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% chapters 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.
This is the third free chapter. Click here to start at Chapter 001.
“What’s that?” the carriage driver asked, pointing to the black stone gyroscope in Black Jack Dawes’s hand. The wheels moved, wheels within wheels.
“Gyrocompass.”
“Like on a ship?”
Jack Dawes raised an eyebrow. “How do you know about those?”
“My off-world grandfather works on ships.”
“Something like that, only not on a world. It’s attuned to the rotation and orbits of all planets, all times, all timelines to orient true to The Clockwork.”
“The what?”
“It’ll steer you where you need to be, when you need to be, what you need to be and whom and why and how and how much. If you let it. But it can’t choose for you, let alone choose well. It’s a pipeline to the archive.”
The man said, “Archive of law reviews? Dissected insects?” He whipped the reins.
“Everything,” Jack said. “Or at least most compasses connect to the archive. This one’s more of a local walkie-talkie.”
“A what?”
“You know how when you’re standing under one arch of the great dome in the Megameso capital building and your friend’s standing at the other, you can hear each other whispering as if you’re next to each other even if the place is full of busy, noisy folks?”
“Never been.”
“Like that, but no building and no limit on the distance. This one won’t connect to the archive.”
“Why carry it?”
“So I can give it to drivers I like without worrying if they’ll snoop around for dangerous info. Communication channels for events like these come in handy. I’m sure there’s another onyx compass just like this inside.”
***
Frey didn’t think Jack would show. Jack hadn’t shown for nine months now: she could have been pregnant and had a baby in this time. He was always helping everyone else but her and Dövë. Or it felt that way.
She saw the painting of the three of them surrounded by grandparents and cousins, and flanked by many, many in black world cloaks. Starlings. She took it off the wall and set it behind the bookshelf. It left an undusted, ungreased ghost spot on the wall. On her desk sat a stack of love letters he’d written her while on the road. She took that and tossed it into the top drawer.
Perhaps.
And… this was only a perhaps if Jack didn’t show yet again.
Perhaps…
No. She couldn’t dance with a man like Sfòne.
But anyway, having the painting down and having the letters in a drawer felt like a nice little jab at her absent husband. For good measure, she took the wedding ring off her right thumb and put it on top of the love letters.
Then she eyed the copper bracer on the desk. The one Sfòne had left her.
***
The driver smiled at him. “Divorced?”
Black Jack scoffed, grinning at the driver’s wit. “Got sick of me helping everyone else but her and Dövë.”
“Whom?”
“My daughter. Our daughter. She switched to embassy work down here to help herself.”
“Her little quirk being a self-sufficient ambassador wasn’t worth your time to help? You didn’t want to move and help her?”
Jack said nothing.
“Cause it wasn’t part of the story you’re helping to weave. You wanted to help her in your own way, not help her with the part she wanted the help on.”
“Yeah,” Black Jack said. And scoffed again and smirked. He was impressed.
“Now that it demands your help — now that you got to come down here — you have to stop and fix what she prefers.” They pulled up to the carriage line, with the great steam and smoke rising in a ring around the base of the tap.
Black Jack pointed to a sign: WATCH FOR FALLING ROCKS. “What rocks?” he said. “Mountain’s clear.”
“They vent the lava flow beneath by reverse gravity around the walls of the tap.”
“Why?”
“Protects the surface of the building.”
A great stone shot up into the air on the far end of the tap, arcing through the air until gravity reasserted itself, and then it fell straight for the platform. It crashed down to the side.
“What in the name of the Byline…” Jack said. “Why don’t they protect these people?”
“If security needs to move a rock midair, they will.”
“What if they’re gone?”
“Then you have much bigger problems than falling rocks. It’s just a light show that feels dangerous. Our horses are fine.”
Carriages poured out of the various spokes of the platform’s wheel, but this last bridge was reserved for those now arriving. Black Jack hopped down, turned back to the driver, and nodded at the compass. “Didn’t get your name?”
“Krif Chtāysū Hochtālyi.”
“Klūhman?” Jack asked. “What’s Ktæsû mean? To disrupt…”
“Disrupt a result. Theorize an outcome. Disturb an ending. Normally just Retriever.”
“Huh. I guess a getaway driver does disrupt a result. And if he’s your get-to driver, he theorizes an outcome. Can I call you Fetch?”
“All my Ivrian friends do.”
“Don’t feel like a dog?”
“Everyone is a dog in my culture. Krif is an honorific that means dog. Foreigners like you are stray mutts.” He nodded to the muddy outfit. “But there’s only one white wolf.”
Black Jack thought. “Hang on to that compass.”
“If it goes badly, dome-whisper and we can ride. I’ll be reading.” He held up a book. “Bizarre novel about creatures called cowboys. They wield small emergency hand cannons, but they use them all the time. Wasteful, that quantity of brimstone. Perhaps it’s meant for only the very, very rich? Yet I enjoy the novel so.”
The rich. Westerns. Black Jack shook his head and headed down the path.
His foot scuffed something, and he almost tripped headlong, but caught himself. Turning, he looked to see what it was. A jagged, yellow stone had barred his way. He bent down and picked it up, his heart stirring. It looked like a block of sulfur, and had it been, it would have been a very clever find indeed. But as fool’s gold fools prospectors, so this yellow stone had fooled an old brimstone weaver like him. He put it in his hat, tucked into the little compartment he kept at the top. For luck.
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