Island of Serenity in a Loud Tavern

[The Mathemagician]

The tavern was typically busy on this cold night. Outside, snow blew past in light flurries, its lazy movement covering up a bitter cold. The dead of winter in the town of Underwood did not bring with it great drifts of snow, but it was chilly enough to be quite unpleasant. Inside, warm and diffuse light filled the air, giving the room an atmosphere of homely simplicity. Peoples of all races sat at the stout wooden tables, exchanging tales and sharing drinks. The noise level was not as oppressive as it sometimes was, and conversation could be exchanged at a normal level without shouting over the cacophony of voices.

From one isolated table, however, no voices rang out. No stories were exchanged. No drinks were had. This table was an island of serenity amidst a chaotic ocean of revelry. A few onlookers looked upon the table and its occupant and wondered at the silence momentarily, but soon their attention was drawn off by more interesting things. The outside world seemed to have no impact on the occupant, who appeared to be entirely absorbed in his own work and his own little world. The name of that occupant was Alphred Tillman.

Alphred sat in his small wooden chair and scribbled furiously at the screen in front of him. The screen was a light blue shimmering square, a foot in diameter and no more than a paper’s breadth of thickness. As Alphred’s metal-clad fingertips passed over the screen, white letters and numbers appeared upon it in strange and unrecognizable formations. Once a stray mug slipped out of the hand of some dancing partier, and it passed right through the screen. The screen disappeared at the intrusion, and Alphred swore. He made a brief hand-sign and once again his writing instrument was visible.

He felt as though he was on the verge of a breakthrough. If only this damned place wasn’t so busy. he thought. Why would anyone waste their time at a place like this? Alphred, of course, excluded himself from this category. That was because, odd as it may seem, he was hard at work amidst all this chaos. He was hard at work thinking up additions to make to his theory of Arithmancy. With it he hoped that he could predict the behavior of individuals in a semi-accurate manner. To do that, he had to first observe the behavior of individuals. If he could understand their behavior in the small cosmos that was this tavern, perhaps he could come to expand his equations to understand behavior in other circumstances.

The Mathemagician looked up apprehensively at the table next to his own, momentarily forgetting the scribbling of equations on his screen. He had predicted that the occupants of this table would be leaving some time in the near future. Now, however, that seemed unlikely. Two of the occupants (a dark-haired and bearded man and his shorter and fairer companion) had begun a shouting match with each other. It looked as though it may soon descend into fisticuffs. Such things were not uncommon in the tavern setting. Alphred, however, was dismayed. What had gone wrong with his equations? He must be missing something…something! It seemed that a unified theory of Arithmancy was no closer than ever before. Disheartened, Alphred turned back to his screen and began to write out a new set of numerals…

[Grammar_police]

The small corner in which Virgil was forced to sit was not a pleasant one. It was placed far from the main part of the room, where most of the folks sat. He would have liked to sit at one of the other tables in the center of the room, mostly for warmth but also for the joy of listening to other people conversations, which if weren’t obvious lies would offer a good time on a night like this. But he was stuck at a small table covered in old, untouched dishes, and next to a poorly set window that hissed along with the wind.

The cold visitor could take it no longer. He stood up, pulling his sword and bag off the table, and walked towards the center of the crowded room. Normally, he didn’t like to sit with other people, especially the drunken scoundrels that inhabited these types of places, but the idea of a hot fire overpowered his disgust of drunkards. Is there not one place to sit in this blasted place. He thought as he peered through the smoky haze that surround the fire.

An abrupt burst of shouting turned him around. And alas! There near a man he found an open chair. On a sing person sat at that table, and intellectual by the looks of him, who was doing something quite odd with his hands. He quickly brushed his way around to the table, muttering “pardon me sir” to everyone unfortunate enough to get in the way of the stuff he was lugging around.

He sat down at the table and immediately felt a difference in his well being from his previous station. It was warmer, brighter, a bit smellier but overall much better. He was even able to hear several conversations going on around him. And for some unknown reason the man he was sitting next to completely slipped his mind. He felt the man might find it rude for him to crowd his table without saying anything.

“Say, what’s that your doing?” Was the first thing that came out of his mouth.

[The Mathemagician]

Alphred did not even notice the man who had sat next to him until he spoke. Then the Mathemagician looked up in shock, seeing this visitor for the first time. Was it someone that he knew? Alphred was terrible at remembering faces. The warrior-man did not strike any chords of memory within him though. Then why did he suddenly sit down next to Alphred?

“Errrm, excuse me,” Alphred said, just loud enough to be heard above the level of conversation in the tavern but just quiet enough to still sound suitably meek. His voice quavered slightly, like a particularly unstable blade of grass. While on the inside Alphred was fairly self-confident, in social situations…

Soon, however, Alphred forgot the man’s rudeness. An opportunity to explain his work! His self confidence rose a good bit. Well, that perhaps he could manage to speak about. Puffing up with some amount of self-importance, Alphred decided to give one of his infamous mini-lectures.

“Well, sir,” he began, preparing for a lengthy drawn out speech on the subject of Arithmatic co-variable evolutions. Before he could begin though, large arm jutted into the back of his head. The man behind him had leaned back, knocking his elbow harshly into Alphred’s head. Alphred winced in pain, and suddenly lost track of his thoughts. The lecture flew out of his mind, and he looked down sheepishly, rubbing the throbbing back of his skull.

“Errrm, it’s not much actually. I’m afraid. I don’t think you’d be interested anyway.” For whatever reason, most people didn’t seem to be interested in Alphred’s mathematics. Few realized the practical uses of the magic. Well, his parents had realized the practical uses and they hadn’t cared. Magic wasn’t “respectable” in a family of accountants, apparently. Well, he didn’t need them anyway.

Someone jostled the back of Alphred’s chair, and he realized that he wasn’t about to get much work done tonight anyway. He sighed and waved away the screen that lay upon the table. For some reason, he felt like he actually wanted a drink. Didn’t they have some kind of fancy fruit drink? Made with oranges and cream and other exotic fruits like that? Errr, mostly with fruit, anyway? He wasn’t sure.

Alphred eyed the stranger who had sat next to him more closely now. What were his motivations? Could he be a spy for some rival magician? No, that couldn’t have been. All the other magicians thought he was crazy or some such nonsense. Then who? Who, other than Alphred, would possibly want to know more about Mathemagic? It didn’t occur to him anymore that the stranger’s question may have been an entirely innocent one. He decided to cleverly probe the man for information.

“Errr, so. Nice…weather we’re having?” Alphred ventured quietly. On the inside, he was laughing with glee. Excellent! The Mathemagician was proud of himself for such a clever was to begin an exchange. Alphred’s standards for a good conversation starter, you may understand, were set fairly low. Quite low.

[Grammar_police]

The most amazing thing about this man was his light pad. Virgil had seen magic before, but this was something new; a flat glowing paper, that vanished into nothing. This and the mans voice told him a lot about him. Mostly that he was the intellectual he first thought of him.

“Hmm, the weather? Damned cold if you ask me. Is it always like this around here? I’m not from this part you see.” He spoke halfheartedly.

Something else had caught his eye. Two men were sitting father out in the room, who must have taken his seat right after he left it. These men for some reason caught Virgil’s eye. They were almost no different from any other men, but for some reason they had a dark aura about them that seemed to attract attention.

Virgil’s thoughts seemed to fade away form his conversation with his table companion and drift towards these newcomers. Even if everyone else’s curiosity had failed, his own didn’t. To him the two men looked to be in search for more than just hot food and a place to sleep. Somehow Virgil was able to see this. His uncanny ability to see through peoples actions and into their intents, although not exceptionally accurate, was enough to see this much. He shifted on his chair, watching the men as they settled into his own former seat.

A smirk grew across his face as he saw the two men looking around the room. He was right, they were scanning the people, but for what he could not tell. They stopped their gaze at his table. He couldn’t understand what was so interesting about him, but he remembered he wasn’t the only one sitting there. The other man must be their target, if any, he would be an easy one for sure. He was neither strong nor tough looking as any other man in the tavern, and possessed something that would gain attention anywhere.

They obviously didn’t see the magic paper vanish, otherwise they might have noticed it was some sort of magic and not a tangible object, because they soon got up and started walking towards his table.

He nudged closer to his companion and whispered, “Looks like I wasn’t the only who found you’re magic interesting.”

[The Mathemagician]

As this conversation continued, Alphred was beginning to feel more and more uncomfortable. Something about the other man’s strange hair and lengthy moustache made him look like a foreigner, even more than his strange pattern of voice. Although weapons were not uncommon in the Tavern, even among peaceful folk, there was something a bit different about the moustache-man’s double swords that he flaunted in his belt. The owner seemed like he actually knew how to use them. At least, however, he didn’t seem to be hostile towards the Mathemagician. Who knew though? Warriors, Alphred had always felt, were a most unpredictable and generally untrustworthy bunch.

It only took a moment for Alphred to glance up and recognize the two men that were approaching the table now. They had, in fact, been subjects of one of his test-calculations earlier that evening. Alphred had predicted based on their facial expressions, speech pattern, and general appearance that they were likely candidates to start a fight. For the first time ever, Alphred felt more than a little bit sorry that he had been right, even if perhaps it had been by accident or coincidence. It didn’t take a mathematical genius to figure out these men’s intentions now though.

“Hrrrm, yes,” Alphred mumbled to himself. “I suppose…” he began, intending to finish with ‘I suppose I was right for once’ but he was cut off by one of the two brawny men. For brawny they both were. Wearing brown leather jackets, and each with a nasty looking dagger at his belt, the two men clearly were Classic Type A Barroom Miscreants. And yes, one of them was a few inches shorter than the others and much fatter, while the other was taller and lankier. And fatter. Alphred wondered what drew such pairings together in the criminal world. Was there some sort of magnetic attraction that drew such personalities together? The fat one, the little one, Alphred wondered if this was an intentional pairing. He had seen it happen to many times, after all. Just then, he had the faintest grasping of an idea. It slipped away, however, when one of the men began to speak.

“Hey there.” the fat one spoke. He blurred his words together into one continuous sound, making it slightly difficult to understand. “Whatcha mumbling ‘bout?”

Alphred winced, waiting for the other to speak. But wait, it was the fat one that had spoken? No, no that was all wrong! These criminals were clearly fools if they didn’t know such a basic element of the criminal structure. The tall skinny one was the devious one. The fat one just chuckled along and agreed with everything the other said. Perhaps these two were new to the profession. Before his brain had considered it, his mouth had decided to straighten the poor confused fellows out.

“Excuse me,” Alphred said politely. His mind was screaming NO! STOP! but for some reason he could not keep his mouth from continuing without him. “It does appear that you are slightly confused. You see, in traditional bi-criminal pairings it is generally assumed or agreed that the lankier man, usually possessing of a wiry moustache, is the one to speak. His companion is the one to just…laugh…and…” his words began to slow down and eventually died a quiet death, not a single moment too soon.

“Hey, you in-sin-you-eating something?” the larger man said. The other hushed him with a wave of his hand though in a gesture that said “just never mind.” It seemed a bit odd to Alphred

“Listen, fella. Whatever the hell you’re talkin’ about, jus’ shuddup, mmmkay? We ain’t here to pick a fight wid youse. Naw, why dontcha just give us that fancy screen o’ yours, chip-chop.”

Alphred was aghast. He had no possessions they could steal, but his screen? Impossible! It wasn’t even a physical object.

“Errrm, I’m afraid that’s impossible sirs…”

[Grammar_police]

The magician’s response was something that would surprise anyone. There is no good reason why someone would say something like that in a situation like this. Bi-criminal what! Just the thought of that started to annoy him. He watched as the thieves were irritated by this, but then the next answer made them furious.

“Now don’t joo be a’playin games wid us!” The fatter one said in an increasingly angry voice. “I don’ got times for games!”

The man started twittering the handle of his knife, as stepped in closely to the magician. Virgil could not just stand around and watch the magician get himself killed, even though it was not like him to defend others he hardly knew, the magicians’ naivety on these things almost made him feel sorry for him. Almost.

“MmmHm!” Virgil said over-expressing his tone while getting up. He picked up his sword with him and held it in front of him in both hands. He was almost nose to nose with the taller of the two, but directing his attention towards the fatter one.

“An’ who are you!” The fat one said giving a nervous glance at his partner, then turning back to Virgil.

Virgil forced himself to put on his best face, even though inside he was utterly annoyed. “If you had paid any attention to your victim, sirs, you might have noticed that what you want can’t be given …” He was cut off mid sentence by the shorter thief, who suddenly got up the courage to draw his dagger.

“Shuddup!” He shouted, pointing his dagger towards Virgil, making threatening jab motions. “If you knows anathin’ you’d stand back, afore I gut you.”

This threat was enough to get Virgil’s blood boiling. He would always get like this before an engagement; it was not rage, more a shiver that would course through his body, like the kind that usually accompanies fear. But for him it was a welcome sensation, like a high from adrenaline, which would only be calmed by a fight.

By this time the entire cavern was watching, they were all waiting to see what would happen. Even the two men who were having their own little fight a table over stopped to see where this one would go. Virgil raised his sword up, slowly unsheathing it just to give the thieves a show of what was to come. But the short one was stubborn. He readied a thrust, but Virgil saw it coming and was too fast. As soon as the dagger was drawn back for the stab, he moved. He quickly elbowed the taller man out of the way while completely unsheathing his katana into a sideways slash.

The fat man fell to the ground giving a last shriek that died away as his breathe was lost through the cut in his throat.

[The Mathemagician]

Alphred just watched, stunned, as the swordsman and the troublemaker scuffled. He had seen several bar fights while people-watching in the inn, but none had started so randomly or ended so quickly. Never had he seen such a poorly matched up fight, Alphred almost fell bad for the poor thug, who was now lying dead on the floor. Dead!

“Y-y-you just killed,,,” Alphred stammered, his mouth and body trying to catch up to his brain. He had no time to react though, for soon the second thug was upon him. Apparently deciding that the swordsman was not a good candidate to attack, the skinny thief chose to go after Alphred.

“’ey, ya killed mah brother Lou!” the thief shouted, lunging towards Alphred.

“No, no, you’re mistaken, I didn’t-” Alphred protested. A punch from the thug right into his gut stopped his sentence short, as Alphred lost his breath and wheezed to get air. Before he could realize what was going on, there was something cold and metallic lodged against his neck. It didn’t feel like a dagger. Apparently the thug had another weapon concealed on his person. But what was this thng?

“’ey, ‘ey. Ya know what dis ting is?” The thief said loudly. “It goes ‘boom’ and kills ya if I tell it to.”

The color drained from Alphred’s face. This evening had ended up going very, very poorly. Now he was standing here, bent over awkwardly, some sort of unknown weapon pointed towards his neck, and two psychopaths near him. Alphred included the swordsman as a psychopath as well.

“Sir, umm, is that really, umm, necessary?” Alphred squeaked.

“Hell it is!” the thief shouted. It didn’t seem like there was to be any bargaining with him.

“Listen. Mah orders were to getchya magic an’ bring it to da boss. So gimme that screen!” The thug’s voice was oddly high pitched, probably out of nervousness and insanity. Watching his friend die hadn’t left him in the best or most reasonable state of mind, clearly.

“Now listen. I’m givin’ ya to the count o’…five.” the thug said dramatically. “One…”

Alphred decided that it would be best just to comply. Sobbing silently, he pulled out the screen with a handsign. The thug, keeping his weapon at Alphred’s neck, leaned over to snatch it. As soon as he touched it, however, it disappeared.

“’ey! No tricks! No dirty tricks!” the thug shouted angrily. “Two…”

“Look, it’s not possible!” Alphred exclaimed.

The thief did not even respond, but continue his drawled count. “Three…”

“Look, wouldn’t I be more use to your boss alive and with my magic than dead?” Alphred pleaded.

“Nope. Four…”

Alphred closed his eyes and wondered what would come next.
Yeah, that’s a gun that the thug has. And yeah, there’s a perfectly good reason for him to have such a rare item, revealed *waves hand dramatically* later! But just to clarify.

[Grammar_police]

The tavern was in shock at what just happened. Some crowded around the scene but most just ran out the door, afraid they might be next. To them it was a murder in cold blood; they must not have heard nor seen the provocation.

Virgil set his katana on the table by the body, and knelt down. The rolled the body over to inspect the wound. It was a gruesome sight, especially to those unaccustomed to such gore, but to him it was a usual sight. He always inspected the wounds, to correct himself, it was his way of increasing his skill. Like a hunter who examines the wound of his kill in order to correct it for the next time. So would Virgil. He had hit too low this time, and made a mental note on it.

“Four” Rang out in the background. The sound of the voice snapped him back to reality. It only took a second for him to visualize the situation. The other thief, who being so quiet slipped his mind, took it upon himself to take hostage the magician. He turned around grabbing hold of his sword and sliding it off the table.

The thief had a long shining object shoved into the magician’s neck. It wasn’t a dagger, but it was obviously dangerous. He only had a second to react. He figured the best place to attack was the hand, since it was holding the weapon. A man stabbed through the heart can still kill, a man without a hand to kill with, cant. Quickly he did a downward slash onto the thief’s wrist, severing it with one blow. The hand fell to ground, almost slowly to Virgil; he seemed to get a long glance at it before it hit the ground. What he saw shocked him, it was a tattoo, on the top of the hand in the shape of a skull with a ring around it and pointed. The hand hit the floor still holding the object and suddenly let out an explosion of sound that shook the tavern. He couldn’t help but stare at it, while it brought back memories for him.

His mind raced with thoughts. How could they be out here? Why are they here? His mind was too busy to notice the thief groveling on floor get up and scramble out the door.

[The Mathemagician]

Once again, Alphred found himself speechless. Things were getting stranger as time went on. The odds of Alphred getting into a barroom brawl seemed to be incredibly small. The odds of him running into this queer swordsman who killed and maimed with impunity seemed even smaller. The odds of that swordsman helping him…all of this should not be happening. Yet, defying all probability, it was really happening. There, right at Alphred’s feet, there was a genuine human hand. A human hand! The possessor of it had just wriggled out the door rather pathetically, after all. It had some sort of skull tattoo on it that looked…vaguely familiar. Alphred bent over and looked closer at the hand, his curiosity now overcoming his revulsion. It looked so familiar...

Then Alphred recognized it. The skull-and-ring. There was only one group that ever laid claim to that emblem. Only one group laid claim to that symbol. It was a group perfectly familiar to many residents and natives of the Island of Scara Brae.

“The Scourge!” Alphred hissed under his breath. Yes, the dreaded Scara Scourge indeed. Alphred, like all law-abiding citizens, was no friend to those frightening, shadowy figures.

How were they involved? It seemed to strange. There was clearly something deeper going on here than Alphred had suspected, and he did not like it one bit. It could be coincidence that the thug was a member of the Scourge. Yes, because random thieves always go after random magician’s objects in tavern’s full of money and much easier, more possible things to steal.

Alphred’s attention, however, was soon diverted to the object the thief had been holding. It had scattered a foot off in one direction, running down the slight slant of the tavern’s floor. There the mob had mysteriously parted, as if they were avoiding some sort of live viper. Alphred leaned over and grabbed the object, then stood straight back up again. He examined it with interest. It was still warm from the thug’s grip. Flecks of blood dotted the sides. It was an L-shaped object, one end apparently a handle and the other end a…what? There was a small hole there. It clearly felt like a weapon, and the thief had handled it like a weapon, but Alphred had never seen a thing like it in his life. Had the Scourge discovered some sort of new magic. Curiosity overcame Alphred, and he began to fiddle and probe the metal nooks of the object. There seemed to be some sort of a large flat button near the handle, but Alphred carefully avoided that. Whatever it was, whether it shot out fireballs or lightning or cream pudding, Alphred was fairly certain that he didn’t want to activate the thing.

He turned back to the swordsman. The Mathemagician felt slightly…odd. He felt that, for some reason, he owed the man something. After all, as crude as he was in his methods, without him Alphred would be dead in some terrible and unknown fashion. That certainly counted for something in Alphred’s book.

Awkwardly, and still fingering the weapon-thing absent mindedly, Alphred turned to his rescuer. “Errr,” he stammered. “…Thanks?”

[Grammar_police]

Small towns weren’t usually the focus of the scourge, but for some reason they were out here. Whenever Virgil traveled through Scara Brae, he always stayed on the outskirts, away from the scourges main targeting point. They would never hit the outskirts; it was too far away to be worth the effort of travel. The only possible reason was they were running short on whatever it is they steal and had to go out of their way to get it.

He stepped a bit closer to the magician once he heard him speak, but said nothing. Picked up the tipped over chair and sat where he first sat down with the magician, and rested his head on his hand. He couldn’t understand their reasoning for being out here, it was maybe no big deal, but it was still worth investigating. They obviously wanted something from the magician, but then why try to kill him? Because the other thief was killed? But first they wanted the screen, what was the screen?

“Tell me” He said to the magician slowly, thinking. “Why you. What did they want with you? … What does the screen do?”

It didn’t make sense to him. The scourge always knew what they were going to take; they didn’t send men out blindly to steal something especially this far out. They always had to be well informed. But then maybe the screen wasn’t what they were after. He stared up at the magician waiting for an answer.

[The Mathemagician]

“I…I…It doesn’t make sense,” Alphred admitted. That much was true. Why would thieves want to steal something that could not be stolen? Why would they be in the Peaceful Promenade, in Underwood, generally a quiet and safe town by every stretch of the imagination? What was this strange weapon the thugs had somehow gotten a hold of? None of it made sense. There were so many questions, and so few answers.

“The screen is, well, it’s uhh.” Alphred searched for words to try to explain. Words the swordsman would understand. Alphred sighed. This time, he would have to forgo a nice little lecture on the mathematics of the screen. He didn’t want to make the man fall asleep. “Well, you know how wizards use staffs, and some others use wands, and the like?”

“Well, it’s not really much like that. Sort of. Errr. I use the screen to manipulate integ…that is, well.” Alphred sighed again. “It’s a magic thingie.”

Why would the thieves want it though? It quite literally was impossible to take from Alphred. Clearly they hadn’t known that, or they hadn’t known something. Perhaps they just wanted to steal the screen and make a little profit…that could make sense. But the Scourge? Not to mention, why single out Alphred? Something didn’t compute.

“But, they couldn’t have taken it…” Alphred mumbled. “It’s just not…possible. Logical. Anything.”

“Why do you care anyway?” Alphred asked, slightly suspiciously. The Mathemagician glanced up from his reverie back up at the swordsman. Why was he so interested, anyway? Underwood wasn’t an unfriendly town, but all of this seemed to just be going above and beyond usual expectations. Why the interrogation? Clearly there was a motivation here, somewhere. Not necessarily a positive motivation either.

“Hey, you.” came a voice from behind Alphred. He recognized it as belonging to the bartender, who oddly enough seemed to be a fairly skinny and pale fellow. No rosy complexion there. Alphred felt slightly nervous. Doubtlessly the man hadn’t appreciated having such a deadly little fight in the middle of the tavern he was watching over.

“I don’t care about barfights, but I don’t want no trouble.” the man continued, his voice lofty and in a lecturing sort of tone. Clearly this had happened several times before. The bartender jabbed his finger at Alphred, then at the swordsman.

“I want you, and you out. Mmmkay? Thank ya. Glad you’re being so polite about this.”

Just then, two large men with great big clubs shifted noticeably in the background to face the members of this conversation. Ahhh. So that was how this game was going to be played. Well, Alphred had his fill of violence for the night. No need to instigate more.

“Errr, yes, me and my friend were just leaving.” Alphred said, frowning slightly. He turned to the swordsman and spoke.

“Weren’t we? Besides, ummm, I think there might be a fellow out there who we, ahhh, would like to speak to. Uhhh.” Yes indeed. That thief…Alphred had a sudden urge to speak with him. He must be out there somewhere in the snow, right? Perhaps he could answer some of the stream of questions that were plaguing Alphred’s mind…

[Grammar_police]

Bunnying approved by The Mathemagician

“Yes we were.” Virgil said, noticeably discomforted by the magicians answer.

He stood up, giving a mock smile to the bartender, then taking a glance at the two men who had suddenly appeared with clubs. They seemed to know how to handle them by the way they held them, and had a certain air about them that told him they knew what they were doing. He didn’t want anymore trouble, or anything to do with the tavern for that matter. He had far more pressing things on his mind.

He walked with the magician away towards the door. The two men watched until they were sure that the two miscreants were really leaving, and then they picked up the body that was left and started carrying it out back. The bartender walked away satisfied at being able to clear the two people out without trouble, and with that the bar seemed to come back to life. The few people that were left went back to there drinks and conversations almost as if nothing had ever happened.

The magician’s answers offered almost no consolations to his questions. He already knew it was magic, and that they couldn’t steal it. But why would they want it in the first place. Although its possible that the magician might not even have known the situation himself.

“Why do I care?” Virgil said in a whisper as he opened the door. “Because that man had a tattoo, and not just any one at that. It was one of the scourge…”

The cold air blew across his face, sending chills through is body. The weather had changed noticeably to the point where it was much windier, and thunder clouds had rolled in. He ignored the frigid weather and turned again to the magician.

“I care because the scourge doesn’t come all the way out here for nothing.” He said agitatedly. “The only possible reason is if they needed something important… So tell me, what is that screen.” He said staring deeply into the magician, trying to see what it was that would cause all this. But there was nothing. Nothing he had said or done throughout the whole situation showed him to be any more than just a normal person, caught in an abnormal situation.

[The Mathemagician]

Slowly, things seemed to go back to normalcy within the tavern. Alphred looked over his shoulder as he followed the swordsman through the crowd, watching the people resume their little conversations and drinks. They seemed entirely oblivious to the miniature seen of brutality that had just occurred before their eyes. How strange. Sometimes, Alphred wished a little that he could be like them. No magic, no math, no nothing. Just a little life…farming, or something. Whatever it was that these normal people did. He realized that he wasn’t entirely sure even. He’d lived his whole life in the City, so sheltered. Now…strange things were happening. Strange things indeed.

In his left hand he still held the weapon. He’d made sure to keep it on his person, unbeknownst perhaps to the bartender. It still felt strange to him. It had a sort of contained power…it felt odd. He’d never seen anything like it before. Surely, it must have profound magic or…something. How had those pathetic thugs gotten their hands on it? It did not compute.

The storm outside was still ongoing when he stepped out the door. He started shivering, and attempted to shield himself in the tavern doorway. One of these days he really was going to have to get some warmer clothes. A nice robe, maybe. Something that could withstand this winter chill anyway.

He turned then to watch the swordsman as he spoke. Did he have some sort of a history with the Scourge? It did seem like the only logical explanation. Ahhh, so that was it. The revenge factor, maybe. That was something he would have to factor into his equations some day. If R > or equal to…Clearly though, something seemed to be bothering the man. Interesting.

“It’s, well, it’s a long story.” Alphred confessed. Oddly enough, few people enjoyed listening to his lectures on the finer points of Mathemagic. He felt guilty about it, but if the guy really wanted to listen. Suddenly, Alphred went into full-on Lecture Mode. The cold didn’t even bug him any more.

“Well, the screen is my implementation device for a system I know as ‘Mathemagic.’” He said at lightning speed. “Mathemagic is the distortion and manipulation of physical and mental realities by logical, quantifiable means. Using the screen, I can do…well, not much right now. It needs work. Someday though…”

Alphred’s eyes glazed over and he burned with an inner passion. Yes! It would be beautiful someday! When Mathemagic and order and logic would rule the universe…yes.

For now though, reality managed to drag back his attention.

“If the Scourge knew…well. I guess they could…maybe they’d want me to work for them?” Alphred said, confused. “Not that I would of course! But the thugs, they weren’t trying to…what’s the word, ummm. Conscript? That’s not what they wanted, or they had a funny way of doing it.”

Typically, Alphred’s speech degenerated into meaningless gibberish. Talk about anything other than Mathemagic wasn’t exactly the easiest thing in the world for him. Inside though, he was thinking along and altogether different train of thought.

“I think…there might be someone who knows this though.” Alphred mumbled. Yes…the thief that had gotten away…

[Grammar_police]

Mathemagic. So that’s what it was. Most of the explanation Virgil did not understand, he understood the words, but not how they were meant. But this man obviously knew what he was doing, and the screen might actually be of some importance, which is maybe why the scourge wants him. What was important was why they wanted it. He strapped his sword which he had been holding back onto his belt alongside his other one, and leaned against the wall of the tavern.

His thought was clouded by thoughts of hatred for the scourge. He had to force himself to keep calm but it was visibly noticeable that he was angry. He was cold but he tried to understand the meaning of the situation. It was magic, he thought, or something like it, and the scourge wanted it. Mathemagic was new, at least for him, and the scourge always wanted new ideas, weapons, or any other thing that might be useful to their doings. This was all starting to come together now.

Then the question was, what next? Would they send more men, or let him alone. They would most certainly send more men, seeing as one of theirs was killed. But the immediate question had already been answered by the magician; they must find the other thief.

“Yes, I agree. We have to find him, but where did he go?” He said, walking off the porch of the tavern, looking around the immediate area. Off the porch he spotted something. It was a dot of blood that had not been completely covered by snow. He looked at it, then farther out trying to see where it went. It led to a close tree taller than the rest, it was on the way to the west side of town. He looked back the magician, then turned around and started following the blood trail. It was getting buried more and more every second, so he had to hurry. If nothing else it would at least lead under the tree, a snowless place to think.

[The Mathemagician]

Alphred shook his head. Who knew where the thug would have gone? It didn’t seem likely that the thief would feel particularly ingratiated towards them in any case. After all, indirectly, it was almost Alphred’s fault that the…well, the injury had...Alphred preferred not to think about that. What a brutish man he felt the swordsman was! Such anger Alphred saw him shaking with. Still, if the Scourge truly was hunting for Alphred (it seemed unlikely) who better to help him? Alphred knew that without the swordsman he never would have survived the attack of the two thugs. Still…such brutality made him sick.

Blood spattered the snow, barely covered with fluffy newly fallen but still cleanly visible. It looked strange to Alphred. Instead of lying upon the top of the snow in dark red pools as he would have expected it had seeped down, tinting the entire layer down with light pink. It looked almost like those colored treats they sold at the yearly carnivals. Alphred had been to one of those and gotten one. It was blue. Right now, shivering in the falling snow after being kicked out of a tavern where he had nearly died, he was feeling just a bit light headed.

“Well,” he said. “I guess there’s one way to find out.”

He started to walk down the bloody path left behind by the thug, not even bothering to see if the swordsman was following. That was probably a terrible, terrible idea. He didn’t particularly care.

There wasn’t long or far to travel though. The trail turned into an alley beside the tavern. Then it turned from a few droplets here and there to a puddle, then a pool, then a lake. It didn’t take a trained detective to notice the footprints surrounding the area. Something had happened here, was Alphred’s untrained guess. What kind of something though? Here the trail he had followed stopped though. The surrounding and further alleyway were pristine and clean. As pristine and clean as any other place in this dirty town, anyway.

Perhaps on instinct, Alphred looked up. He gasped slightly, dramatically. There was the corpse of the thug, handing on a spike protruding from the building. He was covered from head to toe in blood. It drenched his clothing, soaking what had once been a white undershirt to a garish shade of red and pink. From his pants it literally dripped downwards in a cascade. Before one hand had been missing. Now both were.

Around his neck was a wooden sign, hung on a single string. It had a crude drawing of a head on it sketched in charcoal, a misshapen circle wrapped around it. There could be no mistaking exactly what it was.

[Grammar_police]

Virgil was shocked at seeing what the trail led too. The thief was hanging high, dead and mangled over a pool of his own blood. He saw the reaction on the magician’s face, which was nothing more than horror. His was almost the same, he burned with anger at seeing this. This man he had left alive, by accident but nonetheless alive, one of the few he had ever. And this one time it would have helped to keep them alive, they were killed. This was a bad turn of events for him, now things were much more serious and many more questions had just been raised.

“We were too late.” Virgil said in a distressed voice, looking up and down the body, to see for anything he missed. There was only the sign, and its meaning was obvious; the scourge had done it. This man was possibly his only clue for finding meaning of what happened, and now he was dead.

Then what should he do now, the scourge might or might not know of his being on the island, but they do know that something happened in the tavern. So they would send more, and more, until they had what they wanted. The fact that this thief had been killed by a member of the scourge clearly told him of the danger.

“Look, I think we should move somewhere else. It’s not safe here” He said looking from the dead body to the magician. Hopefully this man who they were after recognized the danger in this situation and would try nothing rash. He would force the magician with him if he had too, he was the last remaining piece of information that could be gathered, and he would not lose it now. But he did not think this would be the case, the man was smart and had to know the right thing to do.

“You know this town better than me… show the way, I’ll follow.” He said coughing after from the cold air, and looking to the magician.