B.T.V. -- Session 15 Prelude: Death Doesn't Kill

“Get it under your control, Loame.”

“If it is not beyond G’mon’s power I shall.”

Their voices were raised to be heard above the thunder of the out-of-control masterhead. It was shuddering left and right in an oscillation that felt unnatural and dangerous. At the midway point in each snaking movement, the noise momentarily vanished. Then returned to its oblivious, deafening roar.

In the brief respite that occurred every second and a half, shouts of alarm could be detected, coming from the carriages behind.

“Let’s leave G’mon sleeping and see what we can do, su?” With that the Lead Charmer motioned with his left arm upraised and his other arm flung wide.

He shouted, “Take my hand, Loame. We must do this together or everyone is done for.”

Loame grasped at his master’s hand and missed. The masterhead veered violently. Loame was smashed into the cabin’s exposed lantern grate. This was a large example of its kind, fully three feet wide and almost twice as high. The younger charmer cried out in pain but this wasn’t audible to the lead charmer. His eyes were on the pilot wick which remained stubbornly unlit.

“Loame what are you messing about at? Take my hand and prepare yourself. We must get it to take light.”

Loame moved as best he could but his effort wasn’t equal to his fear and the careening locacobra. He fell. He slid across the cabin and through the opening to the lantern. At once the young charmer was engulfed in ghost light. Without the pilot wick lit, the ghost light could not be properly controlled. Loame’s hair took light. His eyes, flaring with the spirit-light, scorched his hands as he held them out to his master imploringly. His skull shone through his skin.

The lead charmer swore. His raised arm gathered what ghost light was falling from his assistant’s outstretched hands. He directed the far from sufficient light toward the wick of the pilot lantern. Hadan Gwull watched as his attempt took light within the pilot’s bulbous, central braize. The braize guttered and went out. The charmer’s head fell to his chest. The locacobra could not be charmed. The serpentine jolting began to speed up and for the first time, Gwull knew his life and the passengers’ were in the ledgers of the gods. He clung to the grate as it swung back and forth in time to the wild swaying vehicle. The lead charmer closed his eyes, uttered the briefest praise to Verra and awaited his awakening in the crematorium.

He felt a strong impact to his chest. The motion of the uncontrollable locacobra slowed, stopped. Death didn’t feel that bad! He’d expected worse. Perhaps death was a mercy, as some philosophers had suggested. Hadan wasn’t much for fancy thought. He was too practical an Issola for long-winded speeches about metaphysics. This dying though was worthy of discourse. Not nearly as terrible as he’d been led to --.

“Get off your ass, charmer, there’s no bells chiming for you.”

Hadan opened his eyes. He saw a pair of Jhereg enforcers flanking a more experienced operative of the grey and black House. The locacobra couldn’t have been stopped by anyone other than a masterful sorcerer. Hadan stared dumbstruck at the central Jhereg. His features were hidden by a fastened jhereg long-coat, a black scarf and a deep, flat-cap, brim pointing backward. Hadan couldn’t tell if he were a ‘Jhereg proper’, or once of another House. His mind raced to understand and finished last.

“That’s right. You’re out of your district. You’ll stay that way as I am sure you’ve paid your gild to the spirit wardens, su? Sensible fellow. N’las, no look-sees. No con-ssies, su?”

“How? Who? Why?” Hadan asked.

“Don’t think this anything but your standard robbery.”

“But the sellswords --”

“-- are all fallen asleep.”


Hadan stared in place of anything less intelligent to do. He hadn't been thoroughly afraid, but as the senior Jhereg's three straight-swords vanished with a dismissive movement of his hands, Hadan knew that this was a master Jhereg. One who controlled the ghost light.


“Good man… gather your things. You’re leaving. Your ticket only takes you as far as ‘Fairdrop Station’.”

“Fairdrop Station?”

The two large Jhereg came at him. Hadan stood but didn’t know fighting and knew he’d best do as suggested. He let the two men lead him to the masterhead cabin’s entry. He looked but didn’t see a siding. Just an immense drop into a chasm. He turned his eyes to the senior Jhereg.

Smiling the Jhereg said, “The fall will kill you most likely. You can swin just in case you survive? Good fellow. Your death can’t be by my hand. That’s important as I’m sworn never to kill anyone. My decanting relies upon my keeping my word. Give a greeting to Master Deshang igh’Moltaginn of the Wardens won’t you? I owe him a few imps. Tell him I'll be along at some point to pay down my debt.”



After the Lead Charmer had joined the passengers who had disappeared into the gaping drop, the Jhereg brought the locacobra about and got it moving in the opposite direction.


The corpses were located by the knellbirds with all their belongings.


The Jhereg weren’t interested in the small riches they might have had from the dozen or so noblemen and women aboard. The locacobra was their prize. All the Jhereg, save one, wondered what they would do with it.

Removing his coat, cap and mask, Uillverforce wasn’t saying just yet.