The Hrym

Like Inspector Poirot, The Enabler was a small dark Belgian, but unlike the inspector, he didn’t have a ridiculous moustache.

Lord Stiletto put his cutlery together on his plate, tines down, and drained the last of the Château Lafite. Their host had truly presented them with a meal of a lifetime. A sudden explosion outside shook the building and a dozen glass chandeliers made the music of war. Cannon fire had punctuated the meal, occasionally drowning out the marvellous strains of the string quartet, but their host assured them that in fact they were quite safe.

“I believe you have been here before?” commented The Enabler, offering the two friends cigars. Lord Stiletto politely declined, took his empty pipe out of his pocket, and gripped it firmly between his teeth.

“I understand you are looking for a package?” continued the debonair Belgian.

‘Schripp had passed on the cigar but took a generous sip of their host’s splendid port.

“Yes, and yes,” replied Lord Stiletto. “I was able to render a certain assistance at Smolensk and we have mislaid a certain wax sealed package.”

“And what does this package contain?” The Enabler asked with a mischievous look.

The two friends looked aghast but maintained a subtle silence.

“I understand The Rabbit has taken delivery of the package,” the Belgian continued dryly, “and it seems to me he has just been playing games with you.”

‘Schripp could feel his temper rising but with a breath in and out returned to his usual equanimity.

“We have had some difficulty retrieving the package,” Stiletto admitted, as the Maître d’ poured more port into his glass, “but we have every confidence in your services. You come very highly recommended.”

The Belgian’s next words filled the two adventurers with dread, and the normally unflappable Stiletto almost spilt his port.

“The package is in the hands of The Hrym.”

Copyright Jhedron Luckspar © 2014 2018
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For a FREE eBook of Revenge Of The Hrym visit my Book Page
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The Cabin

Lord Stiletto and his blood brother, Alex Lagenschripp Esquire, known to his friends as ‘Schripp, were on their way to the rendezvous. To avoid attention, they had picked up a car in San Francisco, and currently were driving through the back roads and ways of Yosemite National Park. There was no satellite navigation out here, just well-honed experience, and an old-fashioned paper map.

Although it was August, by the time they reached the vicinity of the cabin, it was dark and very cold. Pulling his greatcoat tight for warmth, Stiletto had swapped his top hat for a bear skin cap with flaps that covered his ears and laced warmly under his chin. His trusty goggles remained perched on the top of his head. Funny how things worked out! He patted his hat like an old friend, which in a way, it was.

Silently the two friends approached the cabin through the freezing night. ‘Schripp had a selection of sharp and blunt weapons concealed about his person and for silence carried an ultra-modern crossbow he had picked up at a hunting shop in San Francisco. Stiletto’s fingerless gloved hands cradled a gun of some sorts, and just for the hell of it, he had set it to Medusa.

‘Schripp could feel the sweat trickle down his cheek and freeze in place as they stood waiting on either side of the cabin door. With a nod of understanding Stiletto put his hand silently on the latch which opened easily and with a determined rush the two friends were inside.

‘Schripp was the first to get his bearings. Years of travelling with Stiletto had honed his sense of spontaneity. He handed his crossbow to the Maître d’, took off his coat, and accepted a glass of brandy. Although the dining room was lit by a dozen chandeliers from the high ceiling, there was only a single table laid for dinner by the fire. Dressed in an immaculate nineteenth century dinner jacket and seated in an armchair by the fire was the Enabler, last seen by Stiletto and ‘Schripp, two days earlier, outside a bar in downtown San Francisco.

Copyright Jhedron Luckspar © 2014 2018
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For a FREE eBook of Revenge Of The Hrym visit my Book Page
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The Captives

Unknown at the time, two other survivors of the destruction of the planet Earth, had been Duke Magnus and the Lady Susanna. Wise to the machinations of the Rabbit and the Girl with the Red Hair, they had hitched a ride with The Rabbit. A chance remark had betrayed their sympathies to the Friend’s cause. Now, naked and freezing, they hung upside down in one of the cells deep within a forgotten asteroid.

It was only chance that had alerted the Friends to the fate of Magnus and Susanna. In an infinite universe, entanglement creates powerful connections.

Haydrift Eaglebeard passed his palm over the electronic lock of the door. Silently it opened. It was one of many amazing abilities of his new hand he was discovering.

He took a clockwork mouse out of his pocket, and whispering his instructions, sent it off to explore the cell complex.

Lord Stiletto ran his fingers along the cold steel of the blade, from which he took his name, and slipped it back into the sheath on his wrist. As a diversionary tactic, Stiletto was going in through the front door.

Sarah, Lady Bane, was unrecognisable. Gone were the silk skirts and bustles. Gone was her whole appearance. Stiletto’s technicians had completely changed the structure and appearance of her face and now she resembled a cross between a demon and a reptile. The fluorescent yellow slime oozing from the corners of her eyes was a touch Stiletto was particularly pleased with.

Spleenspew, the guard, was mean. He had been serving The Rabbit all his life, for his was an hereditary post. A complete bastard by all accounts, he had served in the Grakkam campaign, clearing out the uranium mines infested with the indigenous rebels, and had “cleared” many more with his hands and spiked knuckles than with his blaster. Spleenspew liked to get up close and personal.

Which was Sarah’s situation at this moment. The local dialect was pretty much like Slavic mutant spat through gravel, and Sarah delivered her lines perfectly, demon eyes boring into Spleenspew’s. She thought she had him, but brutal and mean as he was, he was also efficient. Feeling his welling thought communication, with lightning speed she drove the point of her blade through the mutant’s throat, before the alarm could be given.

Unaware of the drama taking place hundreds of levels below, Lord Stiletto wandered through the main entrance of The Rabbit’s lair.

A frock coat and top hat is not every day wear on an asteroid, and the girl on reception, used to seeing battle-weary troops, and the scum of the universe, sensed trouble, a concern which was confirmed by the sensors that showed Stiletto was carrying more personal armaments than a Zidian space trooper.

Years of training had given Haydrift Eaglebeard lightning reflexes. Unarmed as he was, except for his bone blade which was able to escape detection by the sensors, he felt the incoming threat and as he spun, palmed the attacking energy with his new right hand. The wall to his side exploded with molten metal, and all elements of surprise were lost.

Sarah, Lady Bane, held the mutant eye up to the scanner and the door silently dematerialized to reveal the holding cell. Shivering with the intense cold, she glided across the freezing cell and released the captives from their bonds. Magnus and Susanna fell with sickening thuds to the frozen floor and Sarah realised she needed help.

Lord Stiletto had only gone about ten steps before alarms sounded and blast doors slammed down all around him. With no break in his stride or composure, he pulled a metallic capsule from his pocket and lobbed it into the  busy atrium, full of soldiers, guards and mercenaries. The nerve toxin, to which he had been made immune, rendered a fatal paralysis on all within touch of its rapidly expanding vapour.

Eaglebeard knelt beside Sarah, and passed his right hand briefly across the foreheads of the two captives, who immediately began to show an improvement in their colour.

Extending his hand like a blade, he opened a fold in the very fabric of the universe, and within the blink of an eye, they were gone.

Copyright Jhedron Luckspar © 2014 2018
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For a FREE eBook of Revenge Of The Hrym visit my Book Page
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