Letter Twelve

Dear Sneffles,
I died today, twice, or so Finarfin says. I don’t know. I don’t remember that much. All I know is that I’m sick to my stomach and I’ve got a headache. Things had been going so well …

I knew that we were shit without a ladder when Glorio decided to kick our collective ass. He didn’t like us allying with his wife/sister and he especially didn’t like that she had told us the terrible secret about the two of them being rakshasa. Can’t blame him for that, I guess. We certainly came to regret knowing it as well.

So he brought down his heavy hitters to kill us—they made no bones about that. PJ tried to sea-lawyer them but they were having none of it being a law unto themselves, don’t you know?

The battle was hard-fought and Vimana wasn’t much help, nor was poor Master Orisini. I was beaten senseless despite everything PJ and Driar could do to keep me alive. I used my bag of tricks and then Glorio basically squeezed the life from me. It was my own fault. Driar tried to warn me. When Finarfin reached the end of his rope he had the good sense to disappear, but good old Cordobles had to fight the good fight and get himself killed. I don’t know what got into me, Mama always taught me, “When in doubt, run.” It was good advice but like most things she said, I didn’t listen.

I woke in a village outside Korvosa. There were children playing a game of hoops. Several Barbarians lounged in front of a beer hall. I recognized them as some of Redcullin’s ghost-pals. “Hey, Big Arckle!” I called but he only looked at me silently. A younger one, called Yakko, asked my why I was there. I wasn’t wanted. This kind of made me mad because they’d spent weeks haunting my apartment after Redcullin left without complaint one from me.

I decided to ask them about that. “Hey, have any of you seen Redcullin around?”

“Nay, wee laddie,” one of them, called Snarglepuss, answered. “He would have to be dead to be amongst us and he naught am that I swear by all the gods of violence and thunder.”

“Well, there’s good news at least. I may collect that debt he owes me after all. How about Szechuan?”

“We’ll have to ask the scrying ball,” a one-eyed fellow called Gabloon said, leading me to a cave where our old friend Zollara sat obviously expecting me.

“Ah, young Cordobles,” she purred. "How is your quest working out?”

“You tell me.”

She chuckled like a low-rent freebooter spending his last copper betting on a rigged game of quoits. “You wouldn’t be here if it was going at all well.”

“You’ve been reading my mail.”

“He wants to find a hero called Szechuan,” Gabloon interceded.

She sniffed, then mumbled a few words to her crystal ball. Suddenly she exhaled sharply, uttering an obscene oath while motioning me over.

In the ball a miniature Szechuen was copulating fiercely with six or seven wenches (one was the crone who cooks for the Keep and never washes her hands) and at least three yeomen. “Ah, I see he’s recovered from his hangover,” I said thanking her.

I found myself in a comfortable lounge. I seemed to recognize the furnishings—plush carpets of intricate design, overstuffed velvet sofas and chairs, silk curtains covering huge expanses of glass, exquisite paintings, some by … Salvatore Scream. That’s when I noticed the occupants: greenish skin, vacant eyes, rigid movements—it was the walking dead from the upper-class party we’d investigated looking for young Ruan.

The smell was disgusting but worse was seeing those moldering corpses engaged in the most depraved activities. Their flesh had the consistency of warm cheese, rending due to their lustful exertions. It was worse than your senior class prom. I had to turn away and when I did I beheld a man on a tall pillar of fire—it was King Eodred sitting upon his throne, his thrall surrounded him, men and women who had disappeared after the Queen took power. He looked very sad.

I approached him, the ghosts tried to intercede but I walked right through them. He was inert, as if … well, he was dead, I guess. I bowed respectfully (I hear you giggling as you lie on your bed while reading this). Silently he gazed at me, his rheumy eyes seeking mine, surveying the harried lad there. “She didn’t surprise me, you know.”

“What a guy won’t do for pussy, eh, sir?” I don’t know why I decided to pimp the old goat. He reminded me of those sailors who wake up stripped of everything they own down by the waterfront. They have no complaint because it's their own fault. “I hope it was worth it.”

He smiled his sad smile. “I suppose it’ll have to do, at least until she joins me here.”

I lost track of him after that, ending up on a side street behind a steaming manure pile. There, sitting on a stool, I found a sinister old man who was all too familiar—my daddy Gaedrun Lamm!

“Pa!” I cried, but he stared at me coldly.

“Don’t you know me? My mother was Wild Cilly McGill.”

That reached him. “Dobles? Why are you here, lad?”

“Glorio Arkona kinda … killed me.”

“Ah. Well I suppose he does that.” After a pause he leaned forward, eyes glittering like a piece of him wasn’t yet dead. “How goes it with that Sneffles girl?”

An icicle stabbed me along the spine. “What do you mean?”

“I was the first to recognize that she was special. I had her trained. I sold her to only the best. Then they took her away. Why would she go? I gave her everything, even the big-dicked sailor boy.”

“They paid you plenty for her.”

“Never enough,” he looked down upon me bitterly. “She is worth so much more.”

I found myself walking along a street leaving town. Sunken-eyed women stood in doorways suckling mummies with their withered paps. The village was merely a waystation for those waiting to move on to the hallowed land. 

I kept on walking when I reached the last house, far out into the countryside. It was peaceful in a way I’ve never found anywhere in Korvosa. Quiet, except for the distant sound of falling water.

The waterfall dropped splashing into a crystal pool of water. I removed my bloodied leather armor and bathed in the pure, refreshing liquid. Suddenly I realized I was not alone. Turning I beheld a lithe young woman, an elf, Laori Vauss, naked and alone, hair long and dark, body studded grotesquely with sharp metal studs embedded in her flesh.

“Desna’s teeth!” I cried. “Are you dead, too?”

Shaking her head she replied, “No one is dead. When you arrived here they asked me to come get you. You don’t belong here, Cordobles. She took my hand, leading me to a quiet bower where we lay down together. Her kisses were warm and intemperate, dangerous, yet needful. Her studs pierced me all along my body, blood coursing down my belly and thighs. I entered her gratefully, as you taught me, and she whinnied like a mare in heat, but before I could find my release I felt a strong force lifting me away, separating us. She smiled evilly up at me as I soared away, eyes never leaving mine. “I’m saving your death for myself,” she promised.

“Sweet,” I thought as I woke in PJ’s arms while he poured life into me. Driar stood concerned nearby, Finarfin grinning at his side. “I’d heard that some men orgasm when they die but I never expected to actually see one do it,” he chortled.

“Welcome back, squirt,” Driar grinned. Marvel of marvels his face didn’t crack from the exertion. If that was the afterlife I think I’ll remain here.

The rest of the adventure passed in a fog for me. I think we got Neolandus back and Vimana gave us a good breakfast in the morning before sending us on our way. I'm not sure where we're going but apparently it's out of town.

Missing your safe and cordial embrace,
Cordobles

Followed by Finarfin's Fourteenth Report

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