The Chapter Before The First:

The Master Remembers

In a vast and sparkling city, a city in the centre of the universe, one little man remembered something big.

He was very old, this little man, his full name forgotten over the years. He called himself The Master. His specialities were numerous, and included psychology, criminology, mathematics, history, aerodynamics, zoology and gardening. He also collected beer cans.

Other than the delivery boy who left his groceries at the back door, The Master hadn't seen anyone in at least ten years. It was just as well, since a hair-growing experiment had left him with a head full of long green grass. Also, he didn't like clothing, so he wore ladies' snap-front house dresses and rubber flip-flops with white socks. He spent much of his time fiddling in his workshop, feeding the many kittens that popped out of his pockets and looking things purchase on ebay.

Today he stood in front of his blackboard - which was covered in mathematical equations - tugging at a dandelion that had poked up through the lawn on his scalp. Suddenly his eyes widened. He scrawled a few more equations. Yes! He saw it. Right there, in his many calculations.

A child.

He stared at the figures dancing across the board, his forehead creased with annoyance. How on earth could he have forgotten such a thing, such a person, existed, was beyond him. But the Master simply didn't like people. Not their company, not their conversation, nada. Anything having to do with people made the roots of his teeth pulse with irritation. And here on his blackboard was proof that a very particular sort of person had been born into a cruel and stupid world filled with cruel and stupid people.

Frankly, The Master wanted nothing to do with any of them.

But facts are facts and The Master liked to keep his straight. Shaking his head at himself, he sat down at his lab table, pulled his notebook out from underneath a large tabby cat and made a few notes. "Approx. once every century or so," he wrote. "Wall. Usually, but not always, female."

After scribbling these notes, The Master smoothed out a rumpled map. "One lived here," he muttered to himself, putting a dot on the map, "another here. This one born there and moved here." When he finished plotting points, he connected the dots, then took out a protractor to measure the angles between. Lost in thought, he tapped his teeth with his pencil. Something wasn't quite adding up. Where could this girl be?

After working for two frustrating hours, he walked over to a filing cabinet, unlocked the bottom drawer and pulled out what looked like a human hand mounted upright on a black marble stand. The Answer Hand. He did not like to consult The Answer Hand and very rarely did. The Hand, being a hand, could not speak and was therefore difficult to comprehend. (It knew the sign language alphabet but had to spell everything out. And it talked in circles.) The Master could not deny, however, that The Answer Hand often had the answers to perplexing questions, which was why The Master had purchased it (on ebay of course, from some guy in Enca).

He put the mounted Hand on top of the table, pointed at the equations on the blackboard and then to the map.

"Where?" he asked.

The Answer Hand's fingers drummed thoughtfully on its marble base. After a few moments, The Hand began rambling about a number of irrelevant topics: the average rainfall in Caelum, the merits of Minstrel wine, the fat content of hot dogs.

"Focus!" barked The Master, pointing again at the blackboard.

Insulted, The Answer Hand made a waving gesture at the map. When The Master still didn't understand, The Hand bent at the wrist and finger and crawled across the table, dragging its heavy base behind it. It grabbed the pencil from The Master, scrawled a star on the map and gave the pencil back.

There, that's where, The Hand signed. Happy now?

"Ive got to hand it to you," grumbled The Master sarcastically. He had the distinct feeling that this recent discovery was only going to cause him trouble. Plus there was the fact that one of his cats, Marlais- Strong willed, even for a cat - had somehow escaped the safety of his apartment and, despite the flyers he had paid a company to hang around the city, no one had called. In his book, wandering girls and wayward cats added up to a whole lot of unhappiness.

Someone knocked on the door. The Master scowled, as there hadn't been a knock on the door since, well, the last time there was a knock, possibly months before, years even. The Master ignored it.

The knock came again, louder. "I only take deliveries Tuesdays and Sundays. Go away," grumbled The Master. "Go, go, go." There was a crash as somebody kicked in the door, splintering the jamb. The Master, always peeved when he was disturbed, was especially rankled. He liked the door the way it was.

Two men strolled down the steps leading to The Master's rooms. One was handsome, with thick dark hair and a fair complexion. The other was impossibly tall and dark, a vicious and terrible scar like a huge zipper running diagonally across his face. Both looked familiar, but The Master couldn't remember where he had seen them before. A book? A newspaper? And there was something about the way the scarred man moves. Not walking so much as drifting or floating.

"Master," said the handsome one cheerfully. "I hope you don't mind the intrusion."

They were, now that he'd had a few moments to consider it, rather intimidating. "I have important work to do," said The Master, sounding not the least bit frightened, though his knobby knees had gone as weak as egg noodles.

The handsome man stared pointedly at his head. "I see that you have some dandelion issues." He patted the pockets of his overcoat. "I might have some Weedwhacker around here somewhere."

"What do you want?" The Master made more notes in his book: "Two scary men. Need weapon. Sharp pencil?"

The handsome man hesitated, as if waiting for The Master to say something else. "I'm being rude," he said. "Im Zeref Dragneel."

How do you do, Emperor Spriggan? The Answer Hand signed politely.

The Master dropped his pencil to the floor. "Spriggan Dragneel?"

"In the flash," said the man, obviously proud that his reputation had preceded him. "This is my associate, Mr A."

"Acnologia," said The Master. Acnologia grinned. The Master could see his teeth were sharp, unlike those of a human. And he could also see that the scar was not like a zipper, it was a zipper. The silver tab on his forehead glittered when he moved. The Master decided he would not like Mr A. unzip his face. No, that wouldn't be pleasant; he was sure of it.

Spriggan reached out and plucked the dandelion from the top of The Master's head, making the man wince. "We're a little curious."

"Yes, you are. I mean, what about?" said The Master. He was trying not to focus on The Answer Hand , which was busily erasing the star it had marked on the map and putting another star somewhere in Desierto.

"About your research of course." Spriggan eyed the cats warily, his lip curling up with disgust. "I thought these animals were rare."

"They are," The Master said and pulled a rambunctious marmalade kitten out of the pocket of his house dress. "Just not here." He placed the kitten directly on top of the map, obscuring what had been drawn on it.

"Hmmm…" said Spriggan, before turning the notebook around to read what The Master had scribbled there. He smiled when he came to the last bit about the scary men.

"I do lots of research,"said The Master. "What are you interested in? Zoology? Psychology?"

"Oh, a scrap of this, a shred on that," Spriggan said. "I'm especially interested in this curious little thing that happens once every century or more. This very odd thing. Do you know the thing im talking about?"

"Yes," said The Master, wondering how the man had found out about it. He sighed. "You want to know when it happened, I suppose."

"I already know when it happened. I need to know where and I need to know who. And," he said, turning the notebook back to face The Master, "I need to know now."

"Who? I don't know who it is," said The Master. "How would I know that until she shows herself? Er, I mean, until she doesn't show herself rather. As for where, I can't be sure…"

"You can't?" said Spriggan. Using his thumb and forefinger, he lifted the tiny kitten form The Master's map.

"Look on this map, Mr A. A star!"

"Oh, that?" said The Master. "You mustn't pay any attention to that. That map marks the sites of vampire nests around the city, that's all."

"Vampires? Tsk, tsk, Master. I would think that you would be able to come up with something more creative than that." Spriggan took that map, folded it and slipped it into his breast pocket. "That takes care of where. Now I need to know who."

"I'm telling you, that map is meaningless to you."

"I think The Master needs a little encouragement, don't you, Mr A.?"

Uh-oh, signed The Answer Hand.

"But…" stammered The Master.

"Please," said Spriggan. "I know that you're a genius. Everyone knows that. I also know that given the proper motivation, you'll find a way to get the information I need, won't he, Mr A?"

The big man smiled with his razor teeth and clasped the silver tab of his zipper, drawing downwards ever so slowly.

The Master had been correct.

Not pleasant. Not pleasant at all.