Chapter 4: Chapter 4

The Zhufra Incident: a case of mass delusion and panic. One day, a farmer in the Alzenian village of Gellignang stopped dead in his tracks, dropping his plow in the middle of the field. The song he'd been singing had cut off midway. Instead, all he could say was "zhufra."

The word spread like a plague. His family, both tending to him and bickering with him, caught the plague in a matter of minutes. Within an hour, it had consumed the neighbors...by nightfall, the whole village was overcome.

It was a fascinating case that Jacob had already heard before. It was downright famous. "Yes, I've heard of it," he told Sir Huxley. "How does it relate to—"

"You know that butler, Yates?" Pip said, wriggling the arm linked in Jacob's, eager to get his attention. "He was there! Actually there. And he said he caught it too."

"Ah-h," said Ralphie. "I see I made the right call in summoning you."

Jacob knew exactly who Pip was talking about. He'd been in the room when Yates shared his story one night, though he'd shared it with such dramatic aplomb that Jacob imagined he shared it a lot.

Pip tried to channel that aplomb now. "He said the word consumed his soul. It was like the sun, pulling his mind toward itself."

It wasn't that the people had become zombie-like. It was more that this alien thing was suddenly there, hunched in their minds. After the incident had passed, Patient Zero described it as a crouching devil, an incubus.

Everyone had their own fanciful way of describing the same horror, but Sir Huxley was about to share his favorite. Jacob and Pip could tell it was his favorite by the way his smile widened enough to split his face in half.

"You might not know that as that farmer was laid up in bed—so consumed by the brain fever that he'd gotten his body to catch it—when the doctor from the neighboring village asked him how it started and where it had come from, all he could do was..."

He pointed upward. Pip pointed at the same time, matching his speed and gesture one-for-one.

Then came the most absurd thing Jacob had experienced since the strange meeting began: both Pip and the gentleman giggled with glee.

"Ha ha!" Jacob the bystander threw in. "We're all friends already, aren't we."

"Yes, indeed, my boy! That tends to happen when kindred spirits congregate in the same room." He made a fist. "The bond is instant!"

"I'm glad for it."

After his statement that they were "friends already," he'd scanned Sir Huxley's face and body language. Any odd pause or shift could signal that he and Pip had a preexisting connection he didn't know about, which could mean extreme danger. He was in Huxley's domain, after all, and practically a million miles from home turf.

But Huxley seemed to take the statement at face value. They sure were all friends here!

"So, sir, what's the connection between the story and us here? Is the Zhufra Plague back?"

"Clearly not," said Huxley, "for if it were, we'd all have gone mad with saying it just now. No, it's simply an illustrative example of how extraordinarily horrifying it can be to explore the skies." His smile flat-lined. "There are mad things here. Monsters that are words, monsters we don't even know the shape of."

Jacob had heard all too much about this. The sky was more than the place to harvest magic crystals and discover dinosaur bones. The biggest problem was, the sky islands were such terra incognita that nobody knew exactly what else they were good for, or how much they were capable of.

Sir Huxley had just claimed that Zhufra was a monster and a word. Others called it a spontaneous plague of standard madness—but it was just as likely to be a ghost, a malevolent spirit's curse, a windblown seed, or microbes that had fallen off a damn comet.

Pip gulped before saying, "B-but there are ordinary monsters, too, right?"

"Oh, yes!" Huxley's serious flat look disappeared. "Of course there are those too. And that is precisely why I've summoned you here today."

Hammering home how long it'd been, the sky outside was now thoroughly yellow, with the pale sun clear in view and beginning to sink. The fishing rod was still there. It had never left, shifted, or been reeled in.

"Monsters of the more normal sort tend to fly through these skies at night—celestial bats, they're called. A few are no problem, but given the course we're taking and the time of year, a massive flock of them is expected to blow through tonight. Real pests... They tend to hang off the edges and wedge themselves everywhere. I'm afraid I need some extra hands to clean them out."

Jacob put on another fake chuckle. "I'm sure your own crew is capable of that."

"Oh, they would be, Jacob, but—have you seen this place?" Sir Huxley earnest-laughed. "I can hardly afford the rafters! How could I ever keep it fully staffed? What a fool I would be if I didn't use every resource permitted me!"

The prince held back his response: So instead of hiring more staff, you're relying on cheap labor that you "invited" aboard...?

There were more than a few royals he could name who wouldn't take this invitation half as well as Jacob. He had been polite and downright pliant, but frankly, he could've followed the herd and radioed staff saying he "had a prior appointment" or simply not answered.

Well...this was the price he paid for following through on curiosity and on his recurring fears of the Sword of Damocles Jr. At first he'd been curious about what Sir Huxley was like, beyond the grandiose speaker who'd introduced the Known World's Fair this morning, arms spread wide and voice booming wider, claiming he'd pledged his life to science and every kind of greater good. Much more importantly, though, he'd been wondering if Huxley was evil.

The jury was still out on that, technically...but if Jacob saw any chance to collect evidence against him, he was certain he would.

"I'll help you," Jacob said.

Smack. The meaty clasp of Sir Huxley's hand around Jacob's filled the room. He shook, and Jacob reciprocated.

"I knew you would, boy," he said.

"But I reserve the right to bail on future occasions," Jacob added, "depending on how intriguing your museum proves to be. I'm a big skycraft fan, so." (Note: he was only a moderate skycraft fan.)

"And I am a big washing machine fan!" Pip cried unnecessarily loudly. "Prince, I'll follow you into this battle and many more. My only wish is that you...(this is a little embarrassing...)" She ducked her head behind an open palm, though she wasn't blushing. "If you could use this opportunity to strengthen us both by...Persuading me..."

Sir Huxley applauded and laughed heartily, with all his teeth. It happened almost in Jacob's ear, which would have led him into a knee-jerk full-body recoil if he hadn't forced himself rigid.

"Yes, yes!" he cheered. "I haven't seen this in ages! Such a joy to be among princes and kings again!"

Okay...this would require bluffing, but nothing the prince hadn't done dozens of times before. And if for whatever reason things went wrong, he reminded himself of the switchblade in one pocket and the crystals in the other.

Don't you throw me under the bus, Pip, he thought, irritated that a subordinate had put him in this position at all. I can always throw you out the window.

Behind her hand, Pip glowed with a gentle, patient, secret grin.

"Helping you fight monsters for the first time might be nearly impossible, but..."

Not subtle, Pip, not subtle at all. But the phrase affirmed what Jacob was already thinking: it was a great chance to test out Toadie, too.

Not that a multiplier of 1.07 times 2 sounded all that great, but maybe 1.07 times 3 would make a difference, eh?

Jacob used Fake Persuade. Like the real Persuade, it resulted in no evident change to the user. The rumored "twinkle in the eye" that royals got when they requested or condemned was nothing at all—and anyway, if it had been real, a simple repositioning and timely, tiny twitch of the neck would have allowed Jacob to mimic it.

People liked to hear Persuading and Cursing voices carry some kind of gravity, though, and to deflect suspicion, it was best to put on that predictable show.

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"Pip," he said, staring deep into her near-black eyes, "by the power of my Persuasion, I command you to be instrumental in defeating five..."

Her eyebrows lowered. Disappointed?

"...no, fifty..."

Her eyebrows perked up.

"...of the celestial bats flying aboard the Known World's Fair tonight. Further, I specify that none of those bats will have come from Sir Ralphie Huxley's exhibits (so no cheating)."

"You can count on me," she said.

What had Jacob strapped himself into? An evening of grinding the levels of Pip's system, hopefully, and attempting to gauge what it could do. Surely it had some use beyond folding clothes efficiently and ironing on the spot, and the sooner he could tell, the better. Unfortunately, it would also be a night of bat-wrestling and, worse, chaperoning.

"Oh," he said to Sir Huxley, "and if possible, the maid and I would prefer to fight these creatures alone."

"That I understand very well, prince," said Sir Huxley with a distressing wink. "Your lonesome reputation follows you. When the time comes, my servants will bring you to a fairly private, bat-clogged wing of the ship."

"Thank you, sir...I mean...Ralphie."

"I'm so excited, sir!" Pip said, bowing so hard she flung a good chunk of her hair up with it.

A little light and a ding-dong noise started beside Huxley's nameplate. "Excuse me, another warrior is here," he said cheerfully. "Take care. I am forever in your debt."

It was incredible how many people, funds, governments, and organizations he could have said those last words to.

"We'll see you around," Jacob said as he waved and turned. On their way out, Pip began to hum and skip. Since she was still practically glued to Jacob's side by the force of his arm around hers, he quickly put a stop to the skipping. Sadly his arm was not also glued to her mouth.

Halfway out of the grand office, where the light of the partial dome could no longer reach them and that vast dark ceiling shadowed them all, Jacob and Pip crossed paths with Malcolm, who was looking happy and tipsy.

"Hey," Malcolm mouthed. He paused his walk, Jacob paused with him, and they shared a swinging low-five that Jacob found awkward but Malcolm performed with gusto. Then Malcolm's eyes flitted to Jacob's other arm, the Pip arm. He pointed and mouthed, "Not her."

Jacob mouthed, "Dammit."

"Hi, I'm Jacob's maid!" Pip said. Her voice hit the silence like a thunderbolt. "You seem to know each other. I didn't know he had friends!"

With a grunt that sounded halfway like "come on" and halfway like "mmmrgh," Jacob pulled her away. Malcolm waved.

In the far distance, Jacob and Pip could just barely hear, "...tell me, Malcolm, have you heard of...?"

Soon the door of the office closed behind them. Once Jacob had gotten himself and Pip decently far away from the lingering employees, he said, "Okay, Pip, what's in your pocket?"

Instead of answering, Pip threw a thumb over her shoulder. "Who was that guy?"

He chose to assume she was being impatient, not rude. "A friend. What's in your pocket?"

Pip started rummaging around in her pocket, just to indulge him. "You know, I was under the impression that you had no friends."

"Yeah. I have one, singular. Spread the word, if you have to."

"Hm...nah, it's just nice to know. Here," she said, offering the thing in her pocket as if it were a gift. It wasn't a coin at all, but a shining, golden ball that fit comfortably in her cupped palm. Even in the meager hallway light, it gleamed.

"What the hell is that?" Jacob took it, brought it closer to his eyes, turned it over, examined it. The surface was not smooth, but extremely bumpy with random little ridges. What it reminded Jacob of the most was a mound of clay being shaped by a potter. Just a few marks from a scoring tool could join one clay piece to another.

So what was this? A handmade bauble scribble all over and tossed in a kiln without having been shaped at all? Was it a practical joke? (Keep in mind that modern art hadn't been invented yet.)

But why compare it to clay? It was golden.

Well, when Jacob rapped his knuckle against it and compared its glossy sheen to the jewelry that was so abundant in the castle, he decided that it was golden but not true gold. He couldn't tell whether it had been painted or was an entirely different material.

For a moment he held it in both hands, turning his palms outward, as if he was about to—

"Cast it, in a hallway?" Pip said warily. "What if anything blows up?"

Yeah...Jacob wasn't seriously planning on doing that. Right now, he'd just been trying to see how it felt if this ball, theoretically, held a spell and was intended to be used in combat.

Maybe it did and maybe it didn't. He was strongly considering casting it in earnest later on.

He slipped it in his own pocket. "Tell me everything you know about it," he said, walking down the hall. Pip's arm had been freed (for now).

"We-e-ell, I know it's shiny and looks pretty."

"Ha ha. Try harder."

"Alright. I found it on the floor of your suite."

"...Just sitting around?"

"Not exactly. It was like it rolled in from under the door."

In a flash he envisioned it. The maid being let in by serving staff, the door unceremoniously closing behind her, and then she sees it at her feet: a strange bright ball. And she probably mistakes it for a coin, thinks it must either be money or be worth money, so naturally she takes it.

He didn't fall for Pip's story so easily, and yet, it didn't feel impossible either. Pip was a cloud of unknowns to him, too stupid to be smart, and yet...just smart enough to be stupid, if that made sense.

Half of him wanted to go grab Malcolm and ask him to appraise the object. He ran a curiosity shop, after all, and though he was an expert on very few things, he knew a tiny amount about millions. But Malcolm was discussing things with a gentleman Jacob was in no hurry to see again. He put it off for nighttime.

Hell, maybe they'd cross paths while fighting celestial bats—though he hoped, for the sake of concealing the Maid-Class System, they wouldn't.

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