Chapter 7: To Suffer as a Valet (Patreon)

“I’m sorry, I gotta be back at home to receive word if my uncle has accepted the deal.” Vresh said, frowning unhappily.

“Rain check?” Jeb said with a shrug. He couldn’t do much more than shrug with the tailor literally holding a needle to his genitals and the valet hustling back and forth with various types of cloth, holding them up to Jeb’s face before shaking his head with a honk, heading off to find something else.

“What’s a rain check?” Vresh asked, glancing down at Jeb’s predicament with an amused smirk.

“Something you can’t control interrupts something you planned, like the weather prevents you from going on a date, you take a ‘rain check’, that you can then ‘cash in’ later.”

“Sounds good,” She said, leaving the tailor’s shop, leaving Jeb feeling a bit more hollow than he had been just a few minutes before.

He redirected it at Piwaki.

“You cost me a date with a beautiful woman. I hope the emperor understands that I begrudginglyprioritize seeing him over getting some trim.”

“The emperor isa man,” the valet said holding a square of fushia cloth up to Jeb’s shoulders before shaking his head and moving to magenta, shaking his head the entire time. “I’m sure he understands the sentiment.”

“Well, this got boring,” Jeresh said, standing up. “Kolusk, you in?”

“I expected more disintegration,” the keegan said with a disappointed slump to his shoulders.

“That was an unintentional pre-mature disintegration.” Jeb protested. “I swear it’s never happened to me before!”

“Yeah, I’m right behind you,” The keegan said, leaving with the melas girl. The two of them turned left outside the shop, conspicuously following the direction that Vresh had gone in. I hope they don’t piss her off to the point she kills them…or worse, has a bad impression of hanging out with me.

“Smartass do NOT go with them!” The fairy stuck out her tongue as she caught a ride on the teen keegan’s shoulder, the shop door bell ringing as it closed behind her.

“I told them it was going to be boring.” The valet said, holding some puke green up to his face.

“Ah, perfect.”

“Seriously?” Jeb asked.

“Of course I’m serious. Kitri are tetrachromats. A child could pick a better color scheme than the finest human designer. This will make your eyes pop.”

“Cuz where I’m sitting, it looks like puke green.”

“Huh,” the kitri said, glancing at the color for a moment, putting it back up to his face. “Yeah, we’re going with this one.”

The ordeal wasn’t done there, though. After the formal wear was completed – in remarkably short order – the valet followed Jeb back to his hotel room, reading a list of do’s and don’t’s from a manual about an inch thick with tiny print.

“And one must never shake their neck in an oscillating motion in the presence of the emperor. To do so is –“

“Look, humans don’t typically oscillate their necks. Can we just skip all the non-human sections of the book?” They were trudging up the stairs to their hotel room, the valet hounding him every step of the way.

“Not until there actually is a section for human etiquette, unfortunately,” Piwaki said, flipping to the next page. “Until then, we have to cover everything.”

Jeb groaned and rolled his eyes as they approached the door to his room. He paused for a moment and interrupted the valet’s monotone reading of the manual with a raised hand.

“Kid. Under no circumstances should you touch the blue scroll on the floor.”

The valet nodded, took a deep breath, then spoke.

“Never lift your tailfeathers higher than the middle of your back, as doing so –“

Jeb’s eye twitched a moment before he opened the door, revealing Borg leaning against the bed, his eyes dull and glossy, mouth open, tongue hanging out. One of his arms was torn out of its socket, revealing sizzling wires poking out of the decaying flesh.

There was black undead blood all over the room, the poisonous substance pooling under Borg’s torso.

“Hey,” Jeb said, nudging Borg with his shoe. “You still alive?”

“Whatever it is, he’s obviously –“

“Yeah, just working on my self-repair subroutine.” Borg said, his eyes still dead and staring.

“Gods!” the valet shouted, jumping back from the zombot and nearly touching the scroll in the center of the room. If anything, Jeb thought he felt a sense of…anticipation as the kitri’s heel neared the scroll

Jeb reached out with his Myst, picked the kitri up like a kitten and set him down on the other side of the room.

The scroll radiated disappointment.

“What happened?”

“Testing the rules by which the scroll operates. I’m happy to report that the scroll thinks of me as a sapient being.”

“You touchedit?” Jeb demanded.

“Oh, no. I poked it with a stick. The Destruction Myst inside seemed to be keyed to trigger when a solid connection is established with a sapient creature. It was a bit like a static electric shock passing through a metal pole.”

“In about a tenth of a second, the destruction had worked its way up to my elbow, and I was forced to tear out my arm before it spread further.”

“So what you’re saying is, you did the thing I told you not to do?”

“Absolutely not. At no point was I directly in contact with the scroll. And I figured out some interesting things by studying the reaction.”

“Gods, what is that thing!?” the Kitri valet asked, backing into the corner of the room, his eyes locked on Borg as the undead climbed to his feet.

Jeb shushed him.

“Quiet. What’d you find out?”

“It seems like the scroll is indiscriminate, and will consume anything it considers sapient. Smartass should be dead right now.”

Then why isn’t she?” Jeb asked.

“The scroll thought she was you.”

“What?”

“Allow me to demonstrate.” Borg said, kneeling with his head bowed.

“On my honor as a vastly superior being, I swear to serve Jebediah Trapper to the best of my abilities until he releases me of my vow.”

Jeb frowned.

Borg leaned over and picked up the blue scroll.

There was an instant of dread, but the scroll stayed quiscient, not reacting like it had when the Kitri grew close to it.

“You and Smartass have strong master-servant bond in the fifth dimension, and now, so do we,” Borg said, hefting the scroll, studying it thoughtfully. “The scroll reacts to anyone distinctly Not you on the fifth dimension. The strong bond between you and smartass made her appear to the scroll to be an extension of yourself. By swearing loyalty to you – and meaning it – I was able to bypass the scroll’s protection.

“Of course, given the vow, I’m unable to use the contents of the scroll against you in any way, so the protection is still basically functional.”

“Hard to spoof intent-based magic.”

“Indeed. I doubt an inferior meatsack would be able to swear undying loyalty at the drop of a hat, either.”

“Is this supposed to convince me that it’s safe for me to touch, or that you’re a robot of your word?” Jeb asked.

“It wouldn’t work if I didn’t mean it,” Borg said, waggling the blue scroll at him.

Eh, fuck it, I’ve lived long enough, Jeb thought with a shrug before reaching out and taking the scroll from Borg’s hand.

Annnnd..still alive. Maybe I’ll get that date later.

Hmm….

Jeb slipped the scroll in his pocket

“You’re not gonna…read it?” Piwaki asked.

“Why would I read it?” Jeb asked, genuinely confused. “The fifth dimension watches our actions closely. Whoever gave me the scroll is obviously super evil, and reading it demonstrates a willingness to subject myself to whatever is inside. That opens a gap in my defense. A small one, but still there.”

“Metaphorically.” Borg said.

“Which is what the fifth dimension thrives on,” Jeb muttered. “Metaphors and symbolism.”

I wonder if a rain check is a tangible object in the fifth dimension and by securing it, I could guarantee that date?

Jeb didn’t have the time to experiment with that, although it seemed like an excellent test subject to begin manipulating Fate itself. If he mastered the art of guaranteeing a date, he’d be on the same level as the emperor and Vex.

Well, maybe not the same level.

“You were saying something about the rules of etiquette?” Jeb asked, glancing up at Piwaki.

“Um, yes.” The kitri cleared his throat with a honk and glanced between Jeb and Borg, who was frowning at his missing arm, poking the wires back into the oozing socket.

The valet began reading from his handbook again, nervously glancing up and checking Jeb and Borg’s position every now and them.

“Come now, young man, I’m not so scary,” Borg said, once he’d duct-taped his wound closed.

Jeb watched with amusement as Borg tried and failed to get the kitri to relax.

Jeb just wanted to get some sleep, but he had to pretend to be listening to Piwwaki’s explanation of etiquette, so he sat down against the bed and started playing with Myst.

A direction that doesn’t exist, huh? Jeb thought as he created a plasma filament in front of him, bright as an incandescent bulb.

Jeb’s current ‘spellbook’ for lack of a better word, included Telekinesis and Plasma Whip. Energy was the common theme between the two of them.

I only know of five directions. Three dimensions, plus before and after, and then the fifth dimension. Meaning, metaphor, and potential. How do I treat that as a direction?

Jeb started with his normal string of Myst, then began budding strands off of it, looping them back into the thread, creating destructive interference to change the ‘frequency’ for lack of a better word, which changed its meaning.

Eddie told him he shouldn’t experiment without a plan, because it was suicidal, but Jeb couldn’t think of a better time to be suicidal than being forced to listen to rules that didn’t apply to you.

“Skull-frills should be kept down at all times,” Piwaki said, turning the page.

Yeah, I’m comfortable with possibly killing myself via explosion.

The fifth dimension is meaning, metaphor, attachment, vows, emotion.

Jeb opened his eyes and frowned, looking down at the thread of Myst in front of him.

Hmm…

“Who’s a good boy!?” Jeb asked the thread of Myst. You are! You’re a good boy! I’ve never had such a good thread of Myst! Jeb mentally showered the thread of Myst with the same love he would give a family pet.

“What are you – Oh, gods!”

The kitri Valet dove out of the way as the Myst ballooned outward, forming into a massive tentacle questing about the room until it touched Borg’s leg.

The zombot froze as the tentacle seized him and began slamming the robot back and forth against the cheap hotel’s thin walls.

“Jeb. Would. You. Please. Turn. It. Off.” Borg said, between slams against the wall.

The neighboring hooker screamed and fled with her john as Borg was catapulted through the thin panelling.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Borg said to her fleeing form as he flipped out of the way of the questing tentacle.

Bad, bad boy!Jeb changed his mental tune directed at the Myst tentacle. No, BAD. BAD MYST

The Myst shriveled up into geodesic chunks of dark metal, snowflake-like crystals that rained down on top of them.

The dark metal throbbed with sound, echoing certain pitches, radiating heat as they did.

“I’d say that experiment was a success!” Jeb said with a grin. It made sense that applying a meaningful emotional attachement to the Myst would move it along the fifth dimension’s axis. It was more complicated than treating Myst like a dog to make it into a dog. Jeb was so in the dark about what meanings created what effects when combined with the fifth axis of the spell spectrum…it was effectively random.

“Perhaps you’d enlightment me on what you did? I’ve already taken the liberty of calling Eddie.” Borg said as he climbed back through the shattered wall, trailing a bra which had hooked itself to his clothes.

“No, don’t –“

Borg’s jaw unhinged and the old inventer’s voice came through it.

“What’s this I heard about you trying to invent a new spell with no math whatsoever?” Eddie’s voice echoed through the room.

“You can’t exactly math emotions, can you?” Jeb asked.

“You sure as hell can try!” Eddie’s voice came through. “Tell me exactly what you did and what happened!”

“Stop yelling, the crystals are gonna set things on fire!” Jeb yelled back as the dark metal snowflakes the size of his fist absorbed certain bandwidths of sound and heated up, smoldering in the wooden floor.

“Oh hell yeah, we’re gonna talk about this.”

Jeb rubbed his temples and sat back for his interrogation.

***Piwaki Apiyeki, level 20 Mystic Cosmetic Healer***

“The man is deranged.” Piwaki said, nursing his honeywine. He didn’t have a lot of Body, so he didn’t need to drink the hard stuff to get a buzz like Kolusk and Jeresh

“He seemed fairly normal to me.” Kolusk said with a shrug. “Are you sure you got the right guy?”

“There was an intelligentundead in his bedroom! He’s got a contract from some evil being that turns people to ash. Won’t read it, but carries it around in his pocket! His Myst went out of control and smashed through the wall minutes after we arrived! He made strange metal out of nothing that turns some sounds into heat and amplifies others! He doesn’t appreciate my fashion sense!”

“That last one I agree with.” Jeresh said.

“Screw you.”

“Couldn’t if you wanted to.” Jeresh replied.

“I think you’re making it up.” Kolusk said bluntly.

“What!?” Piwaki demanded.

“Yeah, from what we saw, he just…kinda clomps around, complaining about everything.” The melas backed up his keegan friend in doubting Piwaki’s words.

“Seems like a stretch that he made that much trouble in the few hours we didn’t see you.”

Piwaki felt a weight alight on his shoulder as the fairy landed on his shoulder, wobbling for a moment before she sat down, a shotglass of honeywine in her hand.

“I believe you, Peeki.” Smartass said, patting Piwaki’s shoulder. “Jeb’s a big dumb-dumb who treats everyone like children, when really he’s the craziest one of all, always trying to find a way to get himself killed.”

She took a swig of the honeywine and exhaled. “This actually tastes pretty good. Sweet, even.”

Piwaki motioned to the illegal fairy on his shoulder. “What about her? Jeb has her. She’s Illegal.Her kind have been stealing people’s crops, livelyhoods, children, et al.”

“I dunno, she looks too cute to steal. She’s like a little melas without the horns, or the coloration.” Jeresh said.

“It’s not stealing, its Deals!” Smartass muttered, holding onto Piwaki’s beak to steady herself. “Not my fault your working-class peasants are so trusting.”

Jeresh barked a laugh. “Smartass, you’re alright.”

Smartass blushed. “Thanks! For some reason I feel like I need the validation of teenagers right now, so that really scratches that itch.”

Kolusk chuckled and lifted the fairy onto his shoulders. “Tell you what, let’s leave this sad sack here to plan his next couple days while we do a pub crawl!”

“Pub crawl!” Jeresh shouted.

“Pub crawl!” Smartass echoed, pointing forward towards the door. The three of them marched out to enjoy the rest of their evening.

“You’ll see!” Piwaki shouted after them. “The man’s a menace! You’ll all see!”

The bartender chose that moment to unobtrusively refill Piwaki’s drink.

“I didn’t really catch much of the conversation, but I do know that the guy who ends his conversation with ‘You’ll all see!’, is generally the crazy one.” The man said, purposefully not meeting Piwaki’s gaze.

“Ah, what do you know,” Piwaki muttered, waving him off.

Three days. Should I be more focused on surviving, or making sure the meeting with Uncle goes as smoothly as possible?

I think the answer to that is obvious.

Should I fail in my duties as a valet, my reputation will suffer, leading to being ostracized by the higher class citizens, resulting in a serious blow to my plans of accumulating massive amounts of wealth and a life of leisure.

I would be significantly less wealthy should I have to work with *shudder* commoners.

A fate worse than death.

No, obviously I should focus my energies on pulling this meeting off perfectly. I’ve already got the suit taken care of, but it’s currently in that gods-forsaken dump of a hotel.

What are the odds the suit is destroyed over the course of the next two days?

Piwaki’s feathers flattened on his head as he thought, tapping his pen on the bar napkin.

Backup planshe wrote, underlining it. If Jeb had a tendency to create chaos within his sphere of influence, then a simple solution was to have all the prep-work outside Jeb’s line of sight.

To that effect, he would have to order a spare suit created and stored at the palace, should the one that was created today be shredded, lit on fire, ashed, or slimed with undead blood.

The night wore on as Piwaki, for perhaps the first time in his life, took his duties seriously.

***Jeb***

“Okay, now treat the Myst like it’s your child. I want you to distinctly imagine giving birth to the Myst from your vagina and nursing it with your milk. It spent nine months in there. It’s your baby.” Eddie’s voice echoed through

“Are you fucking with me?” Jeb demanded.

“Do it! We’re trying to figure out the effect the spectrum of relationships has on the Myst. We need more data points before we can apply mathematical formula to it.

Jeb sighed, and tried his best to imagine Eddie’s ridiculous prompt.

The kinetic Myst suddenly detached from Jeb’s control, turned into a shrieking ball of white-hot slag and began spiraling around Jeb of its own accord.

“Shit!” Jeb ducked and rolled out of the way of the sizzling ball of White-hot goo that was whipping around the room seemingly without pattern.

“Jeb, can you describe what’s happening!” Eddie’s voice said, which caused the…thing to orient on it, seeking out the source of the sound.

“Gimme a minute!” Jeb said, weaving a shield around himself before branching another thread to catch the errant Myst. it was like the freakin’ snitch, constantly whizzing around the room at insane speeds, pinging off his shields more than once.

Borg dodged out of the way of the screaming missile, scrambling over the bag with the suit inside of it, leaving several large black stains on the bag.

Jeb winced. I really hope the bag is waterpro – oh, nevermind.

The wailing ball of goo shot through the bed, lighting the sheets and his new suit on fire.