Chapter 10: Day 24

Incessant knocking on the door woke him up. Luctor was once again staying in Athena Pierce's tree, because, as she explained, someone had to make sure he looked proper for the day ahead. The bed, again, comfortable. The noise, again, nonexistent.

Staying in Henesys sure was different than staying in the Sitcha Hotel in Kerning City.

Another couple of knocks on the door, and Luctor groaned. "I'm getting dressed," he said, curled up beneath the covers on the bed. No more knocks. Ugh... why does the ship have to leave so early?

He got out of bed and dressed up. Spotless white shirt, black pants, shiny black leather shoes, a black jacket, a ridiculous-looking tall hat, and a long trench coat over his jacket. Luctor almost rubbed his eyes before he remembered the plastic surgeon's instructions to not touch them, however much they might itch.

He walked out of the room into the bathroom down the hall, looking at himself in the mirror. Even though the plastic surgeon hadn't even done any surgery, Luctor thought he didn't look like Luctor anymore; a good thing, considering the fact that he wasn't supposed to be Luctor. Brown eyes? Neatly trimmed hair, dyed blonde? No sir, this was not Luctor in the mirror. This was Hugh von Richter, rich twenty-five year old businessman who grew up in Kerning City.

Luctor walked back to his room, where he glanced at the clock. 3:49. The sun hadn't even risen yet outside the window; it was still completely dark. He wished he didn't have to wake up this early, that the ride left at 10 AM instead of 5 AM, but, like Mark said, "A schedule is a schedule, and the pilots follow the schedule." After all, the distance between Edelstein and Victoria Island meant they were in different time zones, three hours apart. Over there, in Edelstein, it was already 6:49.

Picking up the suitcase next to his bed, Luctor walked downstairs. The aroma of sweet cinnamon caressed his nostrils, and he saw two steaming pieces of bread, baked by none other than Athena Pierce, laying on a plate. As he set down the suitcase and began to eat, she inspected him, then nodded, satisfied that he looked like Hugh von Richter.

"C'mon, the taxi's waiting outside," she said. "We have to go now, it'll take about an hour to get to the tree. Take the plate, you can eat on the way over."

Once in the taxi, Athena handed Luctor's boarding pass to him and reviewed the details of his fake identity with him in hushed voices. "Remember," she said as he got out of the car, "to take the fan out as soon as possible." She glanced to the front of the vehicle, at the dashboard of the taxi. "It's already 4:53. We'd better hurry."

Luctor nodded, picked up his suitcase, and, closing the door behind him, stepped out into the crisp morning air of Victoria Island. He looked to the Sixtopia Tree, where the ship, or, rather, balloon, would depart from to Edelstein.

The Sixtopia Tree, after just a little over one week of being free from the hands of the Black Wings, had been refitted with landing lights. Four extremely strong lights, one on each cardinal direction, sat on the ground, lighting up the Sixtopia Tree brighter than a tree decorated for Maplemas. On the three docks that jutted out from the side of the tree were strung smaller, but many more numerous lights. From the windows in the tree, light radiated as if the sun itself hung inside of it.

Luctor, accompanied by Athena, walked inside the tree and made his way up to the Edelstein ship. It was a strange-looking thing – the actual ship was suspended by numerous amounts of clear, glistening rope from a gigantic balloon – a hundred feet long and forty feet wide at the middle, by Luctor's estimate. A man stood beside a single plank protruding from the side of the ship onto the dock.

Before they could step out onto the wooden dock, the world shook. Everything shook, save the ship floating in the air. Even the Sixtopia Tree, a symbol of stability and endurance, shook violently. Leaves from above fluttered calmly down through the air, but anything anchored to the ground shivered as if something had scared it.

After a couple of seconds, it was over. The man on the dock, who had flattened himself upon the wood with a look of terror upon his face, stood up and brushed himself off.

Athena pushed Luctor forward. "Hurry and get on the ship."

Walking up to the man, Luctor held out his boarding pass, which the man promptly ripped into shreds and tossed into the wind. He gave Luctor back a single shred of his ticket, which had the number 15 on it, then bowed and swept his arms in an exaggerated motion towards the ship, making Luctor feel unsure if he was being mocked or very enthusiastically honored.

As Luctor stepped onto the ship, the man who took his ticket followed him, and pulled the plank back onto the ship. He screamed at the pilot, who stood at the back of the ship, behind a wheel, "ALL ABOARD, CAP'N! READY TO TAKE OFF!" He then turned to Luctor and pointed to a set of stairs that led down into the interior of the ship. "Down b'low, ser, are de first class passenger cabins. Assigned cabin numb'r is on yer ticket."

Luctor nodded his thanks and made his way down to cabin 15, which had a clean bed, a desk, two lamps as well as a large light in the middle of the room, a chair, and good sized cauldron, presumably for going to the bathroom. A single rectangular window with hinges on the side opened out into the black sky.

Still tired, Luctor collapsed into his bed at once and fell soundly asleep.

After an hour or so, Luctor woke up. The sky outside the window seemed to be a bit brighter; perhaps the sun was rising. He got out of bed, put his trench coat back on, and walked up to the deck, where the pilot was still dutifully steering the ship. Victoria Island and its brightly lit Sixtopia Tree was just a speck in the distance; except for that, there was nothing except ocean, ocean, and ocean. The curvature of the world, which Luctor had only heard about before, was truly astonishing to see.

There were few clouds in the air, and the ship was level with them, sailing around them instead of through them. Luctor reached out over the edge of the ship and touched one – it was slightly cooler and more moist than the air around it, but it felt nothing like the fluffy cotton he expected it to feel like.

It was pretty cold up here; Luctor was glad he was wearing so many clothes, however uncomfortably inflexible they were. Before his eyes, the sky was painted an assortment of gold, blue, purple, red, and orange.

I've never seen a sunrise from so high above, he said to himself.

"Hullo, ser, is there something I can provide you with, ser?" the crewman from before asked Luctor amiably.

Luctor glanced in surprise at him. "Oh, no thanks, I'm just looking at the sunrise." He turned around again and looked at the slowly rising golden orb, which had already shone its first rays at the ship so high above the ground.

"'s something I see ev'ry day, ser, but 's amazin' ev'ry time I see it."

They watched the sun rise completely above the horizon in silence, spellbound by its beauty.

"There's nothin' like it, ser."

Luctor turned around to face him. "Indeed. What's your name?"

"Herman, ser."

"Herman, how long until we reach Edelstein?"

The crewman looked up at the sky, thinking for a couple of seconds. "Erm, by my estimate, 'bout six hours 'nd forty minutes, ser."

"Don't you serve breakfast on board?"

"Ain't ready yet, ser. Most passengers don't git up fer 'nother hour."

"Do you mind telling me why you have a balloon on this ship, instead of using elevatium engines?"

Herman looked surprised at the question. Evidently, most passengers did not ask about the mechanics of the ship. "Well, elevatium's expensive as heck, ser. 's better to use a balloon 'nd propellers to move. Course, we got backup engines with elevatium in case the balloon blows."

Luctor nodded. It made sense; even though elevatium had zero purposes outside of making things travel or float, it was by far more expensive than lidium, used for imbuing magical properties into items, or orihalcon, the hardest ore in existence. "What do you use to power the propellers?"

"Lightning. Specially made ships go up in storms and catch lightning in barrels, and we use that as fuel for ev'rythin' up here."

Luctor nodded again and grasped one of the the inch-thick ropes suspending the ship from the balloon. It was opaque and colorless – Luctor expected it to feel cold, smooth, and hard, like glass, but instead, it felt somewhat furry and stringy. It wasn't at all cold to touch, and, like rope, it was wound in coils.

"What are these ropes made out of?" he asked.

"Trixt'r thread, ser. Ludibrians harvest the cobwebs and spin it into this rope. 's at least fifty times stronger than normal rope, and lasts fifty times longer 's well."

"It's an amazing ship," Luctor murmured.

With a hint of pride, Herman responded, "We Edelsteinians develop'd and perfect'd balloon ships, even when the other shipbuild'rs sneered at us fer bein' foolish 'nd wastin' time."

The rest of the trip passed by without event; they ran into no foul weather or anything of the sort. The breakfast they served was delicious, consisting of scrambled eggs, bacon, bread, and soup. Lunch was even better, with smoked fish, hamburgers, hot dogs, and salads. At 3:56 PM, Edelsteinian time, the ship landed at the Edelstein ship-port.

Luctor said good-bye to Herman, who he had talked with quite a bit over the course of the trip, picked up his suitcase, put on his trench coat, and walked down the gangplank towards the waiting crowd, in which were many people holding up signs with unfamiliar Edelsteinian script.

"Mr. von Richter!" one such man was yelling. Luctor headed towards him. When he saw Luctor walking towards him, the man put down the sign and held out his hand to shake. "Hello, Mr. von Richter, I am Kaza, and I will be your assigned escort in the grand city of Edelstein!" he had to yell to make himself heard over the sea of people inside the ship-port.

Kaza was a moderately tall man, at perhaps about five feet ten inches, with brown eyes. He wore a black cap with a dark gray circle on the front, in which was a black butterfly with white spots on its wings. The same emblem was on the right arm of his black jacket, as well as his pants. With his friendly eyes and somewhat round and clean-shaved face, he reminded Luctor of Evan.

"I am Hugh von Richter!" Luctor responded, equally as loud as Kaza.

"We have to go through security!" Kaza yelled back, pointing at the long lines that stood before some metal gates.

As Luctor made to move in line, however, Kaza grabbed his arm. "I'm your escort, so we can skip to the front of the line," he explained. He led Luctor to the front of the line, tipped his hat at the inspector standing behind a table, and pushed Luctor in front of the table.

The inspector, unlike Kaza, had a white goatee. He pointed at Luctor's suitcase and ordered gruffly, "Put it on the table."

Luctor obeyed, opened it up, and pushed it towards the inspector. He watched nervously as the inspector shuffled through its contents.

His heart leaped with terror when the inspector held up the light brown envelope that contained his fan. "What's this?"

As instructed, Luctor lied, "It's an envelope with my potions in it. I have to keep it sealed, or the air will spoil it. You can feel the shape of the bottles in it."

The inspector felt the hard bottle-shaped items in the envelope, then grunted, satisfied. He put the envelope back in the suitcase, closed it up, and slid it back across the table to Luctor. He then pointed at another inspector, who was standing beside a small pedestal. "Move to the pat-down. Next!"

The second inspector found nothing suspicious, so Luctor and his escort moved right along through the ship-port.

"I have a taxi waiting outside, sir, ready to take you to the Poki hotel, where I believe you have a reservation," Kaza said.

"Oh, hang on, I have to go to the bathroom," Luctor said. He carried his suitcase into the bathroom and locked himself in a stall. Once in there, he put the toilet cover down and opened his suitcase on top of it. He took out the paper envelope and ripped it open, and carefully removed his fan.

Around the fan was placed three bottles made out of strange materials with no bottoms or tops – the fan went right through all three of them. Instead of feeling the fan, the inspector had felt the bottles in the envelope, just as Mark Guque had planned.

Luctor removed the bottles from the fan and flushed the bottles down the toilet, as Mark had instructed. Just as he said, the bottles instantly began dissolving once they went into the water. Luctor tucked the fan into his inner jacket, feeling much more secure now that he had his fan.

Somewhere

Dirt. Dirt surrounded him. Dirt pressed down upon his body. He saw nothing, heard nothing. There was nothing but dirt. The entire weight of the world seemed to be on his chest, yet it felt comforting, like the pressing weight of several warm blankets.

He took a breath, and the earth breathed with him. For all the dirt there was, none fell into his mouth or nose. The dirt lifted with his chest; he did not have to strain to breathe.

It was comforting. Yet he felt trapped. Something did not feel right. Didn't he have to do something? He shifted, and the earth shifted. He willed the earth to move him to the surface, and it obeyed.

Poki Hotel, Edelstein. 6:45 PM, local time.

Luctor had just eaten a dinner at the Pokie Hotel's restaurant. The local Edelsteinian cuisine was unfamiliar, but delicious nonetheless. He had conversed with Kaza over the course of dinner, finding out that, like a normal man, Kaza had a wife and children.

He had seemed pleasant enough; but Luctor had reminded himself that Kaza was an enemy, a follower of the Black Wings. But why? Why is he an enemy? Why does he support the Black Mage? Luctor had asked himself. Such a man, who enjoys life as it is... why?

Perhaps Kaza was nothing more than a gold-digger, who joined the Black Wings simply for the money and prestige that would come from being a member of the dominant power. Perhaps he had done so because he had been poor, and wanted to support his family. But it doesn't matter, Luctor had reminded himself. An enemy is an enemy, regardless of reasons.

Luctor and his escort walked up to Luctor's room, a large and luxurious penthouse on the top floor of the hotel. It consisted of three bedrooms; Luctor would sleep in one, and Kaza would sleep in one of the others. His escort seemed to take on the role of a bodyguard, following Luctor everywhere.

As Luctor looked out the huge window in the living room of the penthouse, he noticed what seemed to be a parade – a rather gloomy one, anyways. A man, his hands bound behind his back and eyes covered with a black cloth, was being led down the street by a group of ten men, all dressed exactly the same as Kaza.

"What's this?" he asked Kaza.

The escort, seated next to the window reading a book, glanced towards the procession, then looked back down at his book. "A criminal."

The prisoner stumbled over something in the road and fell to the ground. After kicking him a couple of times, one of the guards roughly picked the man up and pushed him along. A crowd was forming, following the group closely, yet they left ten feet of empty space between themselves and the guards.

"What are they going to do to him?" Luctor asked.

"They're going to hang him."

Luctor looked down at the man stumbling along the cobblestone street. He didn't look like a man who would commit a crime heinous enough to deserve a death sentence. "What did he do?"

"Judging from past events, he's guilty of manslaughter," Kaza said in the same monotonic, uninterested voice.

"You-you hang for manslaughter?" Luctor asked, horrified.

Kaza sighed and put down his book on the coffee table. "Not normally, no. But he killed a Black Wings member – and that would make twenty Black Wings deaths this week, all from 'manslaughter.' The Resistance is careful – they make the deaths look like accidents. We all know it's murder, but we can't prove anything, and we do, whatever the Resistance may think, try to follow the law. So we inserted an amendment, making the harshest punishment for manslaughter death by hanging. Of course, any manslaughter that doesn't involve the Black Wings gets a couple of years in prison, as normal."

The procession moved along, and Luctor watched them until they disappeared from his sight. They try to follow the law? What about all the oppression and injustice I've been hearing about? If the Black Wings are just, then why does the Resistance fight against them? Luctor shook his head. I'm getting information from a Black Wing. Of course the information will make the Black Wings look good.

"I don't understand why the Resistance fights against us," Kaza murmured as if he had read Luctor's thoughts. "We provide everything that they could want... They're nothing more than a terrorist organization."

Luctor sat down in the chair directly opposite from Kaza and picked up his leather-bound "diary." He opened it and scribbled a rough drawing of the man in front of him and looked at it. It was crudely done, since Luctor hadn't drawn in over a hundred years. Just looking at it made him feel a sense of longing and loss. Draqe... Francis...

"The meeting's at seven, right?" Kaza asked. He leaned forward curiously at the sight of the expression on Luctor's face, trying to get a look at whatever he was looking at.

Luctor closed the little book and nodded.

"We'd better head down, then. We'll want to get a table."

Luctor picked up his suitcase, buttoned his jacket, and walked downstairs with Kaza. He frowned. All the tables in the lobby were filled up.

"Don't worry," Kaza winked. He walked up to a group of four men sitting in two sofas around a wooden table, and said something to them. He touched his hat, and the men shuddered. They stood up and left. Kaza beckoned to Luctor, who walked over to him and sat down in a sofa.

"What's the name of the guy you're meeting?" Kaza asked.

"Um... Torst Manra."

Kaza walked up to the front desk and said something to the hotel receptionists, then came back. "I just told them to tell Torst to come here once he comes in."

Then they waited, reading the glossy-covered magazines set on the table in front of them. They didn't wait too long though, because before long, a mustached man followed by two men in suits – without the Black Wings emblem – walked up to Luctor with a suitcase in his hand.

Luctor immediately stood up and shook the man's hand vigorously. "Mr. Manra, a pleasure to see you."

"Likewise, Mr. von Richter." Mr. Manra's voice was deep and comforting.

He ought to voice over for nature documentaries, Luctor thought.

"So, right to business?" Luctor asked, voice shaking. He slapped himself mentally, telling himself to steel up his nerves; it wasn't as if this was the first time he had pretended to be someone else.

"Of course, Mr. von Richter. I know you've had quite a long flight and must be very tired, so we should get this over with as quickly as possible."

"So, the price. Per pound. How much will it be?"

"Well, Mr. von Richter, I believe we last agreed upon 800 mesos per pound. I believe this is a suitable price, so I will not push for any change. Will you, Mr. von Richter?"

"No, I am content with it."

Mr. Manra nodded. "Of course; it is a fair price. Now, I'm afraid the amount that I will ship to you has changed. We last agreed upon 6,000 pounds, but one of my ships has gone in for maintenance, so I can only ship 3,275.6 pounds. Are you OK with this?"

"Yes." Eight o'clock, 32756... what street?

"Now, I have a contract for you to sign, Mr. von Richter. It contains all of the adjustments we made to our last arrangement." He unbuckled his suitcase and opened it. In it was a paper, a pen, and a clipboard. He handed all three to Luctor, and pointed at the bottom of the paper. Two horizontal lines for signatures. One was already filled in. "Please sign here."

Luctor signed at the bottom of the page, simultaneously deciphering the elegant handwriting above where he was signing: Torst Park. Alright, I've got it all. Eight o'clock. 32756 Park.

Mr. Manra stood up and bowed. "As always, a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. von Richter."

Everyone left; Manra and his bodyguards exited the hotel, while Luctor and Kaza walked back upstairs to their room in silence.

"Nice man," Kaza said as he opened the door to their room. "So, that was it? You just came here to do a business deal?"

"Yeah. We usually communicate by letters, but I prefer to meet in person when sealing the final deal," Luctor recited from memory. "Anyways, I've always wanted to go to Edelstein, the land of my grandfather."

"When is your return flight again?"

"Haven't booked it yet. I'll probably stay a week or so just to see the sights."

Kaza nodded. "There's a lot to see in Edelstein. Any idea where you want to go tomorrow?"

I have to be at 32756 Park at eight o'clock. "Oh, I haven't decided. Do you have any maps of Edelstein?"

"Yeah, right here." Kaza opened a drawer in the coffee table and passed it to Luctor.

Sitting down on the sofa with the back of the map to Kaza, Luctor began to search for Park. Park Street? Park Avenue? Park... And then he saw it.

32756 PARK STREET
EDELSTEIN PARK

"Well, how about Edelstein Park? We can go over there in the morning."

"Yeah, beautiful place. You don't want to leave Edelstein without visiting that first."

The wheels were in motion.

Day 25

"Luctor? What's wrong?" Francis asks. They stand outside of the Lionheart Castle, the residence of the Red King Von Leon.
Luctor had buried Draqe an hour after he woke up, tears dripping from his face. They had frozen as they fell down into the snow; it looked as if it had rained diamonds around Luctor. He had sat by Draqe's final resting place for two days.
He had eaten, but he had eaten very little. Luctor had no appetite for anything, not even life. His father was gone. What did he have left?
Francis. He had a brother left. He had lost a father, but he still had his father. Perhaps there was hope yet.
Luctor's voice shakes; something that has not happened for years. "You – you-" Luctor swallows. He can't say it.
"Well? You know you can tell me anything, Luctor. We're brothers, after all." But beneath that warm, comforting voice lies fear – what had happened when Luctor had visited Draqe? Should he, Francis, had gone with him? After what the two boys had seen in their life, Francis had not thought it possible that Luctor could be shocked by anything – and yet, here he is. Shaking. Miserable. In a word, broken.
"Draqe. He's dead. He's been killed," Luctor finally chokes out. Fresh tears springs from his eyes, and he sits down, sobbing like a three year old. Francis pales and leans against the cold stone of the castle wall.
"Impossible," Francis whispers. "Draqe... we learned everything we know from him... he's – well, he's invincible!"
Luctor raises his head from between his knees. "What are we going to do, Francis?"
"We are going to find the man who killed our father," Francis spits out, "and we will make him suffer for his crime."
"But – we aren't – he killed Draqe, Francis! He'll kill us in seconds!"
Francis closed his eyes. He said nothing as he felt the wind blow at him. He wished it would sweep right through him, taking all his sorrows, frustrations, angers...

"Francis," Draqe said. Luctor was asleep; Draqe wanted to talk to Francis, his true son, alone. It was the night before the two brothers had left to find their way in the world. They were thirteen.
"Yes, father?"
Draqe motioned to the table, where a single candle stood, casting a flickering light over everything. The shadows danced with the flame; the movement was mesmerizing, and Francis could have watched the dance of the shadows for twenty-four hours and not once be bored. He sat down at the table, still watching the shadows.
"Francis, my son. Before you two leave, I wish to tell you something."
"What is it?"
"Say nothing of this to Luctor. Swear it."
Francis swore it.
Draqe sighed. "Francis, you must stay with Luctor. You two must never separate. I fear some strong consequence if you do. You two balance each other: you both have a strong sense of right and wrong, of justice and injustice. But you, my son, are more adaptable. You are more welcoming to new ideas, new ways to pursue your goal. Luctor is less so, and more conservative. Together, you two make decisions that meet in the middle: neither rash nor overcautious.
"I do not know why this is so important for you to know, but I feel it, son. You must stay with Luctor. You two are brothers, north and south, east and west, hot and cold. You fit together like two puzzle pieces."

At the time, Francis had no idea what Draqe was rambling on about, but now... now he knows. It is the fundamental difference between the two of them.
Fine, Francis thinks. We will not avenge him. No matter what I do, Luctor must do it with me.

"Well," Luctor muttered, "where are you?"

He was walking in Edelstein Park at 7:59 AM, just one minute before he was scheduled to meet with the Resistance contact. And yet, he could see no one. Well, he consoled himself, they have to blend in or they'll be caught. Of course I wouldn't be able to spot any of them.

Kaza, as always, was accompanying Luctor, although today, he stayed ten feet behind him, trailing the fake businessman instead of walking right next to him. He probably doesn't want to talk to me. But what did he care? It was best if he didn't become too emotionally attached to the man – after all, he was working for the enemy.

Edelstein Park, as Kaza had said, was beautiful. Flowers of thousands of different hues blossomed fully in the boxes next to the stone paths as if Aphrodite herself had walked here. Small rolling hills covered with crisp grass exuded a fresh smell through the air, making the entire place feel as if it would take away Luctor's years and replace it with complete youth. Full-grown trees, with their widely stretched branches and broad leaves, spread shade over the tops of the hills. About a quarter of a mile away was a lake, winking with reflected sunlight.

Luctor was suddenly pushed back by a man whose face was obscured by sunglasses and a very wide black hat. He wore a long khaki coat.

"Apologies," he muttered before walking away briskly. Kaza held out an arm as if to stop the man as he walked by, but then seemed to think twice and pulled it back in.

He jogged up to Luctor's side. "Do you still have your wallet? There's a lot of pickpockets around now," he explained. "A lot of them are from the Resistance; they steal money to fund their activities."

Luctor's mouth opened as he checked his pockets for his wallet. He didn't have his wallet, but... he closed his mouth abruptly. "I forgot, I left my wallet at the hotel."

"Oh, alright. Keep an eye out for pickpockets," Kaza cautioned. He withdrew to ten feet behind Luctor again as they continued to walk.

Luctor had left his wallet at the hotel, so when he came, his pockets were empty. But now... there was a weight in his left pocket, the side that the man had brushed against so rudely. Could it be a message?

Putting his hands nonchalantly into his pocket as if his fingers were cold, Luctor felt out the object in his pocket. It was a stone – a good-sized one too, about four inches wide and relatively flat. It felt sandy and rough, as if it were made of thousands of grains of coarse sand.

Luctor took it out of his pocket, taking care to not let Kaza see that he was holding something in his hand. In the corner of his eye, Luctor saw that the rock was made out of the same material as the bottles that had gone around his fan – light brown and grainy, it had the appearance of a very strangely made clay.

There were words engraved on the rock:

1:30 AM TOMORROW
73581 KLENX DRIVE
LOSE THE INSECT
DISPOSE MESSAGE IN LAKE

Luctor read the message several times over, committing it to memory. 1:30 AM... that's in the dead of night! What does it mean by "LOSE THE INSECT?" Everything except the third line of that message was crystal clear – time, place, and the lake-water would dissolve the rock. But "LOSE THE INSECT?"

He pondered what it could possibly mean as he walked towards the lake. Insect... six legs... small... insect... insects are bugs. Am I bugged?

It was a possibility; there were many instances in which Kaza could have slipped a small listening or tracking device into Luctor's clothes. When he was sleeping, for instance. But "LOSE THE INSECT..." it didn't feel right. Lose the bug? It sounded like he was talking to a person – a person who was following him, trailing him...

Kaza! Of course! "Insect" is the butterfly emblem on Kaza's cap! They want me to get rid of Kaza before I meet them!

Luctor bent down to a knee on the rocky bank of the lake, and pretended to search among the stones. With his left hand, he discreetly placed the message down on the ground, then picked it up with his right hand.

Perfect shape when it comes to skipping stones, he thought. My only trouble would be if it skipped all the way across the lake!

Luctor laughed and threw the rock at as flat as angle as he could manage. One, two, three, four, five, six skips it flew, dancing across the water, as if it were defying gravity, as if it were defying the very laws the world was based upon.

That beat his all-time best of five skips at the lake in El Nath... when he had been with Draqe and Francis. The three of them, a family. That was the last time he had skipped stones.

And then it splashed through the surface of the lake, leaving nothing but a froth of bubbles as the perfect skipping stone dissolved into the water.