Jonathon Worthington: Strangelight Investigator

Case #17: The Mystery of the Giggling Gobber (Chapter 12)

Fingers crawled over my chest, probing, poking, and I bolted up with a startled cry.

"Calm down, lad, it's all right!"

My eyes darted around like a rabbit caught in the trap, confused and disoriented, trying to find a way out. Nightmares mixed with reality, and for a moment I wondered if any of it had happened at all. Around me heavy canvas walls had shadows cast on them by the lanterns hung from support posts, bringing with them a familiar if confusing realization; I was in Outpost Five's apothecary tent. Did I not descend into the mines and face such things as made grown men weep? Had it all been a fever dream brought on by the disease?

Raising my hands to my face dispelled any such ridiculous notions. The dark tint of the curse remained, coloring me a rich mahogany that looked less and less out of place as I grew accustomed to it. Freshly-forming scar tissue on my right palm and the back of the hand marked where the trio of studs had shot out of the pistol grip and harpooned me. Due to the exotic weapon's exsanguination the blood tattoos had receded once more, although I could still feel them twisting within my muscles like a nest of serpents awaiting release. How long until they rose once more, threatening to reveal the truth to the world and call death to claim me? For there was little doubt in my mind that she stalked me even now, invisible, waiting in the shadows like the breath of an abusive lover long gone for whom the heart still pines despite the protestations of the mind. Death had touched her lips to mine and found the fruit not yet ripe on the vine. Yet the harvest was inevitable.

"Do you recognize me, Jonathon?" Lord Lochlin asked with worry, careful to not make any sudden movements to startle me further. He and I were the sole occupants of the tent. Rather than risk my voice I nodded to answer his question.

Without betraying any further expression Lord Lochlin handed me a shaving mirror, inviting me to gaze upon myself. I'd hoped that I could explain my skin's chromatic aberration by virtue of Titan's interference, but my eyes complicated that matter somewhat. While the blood no longer filled my vision it had left behind a mark of its passing: my irises glinted scarlet in the half-light of the tent like a monster out of the fairy tales. To pass in normal society now I would be forced to wear tinted goggles like Orsch's. The alternative was to risk accusations of witchcraft or worse.

"Care to regale me with a tale that explains all I have seen this last night?" the senior lord asked dryly.

"I'm not quite sure what happened ..." I began, the lies falling too easily from my lips. But whereas Lord Lochlin had accepted my word before, I saw from his stance and the slight shake of his head that my veracity was in doubt now.

"Please, Jonathon, I am not a fool. But I would be a friend, if you allow. While there are many things about you that I mistrust your heart is not counted among them."

"How much do you know?" I sounded as a criminal suspicious of the law, a man who would try to weasel out of the truth at any opportunity. It made me sick at the thought.

Lord Lochlin sighed heavily. "To know and to suspect are two different things. First then, I bow to your exemplary qualities: bravery, a concern for others, and a quick wit that allows you to respond rapidly to situations. The monarch of all is your heart; that your intentions are benign I have no doubt." I could hear the hesitation in his voice.

"But you have reservations?"

"Deceit is your watchword; you trust no one other than your companion. You lie about your intentions, even when honorable, as well as your heritage and designs. Truth is anathema to your lips. What I have seen has convinced me you conceal a terrible secret." He nodded down at an ungainly series of transparent tubes sticking out of a mass of mechanika that sat on the floor nearby. It was attached to a backpack to allow for transport, and the device birthed a series of cables leading to a pair of goggles that lay attached to one of the shoulder straps. Whosoever put on that eyewear would be blind, for the cables terminated where lenses should be; in their place were plugs of iron and brass.