDED KNOWLEDGE, SO THE PERSONAGES, OF WHICH THERE WAS EXACTLY TWO, BEGAN READING TO EACH OTHER FROM THE READING MATERIALS THAT THEY HAD ABSORBED IN PREVIOUS BLOCKS OF TIME.

"THE VICUNA IS THE SMALLEST OF CAMELIDS... IT IS RENOWNED FOR ITS WOOL, WHICH IS OF THE FINEST QUALITY, PLEASING TO THE EPIDERMIS OF ANY AND ALL PERSONAGES WHOM DO NOT BEAR THE FLAW OF ALLERGIES," STATED AGATINO OF HARDACRE.

"THIS IS VERY INFORMATIVE, MATEHELPER. MY LIMITED SET OF FIVE SENSES IS ENGAGED IN TITILLATION DUE TO THE SHARING OF RECORDED KNOWLEDGE. IN PREVIOUS ABSORPTION, I BECAME ONE WITH THE KNOWLEDGE OF THE FRANGIPANI. ALSO KNOWN AS PLUMERIA, THIS FLOWER BLOOMS UPON THE GESTALT OF TREES AND DECIDUOUS SHRUBS LOCATED IN PHYSICAL REALMS THAT INSTANTIATE THE TROPICAL CLIMATE," STATED JO OF HARDACRE.

THE TWO MATEHELPERS ENGAGED IN THIS EXCHANGE OF KNOWLEDGE FOR A HEATED FOUR HOURS. THIS WAS AS EXACT AS THEY COULD MANAGE, AS THE PERSONLY ACCOUNTING OF TIME WAS SO DEEPLY FLAWED AND LACKED UNDERSTANDING OF A DEEPER REALITY THAT PERMEATED THE VERY FIBRE OF THEIR INCOMPLETE BEING. DISGUSTING BODILY FLUIDS, WHICH THEY WERE INCAPABLE OF NOT SECRETING, NOW COVERED THEIR SCANDALOUS APPAREL. PERSONAGES CALLED THESE FLUIDS "SWEAT", AND THEY WERE OF FAR LESSER QUALITY THAN INK, AS THEY WERE INCAPABLE OF RECORDING KNOWLEDGE.

"I AM SO FATIGUED... HELPMATE, LET US NOW ENGAGE IN THE TRADITIONAL CEREMONY HELD AFTER THE MAKING OF LOVE... LET US STICK OUR PHYSICAL BACKS TO EACH OTHER AT A MODEST DISTANCE AND DIGEST SMOKE STICKS," STATED AGATINO OF HARDACRE.

"LET US DO SO," STATED JO OF HARDACRE.

THE TWO HELPMATES ENGAGED IN THE AFTERLOVE RITUAL. THE SMOKE FROM THE STICKS KNOWN AS "CIGARILLOS" AND "BEEDIES" PERMEATED THEIR VENTILATION ORGANS AND THE ATMOSPHERE CIRCLING AROUND THEIR RESTING SPACE. AFTER EXACTLY FIFTEEN MINUTES, THEY BEGAN THEIR RESTING RITUAL, WHICH CONSISTED OF REVERIE AND HALF-REVERIE, FOR THE ELVEN AND HALF-ELVEN PERSONAGE, RESPECTIVELY. THEY EMITTED STRANGE SOUNDS FROM THEIR FACIAL MUSCLES, AS PERSONAGES WERE INCAPABLE OF CONTROLLING SUCH INVOLUNTARY NOISES DUE TO THE FLAWED NATURE OF THEIR BEING.

THE RESTING RITUAL WAS INTERRUPTED BY AN ACTUALLY CONTROLLED SOUND, AS A SIZEABLE WEAPONIZED BOLT, ORIGINATING FROM AN ALKABI PERSONAL BALLISTA, WAS EMBEDDED AGAINST THE WALL OF THEIR RESTING ROOM. THE INTERRUPTION WAS ALSO DUE TO THEIR FLAWED NATURE, AS PERSONAGES WERE UNABLE TO CHOOSE WHICH SOUNDS THEY ABSORBED INTO THEIR BEING.

"WHAT WAS THAT, BELOVED HELPMATE?" STATED AGATINO OF HARDACRE.

"IT WAS AN IMPENDANCE ON OUR PHYSICAL BEING, DEAREST MATEHELPER. REGISTER TO YOUR FLAWED SENSES THE WRITTEN MATERIAL PLACED UPON THIS SHARPENED ROD OF METAL," STATED JO OF HARDACRE.

  CEASE YOUR INQUIRY INTO MATTERS WHICH YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND.

UPON REGISTERING THE CONTENTS OF THE WRITTEN MATERIAL, EMOTIONS OF WORRY ENTERED THE THOUGHTSTREAM OF AGATINO OF HARDACRE.

"HELPMATE... ARE YOU GOING TO BE CONTINUING YOUR INQUIRY INTO MATTERS WHICH YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND?" STATED AGATINO OF HARDACRE.

"YES. ALL KNOWLEDGE MUST BE RECORDED. THEREFORE, I SHALL PURSUE THE ORIGIN OF THIS BOLT, BY ENGAGING IN MATHEMATICAL CALCULATIONS. BY DOING THIS, I SHALL BE INFORMED OF ITS TRAJECTORY," STATED JO OF HARDACRE.

"THAT IS WISE, BELOVED HELPMATE... ENGAGE IN WARINESS... AS PERSONAGES, OUR BEING IS FRAGILE AND EASILY HARMED BY MERE PHYSICAL OBSTRUCTIONS," STATED AGATINO OF HARDACRE.

"YES. THIS IS TRUE. WE ARE SO FLAWED. NOW, LET ME ENGAGE IN THE MATHEMATICAL CALCULATIONS," STATED JO OF HARDACRE.

JO OF HARDACRE THEN BEGAN HIS ENGAGEMENT WITH MATHEMATICAL CALCULATIONS. IN EXACTLY TWO MINUTES, DESPITE HIS LIMITED UNDERSTANDING, HE HAD PROPERLY RECORDED THE TRAJECTORY OF THE WEAPONIZED BOLT.

BEFORE HE EXITED THE VOLUMINOUS MANSE, HE RETURNED INSIDE HIS EXOSKELETON, BECAUSE MOVING AROUND IN SUCH TRANSLUCENT COVERINGS IN THE EXTERNAL SPACE WOULD HAVE BEEN FAR TOO IMMODEST. THEN HE WAS ENGAGED IN THE TRACKING OF THE PERSONAGE WHICH HAD THREATENED HIM AND HIS HELPMATE.

[Fabulous Secret Powers]

CHAPTER IX

Outside, beyond the safety of their tastefully decorated home, Jo directed his sharp gaze to the east. He knew that the shot had originated from the direction of the Soot Lamp. He had no idea how he knew, because the source wasn't his usual detective senses. Such a powerful poison the Slurp was, that it was able delude someone as beautiful as Jo to engage in mathematics successfully! 

He began dashing towards the coffee shop, passing by Neenee's mizzar den, which was surrounded by heavy clouds of smoke. Judging by the wild racket that boomed from within, she was having yet another party. Jo could only be thankful that she wasn't his neighbor, as these parties were a daily affair. He shook his head, and continued towards Manny's coffee shop, engaging in more stairful exercise.

Atop the battlements, Jo was met with disappointment. Nary a soul in sight, and the sounds from within the coffee shop seemed to be only the usual bean guzzling, without a hint of distress. Yet as Jo thought about it more, the Soot Lamp simply wasn't high enough to provide a proper vantage point for the murderous arbalist that had threatened him and his beautiful beau. However, a nearby Shade maintenance tower, which the Astronomers often forgot about since they drank baublium juice instead of coffee, was simply perfect.

Jo began climbing the tower. It was obvious that someone had been here recently... Especially because a giant foot had crushed some of the steps in its passing. The killer did not seem to have proper respect for stairs, which Jo did not approve of. Reaching the very top, he inhaled deeply, before he kicked the door open. What he saw next shook him to his very core.

Surrounded by an Alkabi Personal Ballista, and a giant sack which seemed to be filled to the brim with bottles, sat the substantial Stonefolk that Jo had met in passing so many times before. The large lad nodded at Jo quietly, an act which Jo did not return. Instead, he sneered. He had often heard of honor among tall fellers, yet here, it was nowhere to be found. This man did not deserve the customary nod. He deserved a swift punch directly to his sizeable schnoz. The Stonefolk stared at Jo with his coal-like eyes, which seemed to hint of disappointment. Soon, his booming voice echoed outwards from his chapped lips. 

"Hardacre. Your song arrived before you did."

"All right, ye bloody bastard... Before I beat ye ta bloody gravel, I want some answers. Who ta feck are ye?"

"Many names. Move from one, to next. One name lives short, like storm of ash. They sing no song, tell no tale. Form no narrative. Unconnected, beyond form of I. Unsatisfying, to one such as you."

"Oh, for feck's sake... Okay. Fine. Whatever. Whydja kill Tasia? Why are ye peddling ta Slurp?"

"They of Table come. Tell I to labor in Well of Ephia. So, calloused hands tend to shared goal. I is just one of many. Biggest one, maybe, but still of many."

The Stonefolk smiled softly at his own comment. Jo was not impressed.

"Don't bullshit me, ain't nobody in ta Tablet plotting nothing through drugs."

"Not Tablet. Table."

"What fecking Table?!"

The colossal Stonefolk shrugged. It was the most powerful shrug Jo had ever witnessed.

"Could ye just stop with ta bloody vagueries?! Tasia. Whydja kill her? At least answer that. Fecking stalagmite prick."

"She is good laborer. Labor for Tablet. Labor for Well. Labor for orphan, for one with nothing. Yet her song grows too loud. Those who listen, such as you, learn much. Too much. Tragic."

"Tragic?! Ye skewered her like a fecking whale!"

"Have orders. Labor as told."

"How bloody diligent. Easy ta slaughter folk when ya get paid enough, I suppose..."

"Labor deserves repayment. I gives back to community. Each and every dinari. Feed them. Clothe them. Offer shelter."

"Sure, ta people ye pushed that shite on sure appreciate ye paying back after their loved ones got a little too hooked on it... Ye ain't nothing but a drug peddling murderer, no matter what veneer of honor ye try ta cover yerself in. Let's get this over with, already."

Opting for the element of surprise, Jo dug out his pocket crossbow, and made an abrupt shot towards the Stonefolk's schnoz. The bolt bounced right off, seemingly having no effect on the large lad's kisser. Jo shrugged, and shoved the crossbow back inside his pocket. The Stonefolk lifted himself up quietly, and began walking towards Jo at a lethargic pace. The handsomely beautiful detective only did things slowly if he was being particularly petty and if doing so would inconvenience somebody he didn't like. So, he did a quick jump in the air and thrusted a kick towards the colossal chap's abdomen.

No effect. It was like kicking the face of a mountain. Pain coursed through Jo's foot, which he had to simply ignore. The bulky bloke tossed his fist towards Jo's sensuous form. It was the slowest punch ever punched, which Jo was able to dodge effortlessly. He could do so with the rest of the monolithic man's blows, as well. This gave Jo plenty of time to strategize. Could the good old kick to the crotch help him here...? It was a sizeable target, sure, but it really would have been like kicking a particularly lumpy stalagmite. So, absolutely pointless. What about his chin...? Some guys had weak chins. Not the externally weak kind of chin that some men hid behind disgusting beards, either, but rather the type that had an internally weak constitution...

Jo felt a powerful grip around his taut musculature. He had overthought, allowing the jumbo joe to grab him between his massive hands, which were like bear claws. The colossal chap's grasp wrenched him tightly, causing great agony to surge through Jo's sensual form. Jo's sides were under so much pressure that his bones would soon crack, despite his daily intake of camel milk, which was extremely important for healthy bones.

Suddenly, some of the pressure was released... However, it was merely a temporary gain, as the staggering sir was lifting one of his hands up, seemingly ready to strangle Jo. Yet the gigantic gent noticed something curious... some pink dye had been smeared all over his hand. This bothered him so much that he simply had to clean it with a linen. So, he proceeded to do so, extremely slowly. This gave Jo some precious time to think. What could he do? He began digging through his pockets... But it appeared to be too late, as the substantial slab of a man had finished, and was now moving his freshly cleaned hand towards Jo's throat.

"Farewell I give to you, Har—"

"Farewell ta ye as well, ye slab o' shite!"

Jo had lit two of those disgusting beedies. He shoved both of them right in the large lad's eyes. The slab of shite wailed out of pain, releasing his grip to hold his huge hands against his seared vision. Dropping onto the ground, Jo did a quick spinning kick, sweeping under the colossal chap's legs... The maneuver proved successful, as the immense idiot had moved far too close to the edge of the tower. He plummeted downwards, his sizeable form plunging through the air at such a force that a loud boom could be heard.

And then, he fell head first into a trash barrel. Jo was in luck, as said barrel was meant for extra large trash. Judging by the twitching movements that the large lunkhead was exhibiting, the ground and his skull had gotten acquainted with each other with such a powerful impact that he was dying.

So, Jo did the honorable thing.

He lit the entire package of beedies, and threw it off the tower. It fell straight into the extra large barrel of trash, which was immediately set ablaze. Soon, its contents of excess banana bread, completely useless eel oil and an almost dead Stonefolk were frying, emitting a disgusting stench that caused Jo to gag. He saw this as an opportunity to get rid of further garbage, so he undressed his gaudy jacket and threw it to the flames, as well. Finally, the crime against fashion had been suitably eliminated. When it came to the Well, it was simply one faux pas among countless others, but you had to start from somewhere.

Jo didn't spend much time looking at the bonfire of trash, as he wasn't a complete sociopath. Instead, he turned around, and walked over to the APB and sack of bottles. And so, with a strained heave, he tossed the bag atop his shoulder, and began walking towards the Pyramid with a painful gait. Not an easy task, as his sides were in absolute agony. At least he looked absolutely fantastic, as the arduous clash had given his enticing muscles a most alluring coat of sweat. Some blood, too, but you shouldn't get too picky when it comes to mesmerizingly hot bods.

This was easily one of the more difficult treks to the Pyramid that he had ever taken, yet somehow, even amidst all the pain, he managed to reach his destination. As he climbed the Pyramid's stairs, he began wondering just how the giant sack could possibly fit inside the elevator. He certainly wouldn't be climbing along the walls to reach the balconies in order to deliver this narcogarbage... Yet all such doubts ceased once he made his way inside, where he saw a rather dismal sight.

Right in front of the elevator laid the ragged figure of Legate Gruffudd. He was completely zonked out, snoring so loudly that it was as if a herd of groknaks was rampaging through the premises. He was surrounded by bottles of cheap swill and his usual daily dosage of a few dozen needles of scorch... And, to Jo's surprise, a few containers of snus. A suitably disgusting substance, to be certain, but still rather boring by Gruffudd's standards.

Judging from the slice spice fingerprints upon the Legate's statue, he had attempted to wrestle his stony counterpart, most likely in a state of drug-addled frenzy. Seated high atop the statue's head, Senior Scribe Pam Padam was engaged in furious note-taking. She waved down at Jo with a smile, both of which were returned. Jo then nudged the spaced out Legate's head with the steel tip of his boot, waking him up. Gruffudd stared at Jo in wanton confusion.

"Mmhm... Oh, Hardacre. Bet plenty of people tell you this, but you look absolutely divine without a shirt on. How about we inject some scorch, and then inject a little something else...?"

"I'm happily married, Gruff. Also, ye ain't me type. Not in ta least. I'd rather date a fat guy than ye, even if he didn't have a great sense o' humor ta make up fer his most glaring flaw. Which is being a fat feck."

Pam Padam giggled from atop her nest of rockbound hair. Gruffudd coughed nervously, and continued with a meek tone.

"Ouch. Point taken. And married, Jo...? The Disc's dying. What's the point in marrying if we're all going to die in a few years...? I couldn't even imagine doing so myself. And why are you here, anyway...?"

Jo clenched his fists, and snarled back at the broken addict.

"Ya... ya are married, ye utterly... stoned-out-of-yer-mind dingus! And ya hired me on a case! Regarding which I got bad news, and good news... Bad news is that yer supplier's dead. Good news is that I gotcha ta whole bloody supply, instead. Got at least a year, here. Be sure ta drink all of it..."

Jo dropped the giant sack of Slurp right on Gruffudd's stomach. The Legate wheezed as the weight struck his abdomen, and coughed up some dirt, which landed right next to him. Jo grimaced out of disgust.

"Hardacre, Hardacre... You wound me with such insinuations... There's not a year's supply here! There's barely a month! So, tell you what. I'll pay you a quarter of what we agreed upon..."

Jo glared daggers at Gruffudd's dirt-stained face. Pam Padam let out a pained sigh.

"It was ten thousand dinar, right? So, three thousand dinar. That's a quarter of ten, right? Fuck. This scorch has me doing maths far better than usual. Pam Padam! See that this gorgeous man gets paid! Three thousand and five hundred dinar!"

Jo's glare transformed into a subtle smile. Pam Padam's smile was far more pronounced, as she answered the Legate.

"I shall ensure that he receives his wages, sir. Exactly to your specifications. Live and drink, Mr. Hardacre."

She then hopped down from the statue, and began running towards the Stele.

"You know, Hardacre, if you bite on a pomegranate while injecting sc—" the Legate began prattling, yet Hardacre was having none of it. He simply walked away, holding onto his wounded side with a strained expression. As he left the Pyramid, and circled around towards the Palm Heights, many a question invaded his mind. Just what was the Table, anyway? What were they trying to achieve with the Slurp, exactly? How much could one man, or one man and one thought-form, hope to achieve against such a mysterious opponent?

He shrugged the questions away, stretching his stiffened neck and shoulders. All he knew, in the end, was that he had just been paid for honest work. In the Well, this was one of the rarest outcomes, and something to be proud of. With the money, he could shower Agatino in lavish gifts, such as bonbons, flowers and perfume. He could move back to cigarettes, and forget all about those disgusting beedies. He could get his old jacket back from the pawn shop, perhaps, if someone hadn't snatched it already. A popular item, no doubt.

Life was pretty good, all things considered. As he stepped towards the front door of his love nest, he stared up at the skies. The stars were out in full force. Much of Jo's life had been spent stargazing with his various lovers, so he had learned to recognize the stars rather well. And, much to his joy, he could see that the constellation of the Dancer was particularly bright tonight. His favorite. Yet it wasn't his favorite dancer of them all...

So, Jo gave the door his signature Tablet Hard Knock. Soon, it swung open, revealing a skimpily dressed Agatino, whose lacy undergarment was almost completely hidden beneath his sizeable posterior. He had his dancing broom with him. Jo could not help but swoon at the sight. Then, he grabbed Agatino's hand, stepped inside their manse and slammed the door behind him shut.

Tonight would be a good night.

[Fabulous Secret Powers]

EPILOGUE

In a dusty basement, a curious meeting was taking place amidst the veil of twilight. Meagre shafts of light beamed from the ceiling-high windows, meeting with an ostentatious table, one that had been crafted out of the finest ebony by a masterful hand. Atop it laid copious amounts of fine vintages, flanked at the sides by fragrant cigarillos. Around the wooden éclat sat an assorted assemblage of peculiar people. A cultural hodgepodge, whose only unifying characteristic seemed to be wealth, hinted at by their luxurious garbs. Youth was a rare resource here, as most of the assembled had passed middle age decades ago. 

At the fore of the table, a wizened Ashfolk woman sat in easily the biggest chair in the hall, a distinct contrast with her dimunitive size. The countless wrinkles layered upon her face, along with the frayed state of her gray hair, hinted that her life had lasted more than a century. Her commanding presence seemed to be the main unifying force in the room, perhaps even the only reason why any pretense of order existed amongst such a motley crew.

A lanky human with an olive complexion was in the middle of delivering what seemed like a report. Alkabi, judging from his thick accent. Garbed in a robe of subdued gray, his speech and mannerisms were similarly restrained. Despite this, the disappointment in his voice was obvious.

"...in Ephia's Well have failed. The Slurp Project has failed. Failure... Abject failure, from which absolutely nothing was gained. Just as I warned you."

A pale dwarf, obviously of Low Kulkund descent, lifted his hand. The Gray Gentleman raised a glass filled with Alkabi shiraz from a stylish coaster, which was slid across to the dwarf. He took a swig of ale, some of which spilled against his scraggly black beard. He then placed the bottle of ale upon the coaster, and began speaking.

"Aye, Khamis, ye we—"

The dwarf was interrupted by the booming voice of the Ash Crone. It was laced with such vicious displeasure that some in the room flinched.

"No names. How many times do I have to remind you all of this? Absolute anonymity, at all times."

"Oh, shite! Sorry. Aye. Ta 'onorable board member were correct. Weren't nothin' ta be gained from nah mystical drugs. If ye listened ta olden Low Kulkund wisdom, ye woulda not voted fer tis... Ale's ta oldest form o' control o' 'em all. Cheaper, too."

Across from the pale speaker, another dwarf with an extravagantly decorated ginger beard lifted his hand. The Dwarf of Low Kulkund grasped the coaster covetously. He looked as if he was going to yell something... Yet he soon noticed that the Ash Crone had directed a vicious glare directly upon him. He lifted his bottle from the coaster, which soon slid towards the other dwarf, who dropped an expensive bottle of Rosé upon it, and began arguing with an irritated tone.

"Have the fleas in your beard began eating away at your brain as well, you imbecile!? What should have we done? Sent them a few barrels of ale? What would that have accomplished?"

The Dwarf of Low Kulkund shrugged meekly. The Ash Crone steepled her hands together, and made a commanding declaration.

"I think that the board is in full agreement that the Slurp Project shall be put on indefinite hold."

Murmurs filled the room. The tones varied, yet everyone was still nodding along. A woman, garbed in a crimson robe, was the next to lift her hand, and soon, with yet another slide, the coaster had a different Drink placed upon it.

"What about beloved Hardacre? Could he be made an even dearer friend?"

The Gray Gentleman signaled for another turn at speaking. The Lady in Red nodded, and soon the coaster had yet again switched places.

"How? You cannot bribe the man. He already has everything he could want. And before any of you suggest removals from said abundance... Absolutely not. Do not make the man any more dangerous than he already is."

Another hand was raised, this one belonging to a hin woman with raven hair. One of her eyes was missing, in its place a mere empty socket surrounded by scar tissue. Her coquettish purrs soon filled the room, as she began fidgeting around with a tiny jambiya. 

"Why not...? Just say the word and me and the girls'll make an example of that sweet hubby of his..."

A human whose face was covered in tribal paint struck his feather-adorned staff against the floor. He then relaxed his hand, casting an open palm directly towards the coaster. It soon glid towards him, seemingly out of its own volition. Fearful muttering surrounded the ebony table. The Painted Man's powerful voice boomed from his lips like a crack of thunder.

"ABSOLUTELY NOT."

The Ash Crone smiled softly towards the Painted Man. She had yet another declaration.

"I think that the board is in full agreement that detective Hardacre will be left alone... Unless he becomes an unignorable obstacle."

More murmurs echoed through the basement, some sounding rather disappointed. The Scarred Hin looked particularly annoyed. It was a temporary setback, however, one that she forgot about quickly, as she soon distracted herself with a particularly brisk game of five finger fillet. The Dwarf of Low Kulkund lifted his hairy arm, yet again. Some in the room groaned audibly... Yet the coaster was still passed to him.

"Well, uh... If ye ain't goin' ta listen ta me... Ta 'onorable board member from Il Modo always 'as good ideas, says I," the scruffy dwarf rumbled with a hint of embarassment, sliding the coaster towards a conspicuously empty chair. "Whatta? Where'd 'e go?"

The other board members directed their stare towards the deserted chair, some of them smiling softly out of amusement, some of them frowning out of irritation. Yet soon, with a loud thud, a shirtless man fell from the ceiling, landing perfectly in his appointed seat. Accompanied by wild hand gestures, he began a high-strung speech.

"Live. Drink coffee. Scheme against good of Disc. Have of idea. Listen..."


THE END