15 XV. | 'Behold! Thy deathly steed...!'

'This is the address that was in the ad,' said Garovel.

'I still think this is a terrible idea...'

'Just ring the doorbell.'

Hector pushed the button and heard the chime go off inside the house.

A brawny, middle-aged bloke opened the door. He scratched his head as he looked at Hector. "Yeah?"

"Ah, I, uh... I'm the one who called earlier, uh... about your ad..."

"Ugh, you?" The man frowned. "Why ya gotta waste my time like this, kid? I thought you sounded young on the phone, but hell."

"No, I, uh... I want to buy it for my dad."

"Yeah, sure you do." He started closing the door.

Hector stopped it with his hand. "Please, just..." He dropped a duffel bag full of cash on the doorstep.

The man eyed the money, and then Hector. "A gift for your dad, huh? Let me show you to the garage."

Hector picked the bag back up and followed him around to the rear driveway. They entered a standalone shed where the man pulled a tarp off of a motorcycle.

"Here we are," the man said. "You know much about bikes, kiddo?"

"N-not really, no..."

"Well, like the ad said, this is a Revenant Softail RS1800 Cruiser."

"Right. Um... w-what do all those words mean, exactly?"

He squinted at Hector a moment, perhaps debating whether or not he wanted to answer that question. "Revenant is the name of the manufacturer," he explained. "Softail is a type of rear suspension--basically means it's not as bumpy as other bikes might be. RS1800 is the model number. Cruiser is just a general type of motorcycle, as opposed to say, a sport bike or a touring bike or something."

"Ah... okay..." Hector eyed the bike's silver frame and black leather seating.

"It's about eight years old, now, and it has a hundred and eighty thousand kilometers. It's been good to me, but keeping it maintained has become more of a hobby than a need, these past few years."

Garovel started laughing. 'I hope you like skulls, because this thing has them all over the gas tank.'

"It, uh... it does actually run, right?"

The bike seller retrieved the key from a rack by the door, as well as a helmet and a jacket.

Hector tried to watch as carefully as possible while the man started the bike. He saw the guy turn the key in the ignition first, then turn a tiny spindle at the neck of the handlebars, then hold a metal clutch with his left hand, and then finally slam his foot down on the ratcheting lever beneath the seat. The engine roared to life, and the man took the bike out of the garage.

Hector watched him ride it up and down the street, and that was good enough for him. The money changed hands, as did the key and helmet, and Hector was soon wheeling the bike down the sidewalk. The man told him that all the paperwork was in a compartment beneath the saddle, but Hector wasn't terribly concerned about it, and after seeing the money again, neither was the man.

He pushed the bike all the way to the empty parking lot of a long-abandoned department store. He took a deep breath as he stared at the machine.

'Try not to wreck it before we even get it on the road,' Garovel said.

"Yeah, thanks..." He whipped his leg over the side and steadied himself. He was abruptly thankful it wasn't taller, because his feet barely reached the ground. He attempted to mimic what he saw the guy do before, but Garovel stopped him as he went to turn the spindle below the handlebars.

'Don't do that,' the reaper said. 'That's the choke. It enriches the fuel-air mixture in order to make the engine start more easily, but you only want to do that when the fuel is cold--or in other words, when the engine hasn't been started recently. Otherwise, you're just wasting fuel.'

"Oh... how the hell do you know anything about motorcycles, anyway?"

'I had a passing interest in them a few years back. I remember when I first saw one. Looked like a lot of fun. Then the guy riding it crashed into a hedge.'

"How comforting..." He started the engine.

'My knowledge is pretty spotty, though. You'll be shocked, I'm sure, but I've never actually ridden one personally, so you'll kinda be on your own with some things.'

With the engine roaring, Hector reverted to thought. 'Great... can you, um... can you at least tell me how to start moving?'

'Shift into first gear, and it should start going on its own, I think.'

'Uh... how do I shift into first gear?'

'There's a lever by your left foot. Push it down.'

He did as Garovel said, and indeed, the bike began to drift forward, slow enough that he could walk with it. 'Now what?'

Garovel hesitated. 'Um...'

'Really? That's the extent of your help?'

'Try the throttle,' said Garovel. 'Under your right hand. The brake is there, too.'

The bike surged forward, faster than Hector expected. He pulled on the brake, and the back tire came up. He fell out of the seat. The bike skidded slowly into him on its side.

Garovel floated over to him. 'Well. I guess the paint job wasn't important.'

The plan was to spend the entire day learning, of course. Garovel had allowed him to skip school, even, which gave Hector some idea of how important the reaper considered this trip to be. And as expected, the going was quite slow. He first practiced low-speed turns. Garovel advised him that for this type of motorcycle, turning at higher speeds would require countersteering, but to even reach those higher speeds, he had to be able to shift gears in a passable manner, which was perhaps the hardest part.

Shifting gears was an actual skill that he had to develop. It meant closing the throttle, holding the clutch, moving the lever with his left foot into the correct position, then easing off the clutch and throttling to pick up speed. Hector often released the clutch too quickly and ended up stalling the engine, but after a while, he started to get the hang of it.

Before attempting higher speeds, however, they decided to take a break. Hector had to fetch more fuel, anyway, and not being confident enough to actually ride to a gas station meant walking all the way there, purchasing a pair of canisters, filling them up, and overpaying the bearded clerk so that he didn't think too hard about what Hector wanted it for. He also grabbed a bite to eat and took the opportunity to meditate for a little while.

'Alright, try hitting me,' said Garovel.

'What?'

'That's how we'll gauge your progress. If you can hit me, then you can hit Geoffrey. Or another reaper.'

'Are you serious...?'

'Hey, I'm not thrilled about it, either. Why do you think I didn't have you practicing this as soon as I revived you? Once you get it down, you'll be able to kill me.'

'Then I definitely don't want to practice on you...'

'Oh, please. You're not going to kill me on accident, Hector. Give me some credit.'

He pursed his lips. 'Alright... here goes, then...' Hector inhaled deeply and closed his eyes a moment. He made a fist and focused on it. Like anyone, he didn't need to see his own fist in order to know where it was, but there was more to it now. He could place a presence into his fist, and it felt as if his entire arm had doubled in size. It hadn't, of course, but there was a weight in his mind there, and he knew it was ready.

He smacked Garovel in the torso.

Garovel eyed him a moment, not looking particularly fazed. 'Hmm. Well, I felt something at least. That was kind of pathetic, though.'

'Gah...'

'You sure you're not holding back on me?'

'I... I don't know, I mean... I really don't want to hurt you, Garovel...'

'Okay, okay. Fine. How about just aiming for my perimeter, then?'

'Huh? Perimeter?'

'Yeah. You said you see me as a skeleton, right? So I have hands and feet and everything?'

'Uh... actually, I'm not sure whether you have feet or not. I see hands, though, yeah. You want me to punch your hand?'

'Yeah. Anywhere but my center, and you won't hurt me.'

'You're sure about this...?'

'Duh.'

'A-alright...'

'Don't hold back. This is important, Hector. If you don't learn this properly, we are both going to die. You understand? The only way to really stop a servant is to kill the reaper, and reapers can't even touch each other, so it has to be you. Sooner or later, we will find ourselves in that situation, and if you can't kill them, they will kill us. There is no doubt here.'

Hector nodded slowly. 'Okay. I, ah... I won't...'

Garovel's brow lowered. 'Excuse me? You won't? Hector, what the--'

'N-no, I meant, ah... I won't let anyone kill you. I'll protect you. Definitely.'

For a moment, the reaper just looked at him. 'Well, prove it, then.' He held out his skeletal hand.

Hector gathered his focus again. He envisioned the presence in his hand again. Determination colored everything in his mind. This had to work. Garovel's life depended on it. He felt the massless weight, stronger than before. He threw the punch.

Garovel's hand obliterated on impact. The reaper reeled back. 'Agh, fuck! You asshole!'

'Oh, shit! I'm sorry!'

'Only joking.'

'Agh, wha...?'

'That was better, though. Good job. You've pretty much got it down, already, but you should keep practicing until it becomes second nature.'

'You dick...! I really thought I hurt you!'

'Oh, c'mon, that was funny.'

'But your hand is gone! How does that not hurt?!'

'Yeah, about that, um. It'll grow back. And I don't really feel pain. At least, not in the same way you do. It's more like an extreme unease. It's painful in the same way that a sudden surge of anxiety or fear is painful.'

Hector looked at him unhappily. 'Geez... don't do that again...'

'Sorry.'

He looked at his fist, opening and closing it. 'You were right, though. That was kind of easy...'

'Yep. All it really takes is an acknowledgement of your imaginary mind as something real. Which, y'know, isn't very difficult, given everything you've already experienced. But that's just for the basics.'

'Hmm. Why can't normal people do this, again?'

'Because the soul has to be carved out of the body first, which is something only accomplished by death.'

'Does that mean Geoffrey died before, too?'

'Egh, I don't know. Maybe. But I got the impression he had been that way his whole life.'

Hector wanted to try materializing iron next, but Garovel said that could wait, so he returned to riding practice instead. He donned the riding helmet and mounted the bike. It was time to start picking up real speed.

He had not been looking forward to this part.

After going around in a circle and achieving his previous pace, Hector throttled up and shifted gears when Garovel told him to. The bike responded, and soon, he was going much faster than was comfortable. But that was the point of the exercise.

He sped across the massive parking lot, coming up to the edge and knowing he would have to make a gradual left turn. He moved the handlebars to the left, but the bike resisted and leaned the other direction.

'Countersteer!' said Garovel.

'Oh, shit! But--!' He struggled, and the bike just went straight.

'Too late. Try to protect the bike, if you can.'

'Fuck!'

The front tire hit the curb. The bike flipped, and he went flying.

Hector hit the dirt head first. He tumbled over himself and landed just perfectly enough to see the bike sailing toward him. In the split second he had to react, he decided to embrace the madness and put his arms out wide to catch the bike. The rear tire crushed his ribcage, but his hands grasped the metal frame and held on.

Eyes wide, he set the bike down. He looked down at his caved-in chest and tasted a mouthful of blood. 'It doesn't hurt...'

'I got to you just in time,' said Garovel. 'You're welcome by the way. And nice catch.'

Practice resumed. By the time daylight began to wane, Hector had crashed several more times, though none so bad as before. When Hector finally felt as if he had acquired a passable degree of competence, the bike was hardly recognizable anymore with all its new dents and scratches.

As the engine began to make a fresh clanging noise, Hector slowed to a stop. 'That can't be a good sound...'

'Yeah. But it's fine. We don't need the bike to last that long. It'll probably get destroyed one way or another, anyhow.'

'Really? It's starting to grow on me, though...'

'Don't get too attached. I'll be shocked if it's not a smoldering pile of scrap in a couple weeks.'

'Aww...'

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

"I h-have someone here who wants to meet you..." Swank squirmed under Geoffrey's gaze.

"Oh? Show them in, then."

Swank exited the room briefly and returned with the person in question.

"You are the man in charge?" said the stranger, smiling in a groomed, confident way. "You're much younger than I anticipated."

Geoffrey was not in the most amiable mood. Mr. Vincent Boulder had told him to go home and talk to his family, which in itself was no terrible thing, but even so. Geoffrey was being told what to do again. And perhaps worse, he couldn't actually refuse.

So when he set his sharp eyes upon this strange man, the first thought through Geoffrey's head was that he would very much like to torture this person. So he did.

There was no need for a chair. Geoffrey pinned him to the floor with a blanket of red and stood over him, smiling and trying to decide which body parts he wanted next. Swank, of course, had left the room shortly after the agonized screaming began.

"Why are you doing this?!" the man kept saying. His face looked much better now, Geoffrey thought. Replacing the eyebrows with bloody gashes made him seem much less condescending. "What possible reason could you have for doing this to me?!"

"Hmm." Geoffrey stroked his own chin a moment. "How much do you like your nose, exactly?"

The man shrieked. "Please! Stop this! I'll do anything you want! Just--! Please! I only wanted to talk!"

Geoffrey's brow perked up. "Oh, right. What did you want to talk about, anyway? If it is something boring, you will not be leaving this room alive."

The man whimpered. "I-I'm an advisor to Prince Nathaniel... and I was asked to find someone who w-would... u-um..."

Geoffrey placed a red blade under the man's nose.

"Kill the Queen!" he said. "He asked me to find someone who would kill the Queen!"

"Aha." Geoffrey smiled curiously. "And you want me to do it?"

"I-I think we thought you'd just, ah, s-send someone else to do it..."

"Oh. Well, no deal then."

"Y-y-you can do it yourself, if you like! It's fine! Do whatever you want! I'm sure Prince Nathaniel would appreciate that kind of can-do attitude!"

Geoffrey thought a moment. "By chance, did you ask anyone else to do this before me?"

"Uh, y-yeah, I did. But they refused. So I came all the way out here to Brighton, because I heard of the Rofal family's reputation--and might I just say, you have lived up to it most admirably. You certainly have. Why, I'm sure you're a much better person for the job, anyway. I don't know why I didn't come to you first, in fact. How silly--"

"Please stop talking."

The man just nodded.

Geoffrey frowned. "I suppose I should not kill you, then. My dear uncle said it was bad business to kill your employer, unless you wanted their job, and I certainly do not want yours." He released the red shadow and used it to prop the advisor up on his feet. "When do you want me to do it?"

The man hesitated. "You don't want to know why he wants her dead?"

"Not really, no. When do I kill her?"

"Ah--as soon as possible. Preferably before her press conference two days from now."

Geoffrey just grinned.

"W-we tried to kill her before, you see, but we failed, and now Prince Nathaniel is worried, um, that-that she is going to expose him, so--"

"Yeah, whatever. Do I only get to kill the Queen, or can I kill some of the other royals, too?"

The man's eyes bulged. "J-just the Queen, please..."

"Oh, very well."

He had not forgotten what he heard the night before. Those five people with reapers had wanted the Queen to live, of course; but then, neither had they expressly forbidden him from killing her. So as far as he was concerned, he was not technically disobeying Mr. Boulder.

Geoffrey's grin only widened the more he thought about it. "This is going to upset some people I know," he told the advisor as they exited together. "But that only makes me want to do it even more. I wonder what they will do."