Murder On The Street Of Dreams

 By Bob Liddil

The World, under the sun and moon, is a place of desert and mountain, ocean and island. Of the two great cities, Zenci, to the east in the rolling plains and Belestria in the blowing sands of the outback, the latter is considered by men to be most dangerous as a habitation, or to visit. Trade City, it is called. Every kind of thing that exists, can be found for a price. Life is cheap and the taking of it is cheaper. But to those who dwell within her walls, Belestria, Queen of the Desert, is home. Be he scholar, merchant, thief or beggar, in Belestria, he is home.....

 No one who values his life steps foot on the street of dreams. The dream powder addicts are so driven by their hunger that the mere suggestion of a coin to feed their beast is enough to send them into a killing frenzy. This reputation kept the average citizen of Belestria from coming no closer than the cloth bazaar to the rabid dogs of the shadows.

Not that the dream powder had always been 1 dose for a copper. It hadn’t been so long ago that it was a sniff for the rich at fifty gold a hit, until it’s destructive power became common knowledge. By then, though, it was too late and thousands of fortunes, large and small changed hands. The previously powerful became gutter rats and gravitated toward the only part of the city where the dust was plentiful, the street of dreams.

There were already many enchantments on the street of dreams. The most destructive and least discriminating of these was the dream powder, which began to be manufactured by anyone with a plate and a mixing spoon, and in its newfound abundance dropped in price to mere copper per vial. Now sand cheap, the scourge of this drug began to affect the lives of almost everyone in the Trade City, one way or the other, for many an otherwise bright youngster and many an otherwise successful person of business succumbed, was laid low and to waste in the clutches of the dust. Destitute and in ruin, they came to the street of dreams and for them, it became a street of sorrow remorseless, indifferent, as they lay dying on the cobblestones for lack of a single penny or were killed by others for the penny they had.

Intense in his loathing, more bent on the destruction of the dream powder merchants than any other human alive, Professor Doctor Griswald Grimm had long sought an antidote that could be given to those pitiful wretches addicted to the dream powder. Far more potent than any magically enhanced poison or potion, it created in its addicts a gut wrenching physical demand for more dream powder, to the exclusion of food, water or any other thing essential to life. Many hours of study were expended by Grimm, much of it dead ended, in his search for the one compound which might neutralize the dream powder.

It would seem to the casual observer that Grimm had little room to criticize, he being the author of nearly two hundred chemical inventions representing different levels of use ranging from simple anti-headache powders to a potion which can turn a grown man into a column of fire in less than sixty seconds. But the poisons and potions purveyed in his apothecary were for sale to the "trade," adventurers and magicians and such. His World was a hard place and there were many layers of savant between the innocents of ordinary life and the adepts waging the war between Chaos and Law.

In that war, Grimm claimed neutrality, serving each side impartially, or so he insisted, but many a time he declined business offered by chaotics. Certainly his handling of The Murder seemed to all involved to place him squarely on the side of Law. If any blame could be placed in drawing Grimm to a side in the conflict, it would fall to events set in motion by a lad named Fleet O’Feet, an aspiring alchemist employed in the Little Shop of Poisons and Potions.

Grimm’s young apprentice was equally at home in the bazaars or on the street of dreams, the latter being his place of employment, the former being a playground in which he frolicked when his duties permitted him temporarily to revert to his first identity, that of an ordinary boy. But Fleet O’ Feet was anything BUT ordinary. He was quick of wit as well as fast afoot, honest and widely known to be so by the residents and shopkeepers on the street of dreams. This ability to move freely amongst low and high scum, unmolested was equal parts testimony to his own abilities and the deadly reputation of his employer, Griswald Grimm. It also didn’t hurt that Fleet enjoyed the friendship of several capable warriors and a Captain of Royal Guardsmen.

It is important to know all this because it was a small twist of fate rather than any World shaking event which involved, first the lad, and then his master, in what has become historically known as The Murder.

On a particularly crisp morning, the desert temperature being cool at night and reluctant to rise before the actual appearance of the sun, Fleet O’Feet threaded his way through a tangle of alleys beyond the glass bazaar on an errand of  urgency. He was awake and about, at the dispatch of the Lord Steward of Teamsters. His instructions had been simple, deliver a package, wait for a reply and return with it immediately. Since the Little Shop of Poisons and Potions did not open until late morning, Fleet believed he could easily accomplish his mission and still be on his regular job at its appointed hour.

The lad’s destination lay inside a maze of interconnected alleyways known as the Gem bazaar. The narrow passageways were barely wide enough to accommodate three men standing side by side. Those who traded there were divided into two very distinct groups, jewelers and merchants, the former being stationary in myriad little venues and tending to specialize in certain types of merchandise, the latter being black robed, shave headed, bearded and mobile, moving from one location to the next, in possession of tens of thousands in gold worth of gems, magical or otherwise. The whole quarter enjoyed (and paid dearly for) the protection of Shadow Assassins, and any thief bold or stupid enough to do robbery within that zone probably was already suicidal to begin with. Fleet O’Feet also enjoyed protection, though of a much more subtle nature since he never bragged of his association with Grimm and the fact was less known outside the street of dreams.

So, young Fleet moved easily along the street of diamonds, patiently reading the numbers above the door of each venue, until he found the particular one which matched his instructions. Double-checking, he then tapped lightly on the door. After a second or two of no response, a light came on in the window and the sound of a metal bolt sliding clicked in the night silence. The door opened slightly.

A nervous voice said, "Who is there?"

"A courier from the street of dreams," Fleet responded exactly as he had been coached.

The door opened wider and the voice said, " Enter. Hurry."

Fleet did as he was bid and the little man closed the door quickly behind him, slapping the bolt hastily.

He was sweating. "You weren’t followed were you?" he asked nervously.

"No sir," Fleet replied politely, then added, "I am instructed to give you this," and handed him the carefully wrapped package which had been in his care, "and wait for a reply." he concluded.

A sigh of relief and a smile overcame the little man as he took possession. Unmindful of the boy still being in the room, he reverently unwrapped the bundle through several layers of cloth binding, all the way down to a plain wooden box, which he fondled in his joy. Then he opened it, slowly, savoring the moment.

Fleet O’Feet was a youth of his times and was well acquainted with the many treasures of The World. Indeed, a substantial part of his training as an apprentice alchemist dealt with geology and its more entertaining side profession, gemology. But nothing in his learning quite prepared him for the sight that greeted his eyes when the little man opened fully the box in his possession. It was a diamond, a diamond as large as a hen’s egg, blue tinted, expertly faceted and glowing slightly in the light of the lamp. It was exquisite and priceless. Fleet sucked in a gasp which suddenly jerked the little man back to the reality of the fact that he was still there.

"Here is your return package, boy." The jeweler said curtly, now acutely aware that the young messenger knew exactly what he was looking at. And he added, "Speak to no one about what you have seen here," handed him a parchment sealed with wax and continued, "unless you would like to die horribly." He grinned wickedly at Fleet, handed him a gold coin, then went over, unbolted and opened the door. "Off with you now, and remember what I said."

Out into the street went Fleet to the sound of a closing door and a sliding bolt. Then, the light went out and he was alone with his thoughts.

The sun was well up in the sky by the time Fleet  made his his way back to palm street and the office of the Lord Steward of Teamsters. He delivered the parchment, for which he received the five in gold promised and one more for promptness, then excused himself and raced for the little shop of poisons and potions, knowing full well that he had less than nine minutes to cover the distance between the two places.

Grimm had just unlocked the door and turned the sign around when his lad arrived at full tilt, out of breath, and soaked to the skin from the effort of his run. But the master Alchemist was accustomed to the strange ways of the youth and ignored all this, just scowling and going back inside without saying anything at all. That was the highlight of an otherwise uneventful day.

II

Many citizens of Belestria, as the years have gone by, influenced her history. Probably, though, no single individual more so than Griswald Grimm. The Master Alchemist carried a well known dislike for magic around with him, a general disdain for guildsmen as a group and alchemy guildsmen in particular, plus an all consuming disregard for humankind in general. Had it not been for the timely arrival of Fleet O'Feet in his life, many believe the old tyrant would have seceded from his species completely. During the time of The Murder, he almost did anyway. . .

Three days later, as the apprentice restocked shelves and his master busied himself at a task of manuscript reading, there arose a commotion outside the front door of the shop, a shouting and general hubbub which brought the alchemist to his feet in a snarl, cursing all riffraff and their mothers.

"By the demons of the slime pits!" Grimm shouted, "Why can’t there be peace and QUIET around here?" He stalked through the shop to the front door and yanked it open, growling epithets and wishing open sores on who would be disturbing his peace. But what he saw on his emergence silenced him.

Dream powder addicts - they were easy to spot due to their gaunt body structure and hollow glazed eyes - dozens of them were gathered in an aggregation right in front of the door of the apothecary. And true to the underbreath curses Grimm had just pronounced, they were covered with festering sores openly running with whatever body fluid might be left in their wasted carcasses. They were pleading and calling out Grimm’s name, "Help us, oh won’t you please help us?" As this pitiful noise arose, different ones of them sank to the cobblestones and collapsed face down, cold dead. Others died in fits of convulsion. But as Grimm stood, thunderstruck, die they each did, until there was naught but a strew of bodies to mark where they had stood.

In the silence that followed, more distant noises drifted along the street of dreams, screams, curses, the agony of the dying and the sudden silence of the dead, mixed with newer dying. Grimm turned to saw his young assistant in the doorway of the apothecary and motioned to him to go back inside. Then, he picked his way through the bodies and walked off east down the street of dreams.

A veteran of several wars, Grimm was no stranger to death or dying. He had grown callous over the years, impervious to the pain of others. The World was a hard place and death happened. But as he moved along the street of dreams, it became increasingly obvious to his trained eye that no ordinary plague occurred here. The horrible suffering claimed one common denominator. Each and every victim was a dream powder addict. There were hundreds of them - even thousands - as they emerged from every rat hole and shadow. They strewed the streets in a litter of death throes, indescribable agony etched on each face. And while Grimm’s loathing for the wretched followers of the powder gave way to pity, it was an inward and private emotion. The expression on his face never changed. Finally, seeing the same thing everywhere, Grimm turned around and returned to the apothecary, ordering Fleet home to his mother with instructions to keep her in their quarters until he sent for them.

"What’s happening?" The boy wanted to know. He was visibly shaken by what little he’d seen just in front of the shop.

"A man made catastrophe, lad." Grimm told him, "one which will be followed by pestilence unparalleled in our time unless we work quickly to halt it. Now go. Do as you are told. Your life may depend on your following my instructions."

Fleet O’Feet knew when to be serious and when others were serious. He obeyed his master and went straight home, stopping for no one, avoiding the touch of the dead or dying and finally, locking himself and his mother in their small room with the bolt thrown across the door to keep out any one or thing of normal human strength. He had been provided with certain magical wards against potential adversaries and an extra bag of food and that was enough to keep them safe for a while at least.

Several hours passed before Grimm came to knowledge of the magnitude of the plague. Through the eyes and ears of those who served him, he learned that virtually every addict of the dream powder on the street of dreams had been struck down - not only just those of the street of dreams either - there seemed to be not a single addict or even casual user of the dust alive anywhere in the Trade City. From the lowliest gutter rat upward, stretching into the palaces of the highborn, causal users and heavy addicts alike, dead, horribly.

Plague was the word being used to describe the calamity. Those who were already beginning to investigate, were doing so on the basis that some sort of natural event had occurred, that the deaths of some six thousand men, women, children and nauticals was the result of some disease common to the dream powder. But Grimm believed just exactly the opposite, though privately. He had not disclosed to anyone, the results of tests he had performed on samples of the dust obtained for him by those quietly doing his bidding in the shadows.

On the second day after the deaths began and with Fleet O’Feet still sequestered at home, the master alchemist received a visitor, Captain Sypos of Prince Osarian’s Elite Guard.

"Captain." Grimm genuinely respected the young officer and greeted him pleasantly upon his emergence from the back room.

"Dr Grimm," Sypos returned the greeting. "I imagine you can guess why I’m here."

"The plague," said Grimm simply, and offered the captain a chair.

"What can you tell me about this plague?"

"Well," said Grimm, "Some of it you already know. It is peculiar to addicts of the dream powder, not just addicts, but apparently to even first time users. My sources tell me that many who have succumbed have nothing else in common with other victims except access to the dust."

"That checks out with what I’ve discovered as well. Prince Osarian’s nephew and three of his playmates are dead. Young Onji’s curiosity cost him his life." Sypos’ tone took on a bitter note. "I personally beheaded the monster who provided the dust."

Grimm nodded his approval as Sypos went on. "I’ve discussed this with a number of different experts and they all agree on one point. No occurrence of this type has ever been associated with the dream powder or any other of the recreational potions which have become trade."

"Leading you to what conclusion?" Grimm already knew the answer.

"This plague," said Sypos, "is not a disease or a natural event. It has been orchestrated by a intelligent hands."

"Logically," Grimm commented, "that would make me your number one suspect. My continued contempt for addicts must be very well known."

"More like legendary." Sypos said wryly.

"Hmmm, how long do I have, before being summoned before Prince Osarian’s Court?

"Two days at most. It has been said that many of the addicts died cursing your name. That’s not going to help you keep a low profile."

"Well, if that’s how long I have, then I’d best be about it." Grimm accompanied Sypos to the door. "You have made arrangements to burn the bodies of the dead, haven’t you?"

Sypos said, "There’s been talk, but more about mass graves than burning. Why?"

"That many corpses could cause a real plague," Grim replied, "especially since we don’t know what caused the deaths. Better to burn the bodies."

"I see your point, Doctor, but the idea won’t set well with some."

"Neither will more deaths." Grimm muttered darkly, and bid Sypos farewell.

At noon, on the day of Sypos’ visit, Grimm sent for his apprentice. the bodies had been cleared away from the street of dreams and the rat-killers had been out in full force as well. Being a meticulous investigator, he’d noticed a bit of seemingly unconnected bit of information concerning young Fleet’s whereabouts in the pre dawn hours of the morning of the plague. Since any immediate danger to the boy seemed past, Grimm decided that now would be a good time to query him.

Fleet described in detail his meeting on the street of diamonds and his return of the sealed parchment to the Lord Steward of Teamsters. The whole thing seemed rather odd to Grimm, who immediately turned over the shop to his assistant and departed in great haste, leaving Fleet wondering what all the fuss was over a little moonlighting.

Several hours later, on the street of diamonds, Grimm was attempting to extract information from one of the blackrobe merchants concerning the occupant of the venue Fleet had visited. But he was getting nowhere and it was hard to tell who he was more frightened of, Grimm or the unnamed jeweler. Finally, fed up with diplomacy and politeness, the huge alchemist jacked the merchant against a wall.

"I do not wish you to harm you if it isn’t necessary, but if you don’t answer my questions right now I will leave no bone in your body unbroken!" The look of menace in Grimm’s eyes was so fierce and his countenance so terrifying that the merchant’s bladder let go, its contents forming a puddle below his dangling feet. Consciousness fled and he fainted.

"Gods!" Grimm exclaimed in disgust and dropped him into his own puddle.

As Grimm had expected, the address on the street of diamonds given him by his apprentice was empty. He forced the door, then entered. As he did, he felt the tingle of ambient magic. In an almost instantaneous reflex, he deployed a cloud of golden powder into the empty room and backed out. The cloud revealed the shape of a huge snake, a Vishtarian winged viper, and began to form around it. Its invisibility spell dissipated first - that was the tingle Grimm had felt - and the spell which maintained the viper’s existence was also rapidly being sucked up by the magical absorbant qualities of the powder. Soon, the winged snake remorphed into what it was originally, a brown desert rat snake, non-venomous. Now it was safe to enter and Grimm did so.

No trace of the occupant described by Fleet O’Feet was left. But there was a clue to his identity in the trap he’d left behind. Whoever it was had been possessed of tremendous wealth. The cost of that trap was well over five thousand in gold, plus a cost of about 20% of the strength of who had set it in place. Somebody wanted to cover his trail completely. And he had succeeded.

That left the Lord Steward of Teamsters.

Grimm departed the Jewelers’ Quarter with many unanswered questions. Why such a powerful anti-thief ward to guard an empty room? Well, that was easy enough. It had been deployed while the room was still occupied. The jewel young Fleet had described to him would have been worth half a million or better in gold - more if it were magical - so the receiver would have been very concerned about theft. So why send Fleet with it? Again easy. Fleet’s reputation for honesty would have guaranteed the package would not be opened. only the carelessness of the jeweler allowed the lad to know the contents at all. Then there was the parchment. What kind of parchment would have been worth a half million in gold worth of diamond? Two answers were possible, a manuscript of magics or a map.

Since Grimm’s destination was palm street anyway, he detoured from his destination long enough to stop for a brief visit with a friend. The sign on the door said SRI KARNUTH BOOKMENDER. This particular merchant was expert in the construction and restoration of manuscripts, old and new.

"I wonder if you have ever seen the like of this before," Grimm said after greetings were exchanged. He requested a bit of new parchment and a pen, then sketched the seal young Fleet had described to him. It was the image of a great bird rising from the ashes of a fire and Sri Karnuth recognized it immediately. She went over to the locker storage area wherein were kept manuscripts and books and fetched a handsomely bound leather volume.

"Does this seem like what you’re looking for?" She gently laid the book on the counter face outward toward Grimm. On the cover was a silver plate, circular, tarnished somewhat, and engraved on that plate was rendered an exquisite version of Grimm’s crude hastily drawn sketch. The detailing was obviously the work of a master silversmith and was complete right down to the look of determination in the bird’s eye.

"That’s how he described it, Sri Karnuth," Grimm felt like he was beginning to make real progress. "What book is this? The symbol does not appear on any manuscript I’ve ever seen and the boy says it was embossed in sealing wax on the parchment he delivered." He was half talking to himself, since Sri Karnuth was not privy to any part of the rest of his investigation. She was about to inform him of as much but held off.

"This is a copy of a Vishtarian book of prayers to The Snake God," she said simply. "It is the Acolytes’ version, as opposed to a High Priests’ version which would have the symbol in gold and jewels, rather than silver. Rubies form the eyes of the bird and . . ."

"Yes, I understand," Grimm interrupted, "What about the book itself, whose is it?"

"I can only tell you in general terms Master Grimm, the confidentiality of a client."

"Is sacred, yes, yes, I know all that, get on with it!"

His shortness startled her, since he usually went out of his way to be civil.

"It is the prayer book of the Red Priests of Vishtari, Master Grimm. It is a guidebook for the faithful worshipers of The Snake God in the Great Canyon. The bird is a phoenix. Legend has this bird as one which can never be killed, but which rises from the ashes of its own funeral pyre to fly onward. The Vishtarians believe that death in service to the Snake is a straight road to Heaven, hence, the phoenix rising toward the sky."

"It all makes sense," Grimm was thinking aloud. "The winged viper is a Vishtarian legend, a power symbol. Who left it in ambush must have believed its magic to be invincible. It should have killed anyone who might be on the trail of the jeweler."

"What IS this all about?" Sri Karnuth’s exasperated tone shook Grimm from his muttering.

"I’m sorry I asked," she commented after he filled her in. "But at least I can save you a walk."

And Grimm said, "Eh? How’s that?"

"The Lord Steward of Teamsters is dead, along with all of the membership of the local Guild."

"Dead?" Grimm repeated, as if testing the idea, "of what?"

"The plague." Sri Karnuth said, "and if what you speculate is true, that means every teamster in the city was a dream powder user."

Grimm thanked her for her time and departed Sri Karnuth’s lost in thought. It seemed to him, inconceivable that a hundred or more teamsters to the last man would be users of the dust. Even more unlikely would this be since there were at least two spies of the Elite Guard included in their ranks, a tidbit of knowledge which had come to him earlier in the year when he had been asked by Captain Sypos to provide a kit bag for them. What they were spying on or about was not discussed, but certainly would be when Grimm caught up with Sypos.

Not surprisingly, waiting for him when he returned to the apothecary, was Captain Sypos. Fleet O’Feet had been entertaining him with slight of hand, a hobby of the lad’s which he proudly showed off to anyone who would stand still long enough.

"I have new information, Captain," Grimm said as he closed the door behind him and turned around the sign.

"As do I, Master Grimm,"

"Well, let’s do yours first." Grimm said, and sat down heavily in his favorite chair. All this walking was more than he was accustomed to and far more than he liked.

"Prince Osarian sends his regrets at any inconvenience," Captain Sypos recited formally, "and requests your presence at a Royal Tribunal of Honor, the day after tomorrow, to answer charges pressed by citizens of Royal Blood, of murder. Shall you attend or flee?"

Fleet O’ Feet came completely unglued at the mention of murder and his master in the same sentence. He shouted, "IMPOSSIBLE!" with such force that his not yet fully changed voice cracked into a shriek, breaking with the effort. Grimm sternly gestured him into silence.

"I shall attend to answer honorably, the charges brought against my name." Grimm quoted the requisite reply. Though he had no obligation to do so. As a neutral and as a resident of the street of dreams where Prince Osarian enjoyed no jurisdiction, he was completely immune to the summons of the court. But good politics is never a bad investment. "Whom am I said to have murdered? Who brings the charges?"

"Onji Osarian, of Royal Blood, the victim of assassination, the charges brought by Princess Onessa of the House of Osarian."

"I shall honor the jurisdiction of the court of Prince Osarian and appear at the appointed time and place. This I pledge in oath to you."

"Now then," Sypos said, "What’s your news?"

"Wait a minute. Wait just a minute!" blurted Fleet O’Feet, who now seemed to have recovered most of his voice. "How can the two of you go on as though nothing has happened?" Then he realized the level of impertinence he’d achieved and his face went red as sunburn.

"There are formalities which must be observed in civilized society." Sypos explained patiently. "Now that Doctor Grimm has agreed to appear in answer to whispers and rumors that have been running rampant over the city, no Assassin of the Guild may take his life. As a prisoner of the Crown, he is protected by the Crown. Do you understand?"

"No," said Fleet, flustered, then, "yes, I-I think so."

"Good," Sypos said, "Now, your news, Doctor?"

Grimm outlined the events of the day, including his assessment of the connection between Red Priests of Vishtari and the exchange of the Jewel for Parchment. And he related the news that the whole enrollment of the Guild of Teamsters appeared to be among the victims of the dust plague.

"Now it’s odd," said Sypos, "that Vishtarians are mixed into this. Our investigation did not reveal any Vishtarians. But I recognize that bird all right."

Grimm’s eyebrows shot upward in surprise.

"From where?"

Sypos reached into a pocket of his tunic and brought forth a medallion wrought of gold and shaped into the now familiar form of the rising bird. "This came from the dream powder merchant whose head I took. He had no more neck for it to hang on, I’m afraid."

The sun was beginning to set by the time Grimm and Sypos completed their chat. Grimm was grateful that the captain had bought him one extra day before having to appear in court. This puzzle had far too many loose ends and at present, his innocence in the matter could scarcely be argued, never mind proven. First Sypos, then, under protest, Fleet, departed, leaving Grimm alone with his research.

III

What would The World be like without the Vishtarians? Many a scholar has asked that question? Without the Red Priests of The Snake, who would we frighten little children with? Certainly no boogyman in The World lurks in more sinister shadows than the snake worshipers of the Great canyon . . . .

Later that evening, after sunset and after the shop closed, Grimm busied himself with a battery of chemical tests which he’d intended to do earlier, but had not. Now, the results of those tests were conclusive and the facts of those results were truly frightening. He’d had one of his agents collect samples of the dream powder from different parts of the city and return them in small glass vials. Then he’d placed minute quantities into dishes and applied a single drop of several different liquids onto them and compared the results with control samples he already had prior to the plague. The gathered samples reacted differently than the control, there was, in the dream powder collected from the city, a different element. It only took one more test to identify the rogue element. It was virostrychnyne, the active convulsant in Pyrotoxin, one of Grimm’s own formulas for distribution to the "trade."

Grimm sat leaned back in his chair and shook his head in disbelief. To produce enough Virostrychnyne to contaminate the amount of dream powder necessary to do the kind of damage the plague had caused, would take a huge laboratory - but then, it would take a huge laboratory to produce enough dream powder to kill an entire city. Or a main supply of powder was already in place and the contaminant was added.

But WHO? WHY? It just made no sense. There were the Vishtarians, if indeed there was a connection between Fleet’s delivery and the plague. But what would they have to gain by killing off more than six thousand men and notmen almost at random? The answer was maddeningly elusive. Grimm bent back to the tasks at hand. From outside, on the street of dreams, the light in the window of the apothecary could be seen and it was lit all night long.

Fleet O’Feet opened the apothecary the next morning promptly at the appointed hour and found his master asleep in the back room, in his chair. It was obvious that the doctor had been there all night. He hardly had time for Captain Sypos and Sri Karnuth both arrived within the space of a single minute.

"Where’s Grimm?" Sypos’ voice boomed in the outer room.

"No need to shout, Captain," Grimm said from beyond the doorway, "I can hear you just fine. Ah, Sri Karnuth, a pleasant good morning to you."

Grimm joined them in the front room, showing no signs of having just been asleep.

Sypos, on the other hand looked like he’d been awake for a week.

Grimm said, "Captain, you have some news for me?"

"I do," Sypos replied. "They’re gone."

Fleet O’Feet chimed in, "Who’s gone?" and Grimm shot him a butt out look.

"You remember earlier, you spoke of burning the bodies of the plague dead?"

Grimm nodded affirmatively.

"Well, it went the way I expected. Soldiers of the fourth brigade were charged to dig a burial trench and fifth platoon handled transportation logistics. We buried 6500 humans, and fifty nauticals. That was yesterday. No guards were posted - it didn’t seem necessary. But this morning, when a detail went out to the site with a wagon load of late victims, the grave was open. THEY WERE ALL GONE!"

Grimm didn’t comment on that, rather, he addressed Sri Karnuth. "What have you discovered?" He asked, sounding as if he knew the answer.

"I believe I have discovered what scroll it was that your apprentice delivered. The Captain’s news seems to have confirmed it. I believe that young Fleet was, for a very short time, in possession of The Script of Reanimation."

"The what?" Sypos sounded confused.

"Reanimation!" Grimm exclaimed. "Of course! it makes sense. It is the one single document which by itself could be worth so much! How could I have not seen it?"

"Umm I’m in the dark here. . ." Sypos’ patience seemed to be thinning.

"The The Script of Reanimation is a black magic spell scroll so densely evil that a portion of its mythos has been that it harbors a life of its own. It is a reanimation spell for the dead, a powerful reanimation spell designed by its originator - may the fires of hell consume him - to raise an army of the undead, to partially restore life in them to follow the orders of the holder of the scroll."

Sri Karnuth added, "The first and only time it was ever used, was in the war of the wizards, by a High Adept called Andor the Black. He reanimated an entire battlefield full of corpses from both armies and loosed them on his enemy. The carnage was unimaginable. Each time a zombie slew a live warrior, he too became a zombie - they carry the power of reanimation in their touch."

So. Someone had just raised an army in the space of just a few days, an army which perpetuated itself by recruiting its own victims. But who? And Why?

"We haven’t much time," Grimm pronounced. "The city is about to come under siege and unless we move quickly, they will succeed. Captain, you must alert the City Guard at once. Sri Karnuth, you and I must go to immediately back to your shop. There is something from your brother’s legacy which I must have."

The legacy to which Grimm referred was a cache of extremely powerful magical potions which he had secretly consigned to the pages of certain books before he met his untimely death.

Still unsure of who the attacking enemy actually was, Grimm knew he had only one sure course of action. The sheer overwhelming number of undead which would be attacking would be augmented by only a meager number of alive warriors, squad and platoon leaders who would translate the attack orders to their individual commands. Therefore, his proposed defense of the city was twofold, first, dispatch a powerful sleep spell over the living members of the attacking army, second and more importantly, deploy something which would return the undead to their original state of death. The biggest problem was that the city guard was outnumbered by about 100 to one, there being only 600 or so of them on active duty. There could be no direct combat, for if reanimation spell was indeed the ancient configuration that was suspected, all that would be accomplished would be to add the city’s 600 to the enemy’s 6000

Sealing the city and alerting the citizenry to the possibility of invasion was unprecedented, No one could remember any time in modern history when Belestria had ever been attacked. There was total chaos in the streets. Eventually, though, within only a few hours, the walls were manned and the element of surprise was lost to the enemy.

All the rest of that day and overnight to the following dawn, they waited for the attack but it did not come. The war between the zombies of the dream powder and the city of Belestria simply did not occur. By late afternoon, scouts from the Mounted Brigade reported to their anxious commanders that for a distance of forty miles or more, in all directions, there was no one, living or dead. Six thousand corpses had simply vanished into the scrub of the outback without so much as a footprint or a trace.

"I just do not understand it," Grimm had assumed a post in one of the high wall keeps in preparation for what would have been his role in the protection of the city. His comment was directed toward young Fleet O’Feet, who was in his rightful place as his master’s apprentice, ready to do his own part. "It’s not your fault . ." Began Fleet, but lapsed into silence, unable to offer an argument as to why this might be so.

On the stairwell which led upward to them came the tramp of soldiers’ boots, a squad, Grimm’s practiced ear told him, with one officer in the lead. He said quickly to Fleet, "No matter what happens, don’t despair."

The boy had no time to comment, because off the steps and into the keep came six very large guardsmen and a Captain who was not Sypos.

The Captain said, "You are to accompany us, please, Doctor Grimm."

The alchemist shot his apprentice a stern look which meant, "Don’t interfere," and said to the officer, "Of course, please lead the way."

By the time Grimm and his escort reached the palace of Prince Osarian, a sizable group of civilians had amassed along the way. Emboldened by the anonymity of the mob, different ones were shouting, "This is YOUR doing, alchemist!" and "Kill him! Kill the murderer!" The scene was growing uglier with every footstep.

Inside the Royal Hall of Justice, Prince Osarian sat in the Lord High Judge’s chair, the picture of stern decorum. But inside, he was a bundle of nerves. Griswald Grimm, one of the most dangerous and influential men in the city, would soon be standing in the defendant’s box, accused of high treason by a member of the Royal Family. If this were handled incorrectly, the repercussions could be enormous or even fatal. The task ahead was not going to be easy.

The jury had already been impaneled when Grimm arrived. The interior of the Hall of Justice was packed as the alchemist made his way down the center aisle, but he concentrated his gaze on the jury box, wherein were seated thirteen of his peers, the Lord High Steward of Alchemists, and the council of advisors of the Alchemists’ Guild. This made sense. Belestrian High Justice does not allow a pronouncement of judgement by Royal Decree alone. An empanelement of peers, most often of the same guild or craft union as the accused is the method used by the Court of Honor.

Grimm took his place in the defendant’s box.

The Lord Prosecutor pronounced formally, "Griswald Grimm, are you here by your own choice, acting freely as an honorable man?"

Grimm answered," I am."

"Then may justice prevail."

"Let justice prevail," intoned the jury.

With those words, the most celebrated trial in recent Belestrian history began. The prosecution’s case was not complex. He produced a dozen or so witnesses who testified to Grimm’s extreme hatred of both users and sellers of the dream powder. A few of them related the alchemist’s rough treatment of addicts whenever they crossed his path. A Master Alchemist then placed on the record, the previously unknown additive to the dream powder, virostrychnyne. He had reached the same conclusion as had Grimm, that the convulsant element of Pyrotoxin, Grimm’s own invention, was the potent lethal element which caused the deaths of the young Royal, Onji, and approximately six thousand others in the city. The call to arms, contended the prosecutor in his summation was a smoke screen designed to cover up Grimm’s collusion with Black Artisans who had spirited away six thousand departed souls, tortured in life and damned in death. It was a powerful argument and the jury, all of whom knew Grimm as a neutral, (which is to say, not committed to law), were moved to believe, at that point in the proceedings, that he was quite capable of perpetrating this crime against those he believed were useless dregs.

Grimm handled his own defense. In his opening statement, he simply said, "I am guiltless in this affair and have harmed no one yet."

The last word in this brief sentence set the entire room abuzz, forcing Prince Osarian to call for order twice. Once calm was restored, Grimm entered the witness box for examination by the Lord prosecutor.

"Master Alchemist, Grimm," began the prosecutor, "Do you deny the fact that you personally hated addicts of the dream powder and frequently assaulted or otherwise abused them for your own purposes?"

"I do not deny that I had no use for the scum." Grimm replied, "In fact, they were a great annoyance to me - are a great annoyance to me - do not think they are gone. They are like flies. Just because they aren’t buzzing around your face doesn’t mean there aren’t maggots squirming in the dark somewhere."

"Did you execute a plot to rid the city of these - ah - maggots, I believe you called them, by poisoning their supply of dust, an act that caused the slaying of Onji Osarian, of the Royal House?"

"I did not, but I now believe I know who did so."

"Pray continue." The prosecutor believed that Grimm’s tale of zombies attacking the city would be proof of his guilt, for there had been and was not going to be any such attack"

Grimm replayed for the court, all the events which led up to the moment, complete with his erroneous invasion assumption.

"I must admit," said Grimm, "that I was completely fooled by the evidence. The exchange of a priceless diamond for a scroll of reanimation of the dead - the only logical explanation for such an act would be the raising of an army of the undead, and for what purpose other than the invasion of Belestria? But the deaths of 100 Guild Teamsters, which included two members of Prince Osarian’s own Elite Guard - that was a puzzle part that refused to fit. What were those guardsmen investigating, Captain Sypos?"

Sypos rose and identified himself to the court, then said, "Corruption. They were suspected of having accepted bribes from the Vishtarians to participate in the transporting of human children, kidnapped from the streets of Belestria and treked to the rim of The Canyon to be turned over to the Priests of The Snake as human sacrifices."

An electric gasp went through the courtroom.

"We didn’t know who in the guild was involved, so we placed two spies to try and find out."

"It keeps coming back to Vishtarians." Grimm continued, "and the assumption that the Red Priests somehow managed to get hold of The Script of Reanimation, that a Vishtarian invasion was eminent. But this is not so, not any of it."

Grimm paused to allow that to sink in, then continued. " What had puzzled me the most, right from the very beginning, was WHY? Why would the Vishtarians, to whom death, in the form of human sacrifice, is a very individual and personal ritual, suddenly begin to call attention to themselves through the wholesale destruction of 20% of the population of this city? The answer is so simple and so horrific that I could not have even conceived of it if it were not true. They didn’t. The Vishtarians had no part in this affair whatsoever."

The prosecutor flinched. Grimm had just convicted himself. In the face of his own evidence, if the Vishtarians were innocent, than only Grimm could be guilty.

"There never was any traffic in children between Belestria and Vishtari." Grimm pressed on. "Oh, there was abduction in the city, bribery and transport by the teamsters, but only out into the desert. Other more trusted teamsters were meeting them and bringing them back into the city. There were individuals disguised as Red Priests, a charade for the benefit of the outbound transporters. The real transporters, just a few trusted teamsters much more heavily bribed than the others, were bringing the abductees, under cover of night, back into the city by a roundabout route and delivering them to black villainous swine chaotics right here in Belestria!

It took five minutes to quiet the room.

Grimm came out of the witness box and approached the jury box. He said, "You see, the dream powder was a profitable item in the beginning and it was controlled by a powerful invisible cartel who grew fat and rich on the proceeds. But the formula for making the dust was so simple, a child could do it. Anybody could make dust and sell it for a few coppers. There was no longer profit in dream powder. Then, someone hit upon a scheme, the penultimate profiteering scheme. And it was devilishly simple. Kidnap a couple of hundred children, make it look like the Vishtarians had gone insane with sacrifice lust, then poison the entire citywide supply of dream powder with a delayed reaction poison, collect the bodies in a single mass grave and remove them."

"For what purpose, alchemist?" Interrupted the prosecutor.

"Twofold, Lord Prosecutor. For gold and to destroy me."

"Preposterous!" scoffed the prosecutor, "What possible profit could there be in dead bodies? Even as zombies, their usefulness as soldiers is extremely limited. The putrefaction begins almost immediately!"

"Fresh dead bodies," retorted Grimm, "is the key. There exists within the Guild of Necromancers, a power cult, a group of elitists dedicated to overcoming the problems of magically reanimating the dead. You are correct, putrefaction is the problem, plus, there has to be substantial dead in order to create an army of UNDEAD. So the problem was this, how does one create enough DEAD to man an army of zombies and how does one get them to where they are needed without them rotting away. It was not a problem of magic, black or otherwise, it was a problem of ALCHEMY. The dead were created in just the fashion we’ve been discussing. 6500 casualties in one fell swoop, no mess, no fuss, no loose ends to tie up, everybody’s dead. The zombies were created by the use of  The Script of Reanimation, again, no problem, any competent group of magic users could employ such a powerful device without much fear of injury. But WHERE ARE THEY?."

Grimm suddenly approached the jury box and posed the question to the Lord High Steward of Alchemists.

"Where are they, sir?" He stared right into the face of the startled man, then pointed an accusing finger squarely at him. "I believe that the teamsters were not the only guild corrupted utterly by the Necromancers’ scheme. I believe that this crime was perpetrated with the full cooperation of this man, his counselors and the facilities of the Alchemists’ Guild."

The Lord High Steward leaped to his feet and shouted, "This is an OUTRAGE! This is an attempt by Grimm to push off the blame for his crime onto someone else!"

"Not so," Grimm shot back. "Who has the facilities to create large quantities of virostrychnyne. Who, besides myself has the FORMULA to virostrychnyne? And isn’t it true that the original author of the dream powder was yourself and that is why I left the guild in the first place? If you have your guards search the necromancers’ vault, you will find 6000 plus one ounce vials of brownish powder, which, when poured into a pail of water will create one zombie, courtesy of the Alchemists’ Guild, bought and paid for. How much does a good zombie fetch for, 2000? 3000? How about one who carries the power to reanimate whoever it slays? 5000? 8000?

Grimm turned away from the Lord High Steward and returned to the witness box. The whole courtroom was alive with discussion.

"Prince Osarian," Grimm said, "Who was it who advised you to bury the dead in a single mass grave, over my advice of burning their bodies, a practice which historically has proven sound in times of plague?" He already knew the answer. "If I am to be judged for the death of young Onji, then let it be your judgement alone, which decides my fate. These blackhearts are of Chaos and are not my peers."

Epilogue

In that instant, Griswald Grimm declared his alignment to Law and everyone in the room could feel the rightness of his innocence and could smell the stench of guilt on the jury that would have condemned him to beheading. Captain Sypos conducted a raid in the Wizards’ Quarter, on the tower of the Necromancers’ Guild, only to find it empty. A thorough search of the Alchemists’ Guild turned up scrolls of record that bore out Grimm’s accusations almost exactly.

So Grimm was found innocent of the murder of Onji Osarian by a decree of Royal justice. He returned to the street of dreams with his apprentice and quietly resumed his research.

The Belestrian Necromancers weren’t heard from in the city for many years due to the blood bounty placed on their heads by Prince Osarian. What they did with 6500 vials of Instant Zombie is another story.

The Vishtarians never publicly acknowledged the affair at all, but Griswald Grimm received a formula for transmorphing brown rat snakes into winged serpents from an anonymous source.

The Belestrian Alchemists’ Guild was disaccredited and its entire membership of 140 adepts were slain by order of the Steward of the High Guild. Grimm still did not re-affiliate with them, but allowed Fleet O’Feet to do so.

And there are still dream powder addicts on the street of dreams. But they’re mighty careful who they get their dust from. Grimm still doesn’t like them. But then, who does?