The Assassination

Henrik, a nice young man at heart, had been told to up the ante. The order to assassinate Lord Stiletto had come directly from The Rabbit and had put Henrik under a great deal of stress and confusion.

He wasn’t a killer, he knew that in his heart, and basically, he had quite liked Gregory and Stiletto when he had met them in the now vapourised Sweden, that vanished reality of his planet Earth. He realised that he owed his life to The Rabbit, but knew deep inside that he wasn’t a murderer.

Lord Stiletto had been out driving in the Oxfordshire countryside in his favourite Bugatti. It was an original car from 1939, one he had picked up from the Milan home of Ettore Bugatti himself, just as the Second World War was kicking off. He had driven it down to Sicily where he had shipped it over to Malta, and there stored it in a cave on the small adjacent island of Gozo.

Now he was racing along the road to Lechlade, wind buffeting his bowler, goggles firmly in place.

Henrik had gone for an indirect method of murder. His choice, spiked metal sheets nailed into the tarmac surface of the Lechlade road. Almost immediately behind the caltrops he had parked a traction engine, recently stolen from the neighbouring village’s steam fair. He felt a nascent thrill in perverting Stiletto’s love of the arcane and ancient.

Stiletto came around the corner in third gear doing eighty-five miles per hour, and saw the traction engine stationary in his path. Taking his foot off the gas that powered the super turbocharged engine, he slammed it on the brake, and the Bugatti skidded sideways down the narrow Cotswold roadway. When he hit the caltrops, the tyres exploded on the sharp metal spikes, and as it left the ground, the beautiful old car began to roll, and accelerated towards the waiting engine.

Henrik had been having second thoughts about his murderous course. Several days before the date with Stiletto, he had taken the opportunity to send a message to Gregory. Stiletto took some persuading to sacrifice his beautiful sports car, but with Haydrift Eaglebeard as a passenger, and some nifty hand jive, at the moment of impact, the two friends were travelling through an alternate dimension. The classic sports car, almost a national treasure, exploded in a ball of fire as it slammed into the huge steel roller in front of the traction engine, which had been artfully placed in the Bugatti’s path.

Copyright Jhedron Luckspar © 2015 2018

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To buy Revenge Of The Hrym visit my Book Page
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The Tram

Eight Earth weeks earlier…

The image was burnt onto Gregory’s retinas. The pink manic eyes of The Rabbit in the window of the Belgian tram.

Stiletto had taken a wrong turn, in more than one sense of the word. Now his old Bugatti was screaming in reverse between medieval buildings as the looming city tram pursuing them gained on the startled friends.

The day had begun much better. They had been in Ghent, to attend the Science Fiction Convention. Gregory, Stiletto and Lady Bane had arrived in good time and made their presence in the great hall. Comic artist legend, Ian Gibson, a well-respected Master of the genre, and well represented in Lord Stiletto’s fabled library, was unexpectedly at the adjacent table. Stiletto was delighted to meet this unsuspecting mentor, and was fortunate to spend time talking to him and learning from the old Master. Was this why he miscalculated the shenanigans of The Rabbit? Like an avalanche that starts with a single pebble, the origin of Karma is often lost in the mists of events.

Rubber tyres burned and howled as Stiletto accelerated the car in reverse, horn blaring to clear the Saturday evening crowds. Once over a small bridge he applied his handbrake, and the car squealed in a tight arc almost about its own axis and shot backwards in a straight line down a narrow side street.

Stuck on its tracks, the tram hammered past. “It was the Girl with the Red Hair,” commented Lady Bane. A part of Gregory’s mind had noticed her, driving the tram at the fleeing car, but most of his horizon had been filled with the piercing pink eyes of The Rabbit.

Gregory was reasonably sure that vampires didn’t exist, at least in the daytime, so he was quite surprised to meet a Steampunk one. Back at the convention, he and Sarah were manning the table whilst Stiletto was off wandering the halls. A beautiful lady in full role play, had been talking to Gregory and had his full attention. It was the teeth he found so fascinating, they looked completely genuine. She claimed she had paid thousands for the dental work.

Lady Bane had seen some sights in her life. Stiletto coming through the door in his shirt sleeves and waistcoat, but still wearing his bowler hat and goggles, threw the broken, bloody chair leg into the waste paper basket.

“Goddamn vampires,” he spoke calmly as he took his empty pipe from his pocket and nonchalantly put it between his teeth.

“What, not the one talking to Gregory?” she asked in amusement.

“The very same. The genuine article. He actually invited her in, to his room.” He chuckled, taking his pipe out to speak more clearly, “Besotted, quite besotted!”

Copyright Jhedron Luckspar © 2015 2018

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To buy Revenge Of The Hrym visit my Book Page
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The Pain

In the end it was all down to the slime. The slime extracted from the gall bladder of a very angry space cucumber. This special ingredient was used in the creation of a neural thread that allowed the user to explore the secret pathways of the universe.

Gregory had been metaphorically bashing his head against the walls of reason, trying to come up with a plan to rescue Aiasdotter, when all along what was required was the ability to slip under the surface.

Lady Sarah looked like she had gone several rounds with a Megafraken pit fighter, and that was before Stiletto’s technicians changed her face. It was she who had volunteered to use the slime to penetrate the dark planet of The Hrym.

Like a corrupted Japanese Daimyo listening to the screams of a boiling Dutch cabin boy, The Hrym was carried away by the music coming from Aiasdotter’s cell. He didn’t have to actually be present, because tuned into every nuance of the minutiae of his planet, he was aware of everything.

The Hrym was a connoisseur, and just as the conductor of the Berlin Symphony Orchestra could hear the minutest change in the tone of his lead violinist’s E string, so too, The Hrym felt the minutest of fluctuations in the terror and pain experienced by his erstwhile brilliant and efficient private secretary.

Connected to his neural network, The Hrym linked straight to the cell where Aiasdotter was being kept and tortured.

In the Hrym’s future world the dimensional reality of neural communication and entertainment had come a long way from the 3D cinema and TV back at the beginning of twenty-first Century Earth. It was as if The Hrym was in the cell, and had brought his presence with him.

Sat there in the chair was Aiasdotter, and yet The Hrym knew it was not her. Like the skin of a deep ocean octopus, his supermarket suit and shiny shoes changed from pale blue to a raging crimson colour, as the sensitivity of the neural net picked up the subtle shift that his physical presence would never reveal.

The colour change was a step too far. Haydrift Eaglebeard who had been stood silently in the corner, momentarily lost control. Using an ancient Tibetan meditation technique, he had been holding himself in a stasis of No Thing whilst the switch between Aiasdotter and Lady Sarah had taken place.

Seven and a half seconds were required, and to Sarah strapped to the plastic chair, it seemed like an infinite moment of torment.

Suddenly The Hrym was standing before her, face almost catatonic in its banality, yet his whole presence burning red like Lucifer on a bad day.

And then, that kindly face appeared from the corner and with a few waves of his hand, Sarah’s pain was gone.

Copyright Jhedron Luckspar © 2014 2018

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To buy Revenge Of The Hrym visit my Book Page
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The Spectacles

The friends had gathered for a dinner at Gregory’s private dining room at the Savoy. Gregory mused that they could be forgiven for being mistaken for a private dining club rather than a close-knit band of cosmic adventurers.

Lord Stiletto had particularly enjoyed the quail although he had had some issues with eating them. But what was the difference between them and organic poultry, or estate shot pheasant? Just that quail are cute. Not a thought he would have been too happy sharing with the table. It was good that the seven were all together again. A magical number, although in truth and in secret they were nine. He was just settling down to some goats’ cheese when they were disturbed by a knock on the door, and the Maître d’, profusely apologising for the interruption, supervised the wheeling in of a large widescreen TV. He placed a remote control, and a small engraved wooden box in front of Gregory, bowed and left the room, silently closing the large double doors behind him.

“What the devil,” growled Eaglebeard.

“I thought there were no interruptions,” commented Magnus.

“Is it a surprise?” asked Lady Sarah.

“Sorry,’’ replied a disturbed Gregory, “I’m as much in the dark as you are.”

“Then you had better press Play,” said ‘Schripp, his empty sockets holding them all where his useless eyes had been removed, and skin transplanted from his buttocks had been grafted over to cover them.

Gregory picked up the remote control and meeting the eyes of his friends, carefully pressed Play.

Sat in a simple grey plastic chair, terror etched into the lines around her eyes, was the limp and haggard form of Aiasdotter.

Held loosely in her bruised, bleeding hands was a small wax sealed package.

“I think you had better open the box,” said Stiletto calmly.

“It might be a trap,” purred the Lady Susanna.

“I don’t think so,” replied Gregory, and releasing the catch of the beautifully crafted box, he took out a pair of round, golden ladies’ spectacles.

“What’s the engraving on the box,” asked Eaglebeard.

“Oh, only a Rabbit.”

Copyright Jhedron Luckspar © 2015 2018

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To buy Revenge Of The Hrym visit my Book Page
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The Personal Assistant

The Rabbit wasn’t the only one who had been recruiting at the Steampunk Festival at Gavle, Sweden.

Aiasdotter was the best PA The Hrym had ever had. Efficient, organized, brilliant, she kept his cosmic empire ticking like clockwork. Working for such a totally evil being had caused her to make some psychological adjustments, and some nights she woke up screaming from the vacant banality of it all, but Aiasdotter knew she was a crucial element of the friend’s campaign against The Rabbit.

All hell had broken loose. The Hrym was not happy. It was impossible to tell from his face, which showed no sign of personality or emotion, but his instant annihilation of all the barmaids in every part of the city, along with their friends and families, was a sure indication that yesterday’s events had got under his skin.

Confident from the moment of their landing outside his city, he had played with the bastard retards like wasps in a jam-jar. He was incandescent when they escaped. Over and over, he replayed the vid of the tall one losing his eyes, but his satisfaction was spoiled by the calm and determined way the tall man then carried on, as if he had his face destroyed on a daily basis. And, how was it possible for him to fight so well?

Aiasdotter placed the cup of tepid water on The Hrym’s desk, and returned to her duties. It was hard to maintain her own sense of calm when she saw the events of the battle and escape played over and over again.

And then she saw it. Computers had long ago left the realm of hardware. The software was now tied into the neural processing power of the user’s brain, although in big business, or in the employ of cosmic psychopaths, it was heavily encrypted. Still, being such a trusted part of The Hrym’s network, she had very high clearance access, and accessing security updates, she had just learnt the whereabouts of the Package. Hard to imagine it was still intact.

She had no chance of getting a message to Gregory, so she would have to act. Leaving her desk, she said something banal to The Hrym, and headed down to the storage facility.

The Hrym was disappointed. Aiasdotter was a fantastic asset, even if she was leaking information to the Retards.

Copyright Jhedron Luckspar © 2014 2018
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To buy Revenge Of The Hrym visit my Book Page
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