God Gems are Forever - Scene 1 (TEXT) (Patreon)

In the crystal blue waters of a mountain lake, a shark swam. Guided by ancient instinct, and slightly more recent conditioning, it circled just below the water’s surface in a small cave hollowed into the side of the mountain. Above it, two-legged figures could be seen crowded around the long drop to the water below, warped and wavy through the water’s surface. It was this that had drawn the predator’s patrol.

The shark couldn’t consciously think. It wasn’t capable of such high brain function, but if it could, it might have been anticipating the scream. The splash. The wash of triggering blood straight through its nostrils. The ripping of flesh and the crunching of bone. In short, it might have been happily thinking, “Dinner, please? Now, yes? Please?”

And this particular shark would have been far from the only one.

High above the surface, on the edge of the large circular hole that led directly to the rippling water beneath, a man stood in a gap in the safety railings.

Despite the chill in the air, the man was visibly sweating through the tuxedo suit he wore.

All around him stood other men. Big men. Serious men. Men with lead pipes and guns. Men who looked like they spent all day opening bottles with their teeth before complaining to their wives over the price of dental. Men you really didn’t want to piss off.

None of these men commanded the same attention from the man in the tuxedo as the woman who stood before him.

She was strikingly beautiful — all sweeping curves and unblemished skin. Full, bountiful, wide hips, narrow waist, she was a woman the word ‘statuesque’ had been absolutely made for, and appropriate in more ways than one, because while her body looked like it wouldn’t have been out of place on the cover of a book dedicated to the elegance of the female form, her expression looked like it was carved out of solid stone.

Luscious red hair spilled around her shoulders and down her back. An expensive green dress hugged her figure and left little to the imagination.

She also held a revolver pointed right at him.

A splash from behind caused the man to look over his shoulder at the sheer drop he stood mere inches from, reminding him that his imagination, right now, could be more profitably employed elsewhere. “I didn’t expect to see sharks this high up in the mountains,” he said as calmly as he could, given the circumstances.

“Vostovia Freshwater Panther Sharks,” the woman replied in a voice like meadow honey slowly dribbled into the ear. “A remnant from the last ice age. An ancient king found them higher up the slopes a thousand years ago and brought them here. They are not nearly as large as their ocean cousins, but a millennium of selective breeding has made them some of the most aggressive sharks in the world. They get especially excited at the scent of blood. They can dispose of a cow as quickly as a school of piranhas. How they survive the cold is still a mystery. ”

The man swallowed. “I’d have thought that a cow would be the ideal food for them. I imagine they quite like their routines.”

“Oh I assure you, they are not picky. So long as there is blood, they’ll eat anything.”

The gun pointed at him reflected light off the slowly setting sun.

Despite the sweat pouring off of him, the man managed to fish out a cigarette from the top pocket of his jacket and light it on only the second attempt.

“So,” he started in his cultured, if slightly desperate accent, “We were right about you in the end, Loveday Colletage.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed at the apparent use of her name.

“Trafficking, arms dealing, and more. Your operations here have caused quite a stir among the intelligence communities. I must say, using Vostovia as your base of operations was a stroke of genius. All the legitimate arms manufacturers around for the international expo. There’s just one thing I don’t understand.” He blew out a plume of smoke. “How do you get the goods here from the Old Empire? They’re not exactly keen on unregulated arms smuggling at the moment. I can’t imagine getting over their border is easy.”

The woman, Loveday Colletage, laughed. “You are guessing, mister spy. You had no idea who I was or what I was doing until you stumbled into that little shipment at the train station. Your handlers knew nothing and what little you got back to them will not help. I’ve looked into you. You’re a narcotics agent, mister spy. You were sent to Vostovia to contact the leader of a local drug cartel. Who is dead now, by the way. There is nothing that goes on  that I don’t know about. And my business here is supported by very powerful people. A faraway country like yours should keep its nose out.”

The man said nothing.

As the sun continued to set, the shadows of the surrounding men, and of the trees that edged the cliff overlooking the lake, grew longer in the grass.

“No more to say, mister spy?”

“Why?” the man asked. “Why is a beautiful woman like you mixed up in this? There’s so much else you could be doing. Do you need money? Are you being threatened? There are  ways my country can help—”

The loud bang of a handgun being discharged split the relative silence of the cliff-top. The man’s eyes widened, a hand gripped to his stomach. Blood began to soak his shirt and jacket. He stumbled backwards.

Wisps of smoke wafted from the barrel of the woman’s revolver.

The man fell. He plummeted towards the water below and hit the lake’s surface with a loud splash.

The shark, which had been waiting patiently all this time, smelled the blood almost the moment the water settled. Fighting against the scrum of its brothers and sisters, it grabbed a leg and immediately began shaking, and although this meal was quite a bit smaller than usual, that wasn’t important. What was important was the blood. Dinner had been served.