Prologue

The Sozzled Parrot, approximately 7 years following the end of The Last Guardian

The original Sozzled Parrot was itself so low-tech that it would have survived the "Opal Catastrophe"-as it was now referred to-of seven and a half years ago, except for the fact that its proprietor, Barnet Riddles, had kept many stolen weapons chock full of Koboi technology hidden in the basement. As a result, the old pub was not spared the large explosions and general mayhem that occurred all over the world that day. In fact, both buildings on either side of the rundown tavern had gone down, too. Though that could have been because they too were housing high-tech (from a human standard) weaponry for sale on the black market. It was a rough neighbourhood.

Riddles had been relatively lucky in terms of his own physical safety, however. He had been liasing with a new human business connection, brokering a nice deal so that cheap liquor would continue to flow in his establishment. Or at least that's what he had gone to the empty warehouse for. Things hadn't gone so well. He had been cornered by human law enforcement officers. Fortunately for him, the state-of-the-art handguns carried by two of the senior officers in attendance on the bust had exploded, taking their two owners with them. In the confusion that ensued, Riddles had escaped captivity-and the death that would have occurred had he simply been wiping down the bar in the Parrot with his usual greasy rag.

Once the dust had settled, and the world had started rebuilding, Riddles had rebuilt with it. He moved into a slightly newer building, and with no human or fairy criminal record (thanks to the complete wiping of all computer records), set to work again providing a haven for all fairy thugs, con artists, and general criminals. His life's work.

The new Sozzled Parrot indeed soon attracted the same questionable clientele, and had quickly become just as grimy. But the liquor flowed, and humans stayed away. Even the LEP knew nothing of its existence.

Mortilla Rumby was a sprite down on her luck. The very fact that she was sitting at the bar of the new Sozzled Parrot was enough to tell anyone that. Her clothes were grubby enough that she thought nothing of leaning her elbows on the filthy bar. She had made her way slowly to Miami from southeast Asia, but her wings were tired, and didn't work as well as they used to. She had been living among the humans in Ho Chi Minh City, shamed away from associating with the People due to her dependence on human alcohol. Her magic had been sapped by her constant state of drunkenness. She hated the miserable existence she eked out in a haze of alcohol, yet couldn't stay away from it.

She had thought her salvation had arrived in the form of a young human boy, with his gargantuan companion. In exchange for chemically-induced sobriety-the irony was lost on Mortilla-all she had to do was allow the boy to look at her Book. And then she might finally have the chance to get her magic back. She hadn't cared so much for living again with the People-she had completely alienated all of her family and friends, and knew she would still be laughed at and mocked by those who knew what she had been-but she wanted her magic. Once that happened, she would figure things out. She would find a way to make her money, and then could live out the rest of her alcohol-free days in air-conditioned luxury.

She had been disappointed. First, by the excruciating pain she had gone through at the hands of the boy. The chemicals working their way through her bloodstream had caused agony beyond anything she had ever felt. She could barely move-even breathing seemed to cause the torture to increase with every breath. She vowed, as she writhed in her little shelter on the streets of Ho Chi Minh, that if she ever saw the boy again, he would pay.

Even when the pain stopped-and how long it took she never found out-her hatred for the boy gnawed at her stomach. Or perhaps that was just the multiple ulcers she had developed through her alcoholism that she had no magic to heal.

She was able to make it to a site where she could perform the Ritual. She actually had to perform it twice in a row, as the first time her newly-refilled stores of magic had been depleted in healing the many sores, decaying organs, and other health problems she had developed. When she was fully healed, and fully loaded with magic, she felt great-though a look in a nearby pond had shown a reflection that was quite worse for wear. That was her second disappointment-though she subconsciously decided to blame that on the boy, too.

Her third disappointment came in the lack of money-making opportunities she had encountered as she had made her way across the planet. Her name would be mud down in Haven or Atlantis-her alcoholism had lost her many a job, and a good reference would be impossible to find. She could hardly hold down employment in the human world, either, with her green skin and the wings on her back. No, she knew she would have to come by her fortune in less...legitimate ways. As she had made her way from place to place, she had engaged in small, petty crimes. The guilt had challenged her at first. In fact, it seemed to be getting worse. And she had lately been noticing some strange impulses that felt more powerful the more crime she committed.

She had decided that to rise above all of that, she needed to do one big job. One big job that would set her up for the rest of her life. Then she could give up crime—which, Frond knew, she took no pleasure in. One big job, where no one got hurt.

So, after nearly a decade of wandering, she had at last come to the Sozzled Parrot, to find any fairy who shared her dreams of ill-gotten largesse and would help her in her quest. But after having been here several hours, nursing a cold cup of human coffee (the thought of alcohol now made her nauseous), she had started to lose hope. The first few fairies she had approached had heard of her, and immediately began mocking her for an incident in her past which had unfortunately been accidentally caught in the background on a fairy newscast on-location in Haven City Centre. The background had, sadly for Mortilla, become the main focus of the newscast as…well, her antics were a bit hard to miss. She had successfully put the Incident (as she called it) out of her mind years ago-and hadn't been too impressed when all of the embarrassment was brought back in one fell swoop by an insensitive gnome.

She had been about to leave in a huff, when Barnet Riddles had kindly invited her up to the bar for a drink. She put down a few human dollars and ordered a coffee. She was a bit disturbed to see that her funds were dwindling to nothing. She might have to mug another Mud Man by mesmer tonight, she thought.

Her annoyance-turned-despondence had been interrupted when two raucous elves burst into laughter from a nearby booth. She had been able to hear everything they were saying, though had tuned most of it out. For some reason, she was beginning to feel uncomfortable with how they were talking-though she couldn't explain it, she almost wished they would talk in shorter sentences.

However, her interest was piqued when she heard one of the elves, apparently named Jove, say to the other, "You know how you make money in this world, Frewl?"

Frewl responded, "How is that, Jove?"

"I don't know, that's why I was asking you." They both dissolved into more laughter. "All kidding aside," Jove said in a slurred voice-though his words were undermined by more giggling, "I would say a good ol' fashioned bank heist."

"Naw," Frewl replied, waving his hand dismissively. Unfortunately, his intoxicated state caused his small gesture to be amplified enough to knock his drink over. He didn't notice this, as the glass was almost empty. "The way to do it is extortion. Nice, clean threats. Blackmail. You find something good on someone rich, you're set."

Jove slammed his hand on the table, rattling Frewl's downed glass. "I've got it—kidnapping. Kidnap someone rich and you're set."

"Say, who do you think would get the biggest ransom?"

Jove scratched his balding head. "You know, I think a member of the Council. They're usually pretty rich and they're important. The government would hand over a lotta gold for one of their own."

"Hmm," Frewl said. "I think you might get more if you kidnapped a bunch of kids. People will shell out when there are kids in danger. They'd practically set up a telethon. The money would be astro-…astrom…-astromical! Though of course," Frewl continued, puffing himself up as if he were an expert on the subject, "all good kidnappers know that you never hurt your meal ticket. The cops'll work harder to track you down if you hand over damaged goods when you get your money."

"Yeah," Jove replied, "Like you've ever actually kidnapped anybody. You just watch too much TV."

As the two elves started arguing, Mortilla tuned them out. Kidnapping, she thought. The idea had merit. After all, she wanted a lot of money, and didn't want to hurt anyone. She just needed to find someone who would fetch a good price. She thought back to Jove and Frewl's conversation, and it was as if a light bulb turned on over her head. Astronomical was good…but double astronomical was better. It was so crazy, it just might work…