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Chapter 228: Fish to Fry, Armies to Lead
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Most of the mass of ghosts floating at the agreed upon meeting place were goons of Walker's, though not all of them were the regular prison guards. If nothing else, the man could round up a posse when he needed it.
The next most represented group was the Far Frozen. The warrior-scientists and warrior-medics floated together, proud in their bright cloaks and carefully etched armor. Occasionally they snarled at one another in their native tongue or cheered, their fang grins sharp with the promise of violence. A few smaller, more delicate ghosts from the Lands of Ice lingered on the outskirts of the group.
Mingling with the crowd were a variety of knights. Some came from Mattingly and assembled under a draconic banner. Others wore white shields, or black shields, or green shields, or motley shields. A single young man, in an otherwise plain suit, carried a banner with a strange device and stared at the icy ghosts with an expression that made it seem as if he expected them to freeze him to death all over again.
The former Circus Gothica (sans Lydia) had gathered together a rather large number of other performer ghosts, including a troublingly large number of clowns. These were given a rather large berth. Those who did dare to approach discovered that the main topic of conversation among them was how to locate and beat up Freakshow before he did anything to 'rig the game.' The green dwarf in particular was leading the discussion and seemed to be demonstrating how to apply makeup and prostheses in order to appear human.
Some distance away from the main gathering, Ember and Youngblood argued about whether or not he should be allowed to participate, and, if not, whether Ember should be allowed to participate, being that she was also below the threshold by which ghosts generally measured adulthood. Ember was, to Youngblood's highly vocal annoyance, willing to concede the point. Whenever the younger ghost shouted, skeletons rattled, and the rigging of his ship creaked dangerously. The majority of the other assembled ghosts failed to see anything except Ember shouting at thin air.
A group of Greek not-quite-gods discussed tactics with gray, shrouded ghosts who bore long, curved blade. A pack of dryads and druids (allies, but not to be confused with one another) listened with interest as they wove impossible ropes of oak branches and mistletoe.
Johnny Thirteen and Kitty had managed to drum up a whole pack of ghostly motorcycle enthusiasts. Several of them had almost-comical feathery wings. Others were literally on fire. Johnny and Kitty clearly weren't in charge, but they just as clearly didn't care.
The final, and most horrible, contingent of size were academics. Not from any one particular source. Some wore the robes and flames of the Library of Tongues, and others clearly hailed from the Drowned Quarter and its many, many universities, but they were all cut from the same cloth nonetheless. They were generally avoided. Even among ghosts, academics were Obsessive.
Other than those groups, a vast number of individuals, pairs, and trios made up the remainder of the crowd. Sydney Poindexter was there, carrying a bulging backpack. Desiree roamed through the crowd, attempting to charm her way to extra power as other ghosts shifted nervously away from her. A spin-off of the goblin market was set up nearby, trying to sell refreshments, souvenirs, anything. Skulker corralled a pack of hunting dogs and other trained monsters on a nearby island. A trio of vultures circled approximately overhead (approximately, because there was no real consensus on what direction was up). The Unstoppable Mailman was there for some reason. As with any large gathering of ghosts outside an established realm, blob ghosts, wisps, and kitsunebi were everywhere.
In other words, it was chaos. Not even particularly restrained chaos. The best that could be said of it was that no one had gotten into a physical fight, yet, and that was only because everyone there had much larger fish to fry.
White fish. Who wore suits.
But the designated hour for meeting came and went, and, when new arrivals stopped trickling in, well…
Ghosts were ghosts. A group like this was never going to choose a leader via a method as orderly as an election.
(Except elections were very rarely orderly. Not for important things. Not in the Infinite Realms and not on Earth, either.)
True, the individual groups generally had a method to internally determine leadership. In the more formal, organized ones, they had come with leadership decided long ago. But the overall horde? Not so much.
The most traditional method of choosing the leadership of a group of ghosts was a brawl.
On the other hand, they were here to go fight real enemies. Hence the lack of fights among each other up to the present moment. Showing up to the ultimate showdown of ultimate destiny with the ghost army equivalent of a black eye and half your teeth missing was… contraindicated. At best. Courting one's own end at worst.
No one was particularly eager to go down that route. Hence the need for creative alternate solutions. Considering the diversity of the crowd, none of them had any particular solution from their cultural background in common. Not even rock-paper-scissors or one of its many variants could be relied upon. Not all those who would lead had hands.
They were, therefore, reduced to the least palatable option. Having a neutral outside party pick the leader.
Perhaps it was a good thing that Ember and Youngblood were there, after all.
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"So," said Youngblood as they watched the army slowly move away (Ember had won the argument, and Youngblood was barred from going off to fight psychopathic paramilitary goons, to the great relief of Bones). "Do any of those guys know you're dating Skulker?"
"Nope," said Ember, popping the 'p.' "They do not. Well, except for Johnny and Kitty." Ember shrugged.
"You just made your boyfriend the general of one of the biggest and baddest armies this side of the black castle."
"Yep," said Ember, looking at Youngblood out of the corners of her eyes. It was an unusually astute observation from the younger ghost.
"Power move."
"Thanks."
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"Hey, hey, hey, Skulker, my man!" said Johnny, 'sneaking' up behind Skulker on his motorcycle. "How's it going?"
"Thirteen. I have an army to maneuver."
"Yeah, yeah, but we've got the whole easy logistics thing going for us, yeah? Anyway, what do you think would happen if I told everyone that Ember is your girlfriend?"
"Look, you walking expression of Murphy's Law, if you screw this up, I'll feed you to Phantom."
"Hey, I'm just asking, just asking. Wasn't going to do anything."
Skulker sighed. "Make yourself useful, and run this over to the druids and the dryads, will you? I need to know how capable they are when it comes to using human-world vegetation."
"Will do, my man!"
"And keep your girlfriend from disappearing anyone! We need the ghostpower!"
"No promises!" called Johnny over the sound of his motorcycle's engine. "Kitty does what she wants!"
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"Excuse me if this is rude, sir," said Poindexter, sliding up next to the Unstoppable Mailman. "But why are you here? This doesn't seem to be your usual purview… Unless someone is mailing a letter to the GIW headquarters?"
"That's right," said the Unstoppable Mailman. "It's me. I'm mailing half a ton of pain and retribution right to their doorstep."
"Er? What?"
"Do you know how many letters I deliver to surviving friends and family members? Do you know how many times those," the Mailman gave the GIW an appellation that was archaic, unspeakably rude, and entirely accurate all at the same time, "tried to shoot me off my horse? Do you know how many times they tried to shoot my horse? This is personal. You?"
"Ah, I know Phantom."
"We all know Phantom." Unspoken: you aren't special.
Poindexter shrugged. "We sort of go to the same school. Also, I may owe him for a few… things. And I've always hated bullies." The last sentence echoes with Obsession.
"Better reason than some," said the Mailman. "You came in with the knights?"
"Uh, yeah. From Mattingly," said Poindexter. "I'm, um, Princess Dora and I have been going to some dances together…" He adjusted his backpack nervously.
The Mailman shrugged. "I've seen weirder couples." He shuddered. "Much weirder."
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Green kid, Elastica, and Goliath were making contingency plans.
They knew perfectly well Freakshow, and therefore his not-inconsiderable knowledge of ghosts and how to control them, was in the hands of the GIW. They knew how badly things could turn out. They knew an afterlife as a slave was no afterlife at all. The Egyptians had the right idea when it came to ushabti. Better to use mindless thralls if you wanted that kind of work.
By all accounts, the GIW were worse than Freakshow, to top it all off.
They had communicated as much to Skulker. Skulker had, apparently, more sense and ability to cooperate with others than initial impressions indicated, because he agreed with them and their… gently stated demands.
The Cirque de Guerre would be disguised as humans. If the rest of the army needed rescue, they would provide it. If not, well, they could serve as an ambush just as easily.
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"I didn't think you'd actually stay," said the knight to the vendor, her tone casual. "Thought something like this would be to high-risk. Low-reward, too."
"Hah! Shows what you know about me! And after all these years, too. I'm offended. The GIW are a problem every civically-minded ghost should be concerned with!"
The knight blinked slowly, calmly. "You know what, I bet there's some profit opportunity here that I'm not seeing."
"You never see profit opportunities!" agreed the vender at a volume suitable for both crowded marketplaces and battlefields. "I don't know why I've put up with you all this time! You're impossible!"
"Enlighten me?"
"Oh!" said someone completely different. "I'm from the Enlightenment era!"
"Go away," said the knight.
"Yeah! Dark Ages for the win! Yeah!"
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"What's it like, working at the Library of Tongues?" asked Mar, scratching Lie's head just behind the ears before the moth-sphinx settled back into something resembling a coat.
"Fascinating," said the robed ghost, fire bobbing cheerfully over her hair. "I never imagined there could be so many languages, so many scripts! When I was alive, writing was inefficient at best. Unevolved. At least, that was the case where I lived. My studies on historical Southeast Asian and American writing systems are incomplete at best.
"Oh boy, you've got some pretty cool scripts in those groups," said Mar. "My strong point lies more in science, so I can't read them or anything, but they're really pretty! Like Sanskrit and Tibetan and Burmese. Or would Tibet be considered Central Asian? Is Central Asian a thing? I'm not really sure where Burma is… I've got to pick up a globe at some point. A new one. Modern. Current political boarders."
"I'm not sure where Burma is myself," said the librarian. "What about you?" she asked, turning to their third companion.
Water dripped off the ghost's shoulders, sleeves, and, well, everywhere as she shrugged. "I have never been to Earth. I could not hazard a guess."
The other two blinked at her. "You mean… this is your first time visiting the material plane?"
"Yes."
"Don't you think this is sort of bad timing? I mean," said Mar, her face twisting, "we are sort of going to fight a war, and sometimes people don't react well to, uh, that sort of change in the environment. There's a lot less ectoplasm in the air over there. A lot. Even in the thin spots. Sometimes people can't handle that."
"I have a coworker like that," said the librarian. "He's sweet. But he's barred from going on collection missions. He… What's the idiom? He loses it."
"I dragged myself into dry air and put my doctorate on hold for this." The other academics gasped. "I'm not going to 'lose it.'" The graduate student clicked her tongue. "I applied for research leave and everything. Still have to write a paper. My advisor will be insufferable if I don't get it in."
"Oh? What's your field of study?"
"Battle tactics."
A pause.
"Shouldn't you be up at the front advising, if you study tactics?"
"Please. You two should know that there's a world of difference between theoretical knowledge and application!"
There was a sharp whistle. "Hey! You! We've got a dispatch from the front for you academics!"
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Armies moved only as quickly as their slowest member. Often, they moved even more slowly than that. Ghost armies that were coming up with configurations and battle-plans on the fly, while attempting to find an appropriate point to cross over and start exacting some good old-fashioned revenge on those who had wronged them… All the while disagreeing on the details of what that revenge should be…
Well. Sluggish was a word. So was glacial. Even that was on the far side of miraculous.
At least, again miraculously, no physical fights had broken out.
(This, despite the highly enthusiastic efforts of an anti-war campaigner that no one really had the time or patience for. They weren't cruel about leaving him frozen to the nearest island, they all knew the pressures of Obsession, and many of the present ghosts could respect a man looking for peace.)
(Sadly, in this case, violence was the only viable solution. One could not negotiate or coexist with those who sought one's destruction as a matter of principle.)
Anyway. Progress was slow.
Then Wulf showed up.
