Moon on a Cloudy Night

Rain couldn't last forever. It only lasted for the time it took Ted to convince everyone that he could know exactly when it ended.

With Karshaan weather witchcraft being a largely forgotten concept, no one said anything about weathermen and their tricks. Those who knew of Smith, they kept really quiet and things were almost going too well.

The city as a whole took notice and Ted was called into a council meeting. The Society was awarded the status of an officially approved beneficial association, and this in turn brought tax benefits and an opportunity to have Ted's voice guide the mundane decisions about shipment timings and the routines of farmhands.

This, of course, was a bit boring. It still meant that the Society had more credibility than before. People were now more interested in the weather, and with the convincing results of the forecasts from the cultists' mouths, everyone was in awe. The supposed talents of meteorologists were now appreciated.

Ted had been careful. He had found out the names and addresses of every trained, real meteorologist in Neul and the capital, and in a few other big cities as well.

Eknie and her revolvers paid every single one a visit. Ted did not trust academic people, Mad included. Madorn was to be kept alive simply because he could be predictable.

Ted enjoyed the challenge of being in the presence of such a great mind, but he did not think for a second that Mad could ever be a part of him. The sun god was, and that was unfortunate, but a man like Ted did not like the proximity of another sentient being in an emotional sense.

Then came the day when the weatherman demanded his payment.

"I am able to kill you in hundreds of ways if you refuse me," Smith said.

Not even a hello as he pushed past Ted into the now empty manor.

The cultists were better off not knowing that they could not, in fact, predict the weather. They were better off in their new house, a lavish manor that had been donated by an elderly relative of sweet, murderous Eknie.

The cultists could not know that even Ted was second to someone.

Smith merely smiled, and with him, a trail of smoke came, making the cult leader cough.

Ted felt like his lungs were going to give up any minute now.

Then he saw what he had coughed up. A flesh-like piece, it had to be from him, but he had never coughed up pieces of his own lungs before.

He looked at the weatherman. "You will not need to kill me, I got your point. Get your disgusting smoke out of me and name your price."

"The die."

For a moment, Ted thought Smith was asking him to die.

He put his hands into his pockets, feeling protective. He did not want to lose the last thing he had that could be used to summon demons.

"All right," he said. "I will just make my own sigils."

"Ah! Ha! Have you got any idea how hard that is? There are so many combinations of patterns…never mind, you can figure it out. Thank you."

"Sigilcraft…I can figure it out, yes. It'll be hard, but I like a challenge."

Ted started carving new dice later that day.

He thought he remembered some combinations, but as fortune would have it, the ones he recalled belonged to what could only be called idiot demons.

Well, they weren't idiots if one actually spent time learning their ways, but they were pretty obnoxious to be with. One explained to Ted that to a certain type of sentient being, a space free of all kinds of stimuli was the worst thing that could happen. Many lesser demons were permanently in that state. This made them prone to trickster-like behavior that made them basically no one's favorite to be with.

With a certain combination of hen blood and curved lines, though, Ted felt like he had struck gold.

A reasonably normal being manifested into his room – a woman, pale as the moon on a cloudy night, appearing like any lady in her fifties or early sixties, she held her head in her bony hands and complained that she was too tired to do anything.

A weary demon in the shape of an old hag probably did not sound like anything much, but Ted was overjoyed.

"You don't have to do anything. Is it so that demons, too, get tired?"

"Oh, you wouldn't even guess," the she-demon sighed. "You know how you humans get all worked up in our presence?"

It was true, and it was also the reason why Ted did not feel like he needed alcohol or corna. Demonic workings were much better than any high.

Right now, too, he felt elated, his entire body was buzzing – and this was likely to be a lesser demon.

It wasn't quite as good as actually hurting or manipulating living humans, but it was a pleasant substitute for that.

Ted laughed. "So, are you saying you need a beer?"

To his surprise, the demon nodded, still hiding her face.

"By the name of the Mother, please,do bring me one. Or two. That's all I really need. A beer, yes."

A drunkard demon with the face and the body of a model in retirement was the absolute last thing Ted had expected to encounter, but he fetched a few cold ones for the lady and sat down next to her.

"Thank you." The woman-demon-whatever simply would not look him in the eye. It made her appear mysterious, like she was somehow trying to get him to ask about her face.

Still, her throat let out a gurgling sound, just like beer-guzzling throats were supposed to do.

"It's not exactly the top ale in town, but I am fond of it due to some good memories," Ted said and smiled towards her, hoping she would look at him.

And she did.

Her eyes were gone. She had nothing to actually look at anything with – she had no eyes.

This marred her face greatly, yet it did not shock Ted very much.

No eyes – he had expected something worse, like maggots.

Maggots were kind of nasty. This was completely acceptable.