Tales of PulchraGea, Vol. 1

6: Keystone Capers (Final/2167)

I was supposed to find gates, and keys, and a floating palace in the sky. I'd be darned if I had even the slightest clue where to start looking. It took several days for Gavin and Bridge to sift through the papers in the underground bunker, but ultimately there was nothing pertinent besides the journal. Robin took me back to Argentum. I was pretty depressed about the whole thing.

The more thought I gave it, the less happy I was. Imagine, if you will, that you get to be the king of a faraway land where adventure is the norm, and they have lasers, and space ships, and dragons. That would be a dream come true right? You finally get to remove the shackles of your servitude and be the one in charge. What could be the problem? Except now I was bound by silk chains stronger than any metal: I was bound in servitude to an entire country, and no matter my own actions or how just and righteous I personally was I was literally damned. The sins of that country were my sins by default because of a covenant that I never agreed to, and I was brought here for that purpose without my knowledge or consent. I could never run away from that responsibility even if I wanted to go back to where I was. I was effectively in servitude to the whole place. That fact made me a little angry, and a little resentful. But I figured what choice did I have? I couldn't exactly sit around feeling sorry for myself all day, right?

I'm kidding, that' s exactly what I did. I sat on a bench in front of the Argentum Law Office pretending to pore over Alex Shepherd's journal for clues. In reality I was letting myself drift off into daydreams of a normal life back in West Texas. Graduating high school, leaving my family behind to become a successful writer/rock star/stand up comedian/movie star/scientist/jet fighter pilot/tap dancer. Maybe I'd have a studio apartment and live a long life as a rich bachelor, or have a nice suburban house with a white picket fence, a wife, and two kids. Maybe, and more realistically, I'd die homeless and freezing in the cruel streets from a fight with a hobo over a can of Spam. Before my thoughts got too dark, I closed the journal and set it aside.

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. I counted to ten. When I opened my eyes, I forced myself to admit that it was a beautiful day. The sun was bright but not overly harsh. The plants were green. The scent of petrichor drifted in on the breeze from a rain storm just on the other side of the nearby lake. People were going about their usual business with nary a care in the world.

"She's really something, isn't she?" asked someone behind me. I nearly fell off the bench. I hadn't heard or sensed anyone approaching. A guy roughly my age was leaning on the bench behind me. He had brown eyes and a military-style buzz cut with a curly neck beard. He was roughly my height but heavy set, almost pear-shaped. He wasn't looking at me at all, but rather stared dreamily across the street toward the store.

I followed his gaze and saw the attendant girl who had helped me in the beginning. Now that I looked at her I could see she was gorgeous. She had chestnut box curls that fell to the small of her back, electric blue eyes, and a slightly tanned skin that said she was active outdoors. her shoulders, back, and arms were more muscular than the rest of her, so I pegged her as an archery enthusiast. However, my eyes only skated over her for a second before finding the friend she was walking alongside.

The store-girl's friend was pretty tall, as tall as me. It was unusual even for Argentean women, who have a tendency to be taller than other women of PulchraGea. Her eyes were a deep, bright emerald green and her fair skin and general muscle tone suggested she stayed indoors much more often. Her cornsilk hair was wavy, almost curly at the tips and temples.
"Very much so," I admitted, although I doubted we were talking about the same subject. She was incomparable as the sunrise. My new friend sat beside me on the bench and offered his hand for me to shake. "I'm Doug Clintwood,' he said.

"Patrick," I answered, eyes following the two young women again. Doug seemed to follow my gaze.

"That one is Katherine Elizabeth Greyson," he informed me,"daughter of our king Gavin Rinnall"