Chapter Seven: Nefarious Schemes 'R' Us


Author's Notes: Hadrera's name has been changed. The name I changed it to owes its creation to the computer game Warhammer 40,000: Dawn of War – Dark Crusade. I tried to think of a new name for Hadrera which would possibly revitalise her character and cast off her old and frankly insignificant role; if you remember the heady days of The Fifth Colour you will know that Hadrera wasn't even a tertiary character, let alone a secondary one.

The new name is derived, secondly from the superb game mentioned above, but primarily from the sound that water makes. Well, the sound that I imagine water makes; it makes so many noises, and as anyone who regularly uses onomatopoeia in their writing will know it is extremely difficult to pin down a sound on paper in the form of letters, words and thereby phonetic units of value. Anyways, enough said; Hadrera's name has been changed, and the same goes for Gayar, for similar reasons. I hope you like the new names, and I am also working on ways to work the new Hadrera into the story and make her a proper character. Again, the same goes for the new Gayar.

(SUPER AWESOME EDIT POWER GO: the umlaut ((two dots over a letter)) was merely a question of taste. In other words, I added it on to the end because I think it looks cool, not because it has implications of world-shaping importance. Unless, of course, you want it to.)

-x-

Nereya had left soon after with Jahtek in tow, saying that she had urgent business to attend to. This was perfectly fine with Rothfar, for he also had important affairs to set in order, both for his and Nereya's sake. After he'd taken care of the guards who were supposed to have been watching Jahtek and then found likely candidates to fill their suddenly empty positions, Rothfar went on an intelligence-gathering mission.

Normally he'd have sent one of his lackeys to collect information, but on this occasion sending a servant would have been quite beyond the pale. Rothfar wished to obtain information from someone at least equal to him on the ladder of status and power, so he had to go in person…

The Ever-Flame had seen many odd things in his time, but the object that then stood before him just about took the biscuit. It consisted of four panels of glass, fixed in metal frames which spun around on a central vertical axis. This was, in turn, contained inside an upright tube of fibreglass with two gaps in it, presumably to allow access.

In short, Rothfar had never seen a revolving door before. He understood what a door was and that they were for opening and closing. This one quite obviously did neither. He was also an anthropomorphic personification on a mission and had no time to be messing around with stuff he didn't understand, so-

The receptionist didn't even look up when she heard the deafening cacophony of metal and glass being instantaneously melted into a messy lump of grey sludge. Calmly finishing the paperwork she currently had to complete, the receptionist put down her pen, shuffled her papers into a neater order and then looked up.

The security guards rushed into the room upon hearing the melting of the revolving door, saw Rothfar and wisely ran for their lives.

"Lord Ever-Flame, welcome to the Truth Bureau," said the receptionist pleasantly, a warm and welcoming smile suddenly appearing on her face as if somebody somewhere had flicked the 'Smile' switch. "What business do you have with us today?"

Rothfar didn't reply for a moment. He was too busy giving his surroundings a disdainful glare.

The Ever-Flame was standing in front of a wide, long glass-topped black-lacquered wooden counter. Above this was a discrete and tasteful conglomeration of metal, glass and plastic, displaying, for all who could possibly care, 'The Truth Bureau. Bespoke Oracular Divinations While You Wait.'

Behind Rothfar were several of those oh-so tasteful black and puffy leather-covered chairs that look as though they'd been tastefully made out of Lego blocks, next to a table of design similar to that of the counter. Tastefully selected bonsai trees stood on tasteful black marble columns. Replicas of tasteful ancient Japanese art and various other tasteful specimens that looked like an accident in a paint factory hung tastefully above them on the white walls. The floor was of tasteful regular square grey tiles that were so tastefully shiny you could have eaten your dinner off them… if you didn't mind your dinner tasting like floor detergent.

"Lord Ever-Flame? I'm sorry; do the furnishings displease you?" the receptionist enquired sweetly.

"Yes," growled Rothfar. "They do." There's nothing quite like a growl to get your point across.

"I shall have them replaced immediately," said the receptionist brightly.

She excused herself and stood up authoritatively, giving the room a good glare to make sure it knew who was boss. Then the receptionist pointed and clicked her fingers at different objects; the table became a sacrificial altar with various doom-laden runes engraved in it; the puffy Lego-chairs turned into pews of hard brown wood; the tasteful black marble columns turned into metal brackets on the walls, the bonsai trees in turn transforming into fierce orange-blue flames; the paintings became windows across which stout iron bars were fixed; the floor, walls and ceiling were now made of big cold grey slabs of rutted stone… but the counter stayed firmly unchanged. The receptionist snapped her fingers at it a few times, but the counter obdurately refused to be anything other than a counter of annoyingly new-age metal and glass design.

"I apologise for the counter," said the receptionist smoothly. "Is the rest to your liking?"

"…Maybe," Rothfar admitted, giving it a dubious sideways glance.

"So, what business do you wish to carry out today, Lord Ever-Flame?" the receptionist enquired, smiling gently as she sat on the pew behind the counter. Instead of the slick black business-suit she'd had on earlier, the receptionist was now clothed in a hooded robe that hid her eyes in sinister shadow… but it was still just as black as the suit. Certain conventions had to be maintained.

"Yes… the information I seek is of a somewhat confidential nature," said Rothfar, lowering his voice conspiratorially.

"Ah. Do you wish me to contact one of the superiors, milord?" the receptionist continued.

"Indeed I do."

"May I enquire as to the nature of your enquiry, Lord Ever-Flame?"

"…You may inform your superiors that it is to do with the Time Lord," Rothfar imparted, with an air of great gravitas. The receptionist treated it the same way as she would a child who wanted to see their dad at work.

"Very well, Lord Ever-Flame; if you wouldn't mind waiting for a few moments someone with information in that department will be with you directly. Thank you," said the receptionist, pointing one example of inscrutably perfect manicuring over to the waiting pews.

The Ever-Flame went to wait on one of the pews. He soon tired of it and had the receptionist turn them back into comfy leather chairs. Appearances may count for a lot, but comfort and convenience beat them hands down every time.

"Someone will see you now, milord," said the receptionist. Rothfar turned his attention to one of the heavy wooden doors that sounded in dire need of oiling.

"Ah, we're doing the Gothic Dungeon theme, are we?" asked the man who'd just entered of the receptionist, who nodded in reply. "Alright then," he said briskly and snapped his fingers. The sharp business-suit he had on instantly changed into a suit of tarnished medieval armour – with spikes. Not all that unlike Rothfar's own armour. "Lord Rothfar! Glad to make your acquaintance," he continued jovially, taking off his helm and proffering an armoured hand which Rothfar shook.

He looked the man up and down, taking in the silver-white hair and ice-blue eyes. They really were ice-blue, tinged with white like frost; not just light blue like the sky. The man's hair was presentable, but slightly ruffled, as though the minimum of effort had gone into it.

Rothfar looked in greater detail at the man's face. Recognition started to dawn. Despite his youthful appearance, there was something sharp and wise about his eyes that suggested great age – but also great vitality and vivacity.

"Do I know you?" asked Rothfar, with an expression of mild interest.

"I daresay you do," the man replied easily, taking a seat on one of the comfy black leather chairs. His armour's spikes punctured the leather, causing the receptionist to tut disapprovingly. "I used to be something of a celebrity." Rothfar stared at the man for a while, trying to work out who he was.

"Klivor Magecast?" asked Rothfar.

"I should be so lucky," said the man, rolling his eyes. "That buffoon Magecast makes millions on the 5D chat-show circuit."

"Olivarius Hame Wazzock?" the Ever-Flame queried, pointing inquisitively at the man. He replied with an amused smile.

"I very much hope not," said the temporarily anonymous man. "I don't much fancy doing the weird things he does with metafish and ultraporcupines. Guess again."

Rothfar paused for a moment in contemplation. He'd seen that face before somewhere – he could swear it… then he realised why the face was so difficult to remember. It had spent most its time inside a helm.

"Vorlan Demonbane!" said Rothfar triumphantly, absolutely certain he'd got it this time. The man nodded, smiling.

"Yes, it's me," he acknowledged affably, "although Demonbane was just a nickname."

"Well…" said Rothfar, surprised. "This is the last place I'd expect to find you."

"Let's just say I know how to take care of myself," said Vorlan lightly. "I lost the job that made me famous, but I was too popular to be thrown out on the street, so I got given a comfy desk job. Nowhere near as good as the real thing of course, but it's a decent living."

"So it's true you were fired?" Vorlan nodded ruefully in response.

"I'm afraid so. To be precise, I was not so much fired as resigned; after the way things turned out after the whole Trigon debacle I didn't really have any other choice. If I hadn't given up my post they would have forced me to, so I took the only honourable route out."

"Trigon? Oh," said Rothfar, looking up and away for a moment as he searched through his memory for what Vorlan was referring to. "I remember that. Quite a long time ago now."

"Couple of centuries, no less," said Vorlan breezily. "Still, I get by. Anyway, what can I do for you, Lord Ever-Flame?"

"Yes, well… it's about the Time Lord," said Rothfar, leaning closer to Vorlan in a secretive manner. He glanced suspiciously at the receptionist. "Can she be trusted?"

"Certainly," Vorlan replied reassuringly. "We are firm believers in client confidentiality."

"…Very well. Are these rumours of a resurrection authorised by the Time Lord true?" he asked in a low voice, not feeling completely safe either way.

Rothfar knew well that knowledge is power, but even more powerful than that was knowledge of who has what power, as it were. If anyone got at the receptionist then it could have consequences for Rothfar.

"Ah, so you've heard that gossip too?" said Vorlan genially. "Well, to be perfectly frank with you, we have absolutely no idea as to its validity."

"But you're the Truth Bureau!" Rothfar burst out angrily, spitting sparks. "How can anyone know if not you?"

"Ah, that's the difficult part, you see," said Vorlan, sitting back. "The truth is hard enough to define as it is."

"Don't be stupid," said Rothfar, clearly nettled by Vorlan's lackadaisical attitude. "The truth is the truth."

"And that is a tautology. Of course the truth is the truth; it could hardly be anything else, could it?" asked Vorlan. "Or could it…?" he added, grinning enigmatically. He was enjoying winding up the Ever-Flame; it wasn't something many entities did without getting to know how it feels like to be toast.

"Stop playing games with me, Vorlan. Demonbane or no, you are part of the Truth Bureau. If something is true, you know about it," Rothfar growled. "Now is this rumour true or not?"

"Yes."

"Thank you!"

"And no."

There was a difficult silence during which Rothfar attempted to melt Vorlan's head just by glaring at it. His anger met stolid icy-blue eyes.

"There's something you're not telling me," Rothfar rumbled.

"There is, in fact," said Vorlan lightly. "It's to do with temporal physics. You are asking about the Time Lord, after all. Do you know of the Trousers of Time?" Rothfar's frown temporarily became one of puzzlement rather than ire, and he shook his head. "Well, there is a theory which states that, for every possible outcome of any event, another alternate reality has to be created to account for it. The Trousers of Time is a simplification of this. Say, for example, that someone answers a yes or no question. They have two possible choices, so another alternate reality has to be created to account for all the consequences; the second leg of the Trousers of Time, so to speak. The person could of course choose not to answer the question, or answer it with one of their own, but that's just splitting hairs," Vorlan explained pleasantly.

"And what exactly has this got to do with my question?" asked Rothfar, his voice low and dangerous.

"We can't answer your question for certain, because it is… well…" Vorlan frowned uncertainly. "There isn't just one truth that I can tell you, due to the whole multireal nature of time, as I just explained to you. There appears to be a lot of temporal and real confusion at the moment; there are alternate realities conning all over the place."

"Conning?" asked Rothfar, once again at a loss.

"Sorry; converging," Vorlan continued to explain pleasantly. "I have explained the divergence process, illustrated by the Trousers of Time, but it is also possible for alternate realities to converge should they become similar enough, which is after all possible in an infinite reality. However, the convergence rate has shot up recently. They seem to be conglomerating into singularities. That is to say, an alternate reality with a lot of potential to diverge and create other alternate realities," Vorlan added quickly, once again seeing that now familiar perplexed expression on the Ever-Flame's burning skull.

"Look, cut the jargon, okay? My business is fire and heat in general; I don't know, want or need any of this temporal crap. What's the upshot of all this?"

"The upshot is…" Vorlan leaned closer, with the air of one imparting a great secret. Rothfar leaned forward as well, relieved to be finally getting somewhere. "The upshot is that nobody really knows what's going to happen."

Vorlan sat back again and steepled his fingers. Rothfar stared at him incredulously.

"So why didn't you tell me that at the beginning?" Rothfar roared, his temper stretched well beyond breaking point.

"Well, it's a bit embarrassing to admit that you don't actually know the answer if you work for the Truth Bureau," said Vorlan awkwardly, shifting in his seat.

Rothfar didn't so much stand up as shoot up from his seat, pointing a spiky finger of metal at Vorlan. Again, he stared back with cool blue eyes.

"Just tell me this," Rothfar demanded heatedly, "and none of the temporal mumbo jumbo this time."

"Okay," said Vorlan equably.

"Right. If you, as the Truth Bureau, don't know this information, then nobody else knows, correct?"

"Um… well, yes, that is true, I suppose," said Vorlan after a brief moment of consideration. "The only other person who could really know about this is the Time Lord himself and anyone he chooses to involve."

"Fine," said Rothfar, placated in some small measure. "So the chances of anyone else knowing are minimal. Another question; is it possible to track the Time Lord?"

"Well… not really, no," said Vorlan, again using that tone of voice which meant long and boring explanations.

"Keep it short," Rothfar growled, anticipating the explanation. Vorlan nodded.

"Very well. It is not in fact possible to exactly pinpoint where or indeed when the Time Lord is, for he exists everywhere and everywhen simultaneously, but it is possible to track his activities and what he influences on the rare occasions when the Time Lord temporarily focuses on one particular time and place."

"How?" asked Rothfar, literally on the edge of his seat.

"Again, I can't help you there," said Vorlan, shrugging. "All we know about tracking the Time Lord's activities is that it is theoretically possible, but how one would go about it is still a mystery. Research is being conducted in this area and if anything turns up you'll be the first to know, but apart from that I can't really give you anything concrete."

"Hm…" Rothfar sat back and digested this new information. "Thank you, Vorlan Demonbane. You have been most helpful."

"Well, you know me," said Vorlan, smiling pleasantly, "always willing to help."

"Indeed…"

They shook hands again and parted. Rothfar may have been interested to know that he wasn't the only one to come away from this conversation with new and interesting information.

-x-

Raven secured her cloak in place with her signature medallion. Her hands were working almost autonomously – Raven's mind was somewhere else. For a start, she had a ravenous hunger on her… no pun intended.

So you may well imagine her annoyance at being held up by Timidity. The little grey figure appeared before her quite precipitously and instantly shied away as soon as Raven's furious eyes alighted on her.

"What are you doing in the real world?" she demanded, almost roaring in her vexation. Timidity mumbled something nervously. "Speak louder," sighed Raven, trying to make her tone gentler in allowance of Timidity; it was like trying to speak to a bunny rabbit.

"There's something going on… in the mindscape. Knowledge said you should come," said Timidity, still on a low volume but at least audible this time.

"'Something'?" asked Raven, eyebrow raised in interest. If Knowledge had said this then it was bound to be worthwhile.

"Yes… a black cloudy thing. Um. Knowledge said you couldn't sense it because of… some kind of mental block. It made it," Timidity added, speaking like a true orator.

"Thank you," said Raven, in the voice of one who is trying very, very hard to be nice and could suddenly not be at any moment due to extreme annoyance. "But why did you actually come out? Surely you could have told me from in… how powerful is that thing?" asked Raven suddenly, realising how much danger her mindscape might be in.

"It beat Anger and Courage easily."

"Together?" Raven asked incredulously. Timidity cowered at Raven's sudden rise in tone and volume.

"…Yes."

"Well, I suppose breakfast will have to wait then," said Raven briskly, drawing up her hood in a businesslike manner.

"Lunch, actually," Timidity pointed out quietly. Raven rolled her eyes.

"Whatever! Let's get going already."

-x-

Nereya the Shining One stood on the edge of what used to be Mator Kesh's volcano. Her glittering eyes observed what was left of it.

The ructions that had been narrowly averted from destroying Jump City had not been at all kind to their creator. Although Mator Kesh was spared his life for services rendered vis a visthe reincarnated terrakinetic superhuman, he had still been forcefully evicted from his volcano as stipulated in the charter of the Volcanic Union of Labourers and the Council of Assistant Notables (V.U.L.C.A.N., possibly one of the worst-constructed and derived acronyms ever).

This meant there was now a post open and somebody had to fill it. Until then it was in Nereya's possession; in escrow. Apparently Rothfar had other business to take care of, although he had as usual been rather vague as to what exactly it was he had to do. Still, that was none of Nereya's business… yet.

A perfect globe of shining translucent blue water hovered at Nereya's side. As you might have guessed, this new character was another of the Elemental Tetrarchy. She was not, as described, an anthropomorphic personification like Nereya or Rothfar. Indeed, she specifically wanted not to have an identity, but for the sake of both convenience and balance had named herself Shaswë and assumed a female persona.

As aforementioned, Shaswë had no fixed body. This was principally because, as avatar of all that is water, it would be very difficult for her to create a human-shaped form that was in any way rigid or functional. This was, however, just an excuse, because Aeron, the Lord and Master of Air and Wind, had already found a way around this. Shaswë just preferred to stay as she was.

True, sailors have often told of how the ocean is a woman and have given it such a form many times over, but that was not Shaswë. She entrusted the seas to a subordinate who was named, oddly enough for an elemental spirit, Mary, and had an entire department to herself.

No, Shaswë was much more than that, for she dealt with all matters that pertained unto water; from the Pacific Ocean to the tiniest forest streams; from tsunamis to the tiniest molecule of humidity hanging in the air; from – well, you get the picture.

She was also surveying the volcano to see what state it was in, which was rather an eerie sight to behold considering how Shaswë had no visible material eyes. The roof had collapsed in not long after Mator Kesh had left, littering the volcano's now cooled floor with detritus. After all, with no god to maintain it a volcano is hardly going to survive much longer, and this particular volcano had already been brought to its knees by the terrakinetic human girl.

Shaswë 'spoke'. Because she didn't have a human form she didn't have a human voice either, and so told others what she thought through the rushing of her globe waters. All the Lords and Ladies understood her… except Rothfar, for obvious reasons.

"The place is a dump," 'said' Shaswë. Nereya cleared her throat, which sounded more like sandpaper being scoured against gravel. "Did I break protocol?"

"Yes, you did," said Nereya patiently. The thing about Shaswë was that she had a lot of trouble understanding what manners were for, being as how she had no feelings of her own and didn't understand what it was like to have them hurt. "It is not polite to speak ill of an entity or thing, remember?"

"Yes. I do," Shaswë answered. "But it is the truth," she added, as ever irredeemably practical.

"I'm afraid it is," Nereya sighed. "Never fear; I can fix it up for your protégé. What is her name, anyway?"

"His name," Shaswë corrected, "is Olv." Although Nereya was of the opinion that this name contained far too few vowels, she said nothing of it.

"Good. I shall make the necessary arrangements; you know how it is."

"I do."

Although it was well within Nereya's ability to reshape the entire volcano into something more presentable with a single thought, that was not how things worked in the human world. These were natural changes, and as everyone knows Mother Nature takes her own time. It upset the humans if things happened to rapidly, and sometimes a few of them got killed.

Obviously a few crushed homo sapiens was no problem, but if things got out of hand there would be no belief left for them and all the elemental spirits would degenerate into the physical and geological processes they represented, rather than being gifted with sentience as they were.

"My water is ready. Let it run," 'said' Shaswë. Nereya nodded and obliged.

Almost instantly, small trickles of water started to pour into the volcano. So far it would do no more than just turn the dirt to mud, but nature's changes would allow it to build up gradually over time…

"Olv will arrive soon?" Shaswë's waters shuddered briefly, which was her version of a nod. "Then we should leave here. I have a favour I must ask of you…"

-x-

Raven looked around at her gathered emotions and sighed wearily. They were all arguing amongst themselves. Well, not all of them of course – Timidity wasn't exactly the type who would engage in a hammer-and-nail argument and Sloth… well. She wasn't the type to do anything.

"Alright, shut up" she shouted. The emotions' arguments petered away into the ethereal silence of Raven's mindscape. "Now then; Timidity came to me saying that there was some kind of mental anomaly in my mind that was attacking you and blocking my perception of it, is this correct?" Raven questioned.

"Yes," Knowledge affirmed, pushing her glasses back up her nose in the customary fashion. "I suspect it may in fact be a conglomeration of…" Knowledge looked down disdainfully and kicked the sleeping Sloth in the side; she awoke with a cry of pain. "Pay attention. I'm not explaining this for my own benefit, you know. Anyway, I believe the intruder was formed out of negative mental energy."

"Oh… right. I guess that would explain why it attacked you, then," said Raven, mostly to herself.

"Yeah, but we-"

"Shut up, Courage," Raven ordered curtly, not even looking at the addressee. "So, what happened to it?"

The emotions had apparently decided to enter the Floor Observation Championships of Ursa Minor Alpha, shuffling their feet in embarrassment… except of course Anger and Pride, the only two emotions which were incapable of mixing with embarrassment in any way. Raven turned to them.

"It escaped," Anger growled. There wasn't really any reason to growl, but she had an image to maintain.

"Where to?"

"Everyone else doesn't know," Pride answered definitely. "They were hiding behind rocks waiting for you to arrive when suddenly the black thing that I was confronting bravely just upped and ran away like a coward. I'm sure I'll find it soon, though; I'm just too amazing not to."

"Yes, alright, thank you," said Raven between gritted teeth. "Knowledge; take me to where the negative energy was last time you saw it." Knowledge nodded and set off. "The rest of you will stay," Raven ordered, following Knowledge. "I don't want anything else to happen to the mindscape."

"Yay!" Joy celebrated, punching the air with glee."We're staying here! Let's have a party!" A dark shadow passed over Joy.

"How about not?" said Anger in menacing tones, looming over Joy ominously.

"Yay We're not gonna have a party!" said Joy jubilantly, skipping away.

If the fullest extent of Anger's wrath had been expressed at that moment, the universe would have been brought to an extremely sudden and excessively violent end. So give thanks it wasn't.