tap and die black jack dawes gergia storyweaver vale universe action story

Tap and Die is a 90’s action story full of characters who use wands and staves instead of guns on the set of an epic fantasy world. I’m releasing it serially over the course of 6 months — the first 25% is FREE and the rest requires a subscription: if you subscribe for at least 3 months, I will send you a hard copy before the book releases even if you don’t finish the story.


The driver looked cockeyed at Black Jack Dawes’s half-frozen hands that held the other reins. The driver took kings and nobles all over the Ivrian side of the world, not crusty old tradesmen in khaki dusters, range hats, knee-high boots slathered in mud, and that black cloak with those unfixed stars on it. And no sword? But it was Black Jack’s knuckles that drew the driver’s focus. They were as frozen as two hands could get: white on a purple field. 

“Renaud’s,” Jack explained. “No circulation in extremities. Plus I hate going—”

The team of horses sped over the downy green hillock and the many-wheeled carriage got air. Jack’s knuckles went whiter. His feet slammed into the foothold and his back braced even deeper into the red velvet seat cushions. As wheels hit earth, the old range man grunted, “—fast.”

“Oh, sorry, Your Excellence, I—”

“No ambassador. Nor emissary.”

“Your wife is.”

“So bill her, cut the titles.”

The driver nodded. 

“Honorifics,” Jack said and spat. “Every horse breeder, every smith’s apprentice, every cloth merchant from here to Tetra has some sort of gold salesman-of-the-month plaque, some jade crystal award for the same shit they do every day. Here’s a cheap piece of metal that looks a little like the metal we named this plaque after in order to celebrate the thing you’re already doing just to survive.” He threw up a little in his mouth in a not-subtle way. “Fool’s gold is still for fools even if you make a trophy out—” 

The carriage caught air again, and Jack almost puked.

“I’ll slow down a bit,” said the driver.

“I’m not… I’m not queasy.” Jack gagged again, audibly. “I’ll be fine I just… hnngh… I just don’t like feeling like I’m flying through the air, that’s all.” 

“You fly often?” The driver chuckled.

“The boss has me do it far more often than I like.”

“Here, for your hands.” The driver took the reins in one hand and passed over a pair of gloves.

“I have gloves.”

“These are entangled with lava. They’re constantly warm, plus they’ll help with the nerves.”

Jack Dawes raised an eyebrow.

“Trust me. Once you get there—you’re changing, right?”

Black Jack looked down at his outerwear, confused.

The driver chuckled. “I wouldn’t go to an inaugural ball looking like that.”

“I hate these things.”

“Okay, so when you’re all stripped down between outfits, put these gloves on and put your gloved hands on the mirror.”

“Why do I have to be naked?”

“Shhhh, trust the process.”

Black Jack raised his eyebrow.

“Allow the mirror to fog and let the room steam up and you’ll feel completely warm. That’s why naked.”

READ NEXT:  Hollow Needle — Tap and Die 002

“Wouldn’t I be warmer with clothes too?”

“No. Plus you’re naked so you realize it more, just trust the process! Only downside to these things is they attract lava and magma, but it’s not like you’re going to the surface of some star.”

Black Jack had done that before. He didn’t recommend it. “Know what I hate about inaugural balls?”

The driver waited, sipping his cocoa out of his copper longcup, which had long gone cold.

“There’s always some inauguration or convocation or launch of some new ship that needs christening for some maiden voyage. People start shit far more often than they finish shit. For once, I want a terminal ball. Celebrate the death of something. Or its culmination at least.”

The driver looked again at the black cloak, and it reminded him of the angel of death. Poking out of the vest pocket was a crowfoot attached to a long bone, sharpened to a point. 

“The Crowfoot Mile?” he asked.

Jack grimaced. He hated that people only remembered that part of it.

“You’re a Storyweaver?”

“That’s what the cloak is for.”

The driver truly saw it for the first time, and his eyes widened. Then he focused on the road ahead. “Don’t you think the new military allegiance between the Common Realms puts guys like you out of work?”

“I wish it had.”


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Quick note from Lance about this post: when you choose to comment (or share this post with your friends) you help other readers just like you.

How?

Well, see, your comments & sharing whisper a few things to those who come after you:

The first is that this site is a safe place to speak up & stay curious. That it's civil. That discussion is encouraged. That there's no such thing as a stupid question (being a student of Socrates, I really and truly believe this). That talking to one another and growing together is more important than anything we could possibly publish. That the point is growing in virtue and growing together and growing wise. That discovery is invention, deference is originality, that we all can rise together. The only folks I'm going to take comments down from are obvious jerks who argue in bad faith, don't stay curious, or actively make personal attacks. And, frankly, I'd rather we talk here than on some social media farm — I will never show ads and the only thing I'm selling anywhere on the site or my mailing list is just the stuff I make.

You're also helping folks realize that anything you & they build together is far more important than anything you come to me to read. I take the things I write about seriously, but I don't take myself seriously: I play the fool, I hate cults of personality, and I also don't really like being the center of attention (believe it or not). I would much rather folks connect because of an introduction I've made or because they commented with one another back and forth and then build something beautiful together. My favorite contributions have been lifelong business and love partnerships from two people who have forgotten I introduced them. Some of my closest friends NOW I literally met on another blog's comment section fifteen years ago. I would love for that to happen here — let two of you meet and let me fade into the background.

Last, you help me revise. I'm wrong. Often. I'm not embarrassed to admit it or worried about being cancelled or publicly shamed. I make a fool out of myself (that's sort of the point). So as I get feedback, I can say, "I was wrong about that" and set a model for curious, consistent learning, and growing in wisdom. I'm blind to what I don't know and as grows the island of my knowledge so grows the shoreline of my ignorance. It's the recovery of innocence on the far end of experience: a child is in a permanent state of wonder. So are the wise: they aren't afraid of saying, "I don't know. That's new: please teach me." That's my goal, comments help. And I read all reviews: my skin's tough, but that's not license to be needlessly cruel. We teach one another our habits and there's a way to civilly demolish an idea without demolishing another person: just because I personally can take the world's meanest 1-star review doesn't mean we should teach one another how to be crueler on the internet.

For three magical reasons — your brave curiosity, your community, & my ignorance:

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