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[Pokémon] My Trip to the End of Time, by Pearl Gideon

Cutlerine

Gone. May or may not return.
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Shoot, I forgot to mention a grammatical error (I don't know why, but it totally slipped my mind in my last review). It's at the end of the sixteenth chapter, where you use "she" to describe Iago. There's two other errors that I caught in the current chapter:

Oh yeah. I should have caught those; I suppose it's because my computer went slow and I started typing faster than it could update the screen, so it missed out every few characters. I thought I'd gone back and replaced them all, but obviously I missed some. However, the 'she' for Iago is just a baffling error, probably born of... actually, I don't know. Thanks for pointing them out.

Otherwise, I didn't catch anything. Now for the characters:

Iago has pretty much solidified his place as my favorite character in this fic (so far). I mean, I know that he's a really horrible Pokemon (you said so yourself on Serebii), but I can't help but be drawn to him. I don't know why, but...ah well.

Bond's really cool. Not only does he have the most awesome name for a butler ever, but he's just so calm and unflappable as well. There's not that many people who could work for Ellen, but Bond, like you said, is not an ordinary person. I also love that you gave the two ghosts in the Eterna mansion some screentime, much like you did with the character that Darren Goodwin is based on (the researcher in Petalburg Woods).

The part with the Driftenburg was awesome, and it's made me believe in my theory about Pearl a lot more because of this reason:

Spoiler:


And now I'm very interested in what happened at Darkling Town. I'll be waiting patiently for the next chapter, whenever it comes.

Sincerely,

Mem.

Well, before you get too comfortable with your theory, don't forget that Catherine works in a building full of Ghosts every day, and Iago was not only further away but had scrambled all of his senses with Oddish leaves. I'm not saying you're wrong, but there are always alternative explanations - which is always good, from my point of view. Especially since this is (loosely speaking) a mystery/detective sort of story.

Bond is very cool. It's because he's from 1939 and a butler: a winning combination. It means I can model him on such butlering greats as P. G. Wodehouse's Jeeves or (to a lesser extent) Beach. Also on Kuroshitsuji's Sebastian Michaelis, even if only a little bit. I also think that if you have a detective story, you can't not have a butler. It's sort of required, isn't it?

He and Ellen, otherwise known as the two ghosts from the Old Chateau, are actually rather important. They don't seem to be yet, but they are. Since they're ghosts, I had to ask myself the question: why? Why are there two ghosts in the Old Chateau, and what's stopping them fully leaving this mortal coil? The answer ended up becoming embedded in the middle of this story, so they got chucked into the melting pot with the rest of the characters.

As for Iago... well, I've made my feelings on him pretty clear. As time goes on, and we get to the point where he does the things that he does, you'll see exactly why I don't like him. The problem is that what he does is so very understandable - but he's still repellent, especially considering the other Kadabra in the story, and therefore what Iago says about human nature. I didn't mean for him to come out that way, but his character sort of made itself without letting me have a go, which means it's now unavoidable.

I now realise that none of that made sense to anyone who hasn't read the next two chapters, so I'll hurry up and write them to illustrate my point.

As ever, thanks for stopping by. It's much appreciated.

EDIT: Also, what's this about Cyrus being special? I'm not going to confirm or deny it, but I'm curious to know where this theory came from.

F.A.B.
 
Last edited:

Cutlerine

Gone. May or may not return.
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Posts
13
Years
Chapter Nineteen: In Which There is Pseudo-Science and Philosophy

'Technically, those wanting to visit a Kadabra reserve need a permit, but in practice, the Kadabra let in those who they want to see and no one cares. The ability to read minds gives Kadabra an incredible ability to slice through bureaucracy; if ever one becomes President, the country will probably be four hundred times as efficient. Unfortunately, we'd probably also get a thought police who can actually read your thoughts, which would be utterly terrifying.'
— Simon 'Si' Onix, Si's Guide to Psychic Politics

"But I didn't come crawling back," pointed out Ellen, puzzled. "You just appeared."

Pigzie Doodle did something that resembled a barrel roll, which was presumably his way of indicating irrelevance.

You were about to, he said. I just cut out the middle man.

"Are all Ghosts as confusing as you?"

No. Most of them just hate you. There is a certain select group of us, however, founded by a Dusclops in the nineteenth century, who hate you with style. Pigzie Doodle paused. I am a member of that group.

Ellen wondered if she was meant to be impressed, decided that she was and widened her eyes, which seemed to please him.

Finally, I get through to you, he crowed. Excellent. Now, first things first, I need to tell you that I'm not helping you out of compassion.

"I was wondering why you were."

No, it isn't compassion. He rolled his eye back and forth in a pensive sort of way. I'm even older than you, Ellen Dennel, and Sinnoh is just the latest stop in my grand tour of the world. I've seen things you people wouldn't believe. Battleships on fire off the Cape of Good Hope. I watched London burn in the dark, near the Tanhauser Gate. None of those moments will ever be lost in time; they're locked behind this skull, unfading. I will never die. Do you understand how insignificant you and your problems are in comparison?

Ellen did not.

"I do."

Lying minx. Anyway, the point of my inverted Rutger Hauer homage was to ram home the fact that I am eternal, and despite being a ghost, you are transitory. One day, whatever ties you to this earth will dissolve and you will leave. I will remain. When the world turns to dust, I will be here; when the sun explodes, I'll ride the shockwave to new planets. Do you understand?

If anything, Ellen understood even less.

"I do," she said again.

You are such a bad liar. The point is... it would be rather magnanimous of me, wouldn't it? To help you, when I could just as easily drift away and leave you to your own helpless devices. But... Pigzie Doodle attempted a shrug. If I were to help... then there might be a place in history for me.

"What? Why would there be a place in history for you?" Ellen was really confused now. What on earth was he talking about?

Do you know what will happen if you contact Tristan Shandy and tell him who Liza Radley is?

"No..."

She will remember, replied Pigzie Doodle simply. She will remember everything. And there will be one almighty fight about it.

Ellen started.

"You mean to say...?"

Exactly, he replied. She lost her memory. I've been keeping an eye on her since she showed up, to tell the truth; I felt her presence right away and wanted to see whether it was time to flee Sinnoh. It seems she doesn't remember much from before last year.

"Then she doesn't—"

Remember killing you all, no. I read about that in the papers, actually. It seemed commendable, cleansing a nice spooky manor of humans – until I realised she'd killed most of the Ghosts as well.

"Do you mind? That was my family!" A mixture of anger and sorrow rose in Ellen's chest, to be swiftly joined by excitement: she hadn't felt so much about her family for many years.

I refuse to apologise on principle. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes: Liza Radley. The point is, if you tell people about her, it will be the final unmasking. People these days are a lot more knowledgeable about her kind than in the olden days. If Liza is revealed for what she really is, then either the people she works for or the Pokémon League – or both, I suppose – will destroy her. And therefore, if I am a part of that process... Pigzie Doodle trailed off.

"You are written into the history books as someone who helped to destroy... whatever she is," finished Ellen, finally understanding. "I see, I see."

Yes, replied the Duskull smugly. And that's why I'm helping you. Not for you, not for Sinnoh – but for a place in history, something I can look back on in four hundred years time and boast about to whatever Johnny-come-lately Ghosts are around then.

"Very well," said Ellen. "We would gratefully accept your help, Pig— Ishmael."

Well remembered. Now, you want to contact Tristan Shandy, yes?

"That's so, but if we are aiming to defeat her, don't we need to tell someone more important?"

Hey, let's start small, eh? Firstly, my dead little child, there's no way for you to talk to the living.

No way to talk to the living? That couldn't be! There had to be something they could do...

"Can't I write him a note or something?" she asked.

You can try, but something will always stop you, said Pigzie Doodle. The pen will break, the paper will be blown away, the ink will run out... It is a law of the universe that no communication may occur between the living and the dead, and so the universe itself will stop you.

"But we have to tell him!" cried Ellen. "That woman he's with—" She broke off. "Can't you tell him?"

I suppose I could, admitted Pigzie Doodle. But see, there's a little problem with being a Ghost: humans never believe you. They mistrust you on sight, especially Ghosts who feed off them like Duskull. It's the same reason that Wurmple never trust a Starly; they know better than to trust their predator. So, unless you can produce a Ghost that humans respect and love who is willing to work with a cruel and vicious emotivore like myself, we can't use that method to contact them.

"But we really have to find some way—!"

I know, I know, sighed Pigzie Doodle. You feel you have to warn him before he comes to any harm. He paused again. And I can tell you how to do it.

"You can?"

Yes, I can. He sounded very pleased with himself. It's a lovely old-fashioned rule, rooted in ancient magic, or possibly ancient science. It's often difficult to tell them apart if you look at the olden days. Arthur C. Clarke said something similar and yet totally different.

"How?" asked Ellen. "How can we break a law of the universe?"

Where the universe is weak, so are its laws, replied Pigzie Doodle. There is one place in Sinnoh where the fabric of space and time has worn thin from repeated abuse; there, the laws of nature are... more like guidelines.

"There is? Where's that?" asked Ellen eagerly.

I don't know that yet, replied the Duskull, somewhat anticlimactically. But I know how we can find out.

---

"Do you recall that I said I'd found evidence that the man in the car was a member of a known criminal syndicate?"

I thought for a moment. We were walking through Solaceon Town, a nice enough village with aspirations to be something larger and more important; Catherine had dropped us off near the edge, and we were making our way... somewhere. Ashley hadn't actually told me where.

"No," I replied. "Can we get something to eat?"

"What?"

Ashley appeared to be suffering from selective deafness.

"Can we get something to eat?" I repeated. "I'm really hungry. And you probably are as well," I added. "Or you should be."

"I'm with Pearl on this one," said Iago. "Shocking as it may seem, I'm going to agree with the idiot."

"You just don't want to go there," Ashley told him. "You hate it there."

"Correction: they hate me there."

"You could stay here—"

"I'm not allowed to leave you alone."

I watched this curious exchange with a now-familiar feeling of confusion and vague hopelessness, and asked at length:

"What are you talking about?"

"We're going—"

"After lunch," interrupted Iago, and Ashley glared at him.

"Fine," he conceded. "After lunch, we're going to Veilstone via the Kadabra reserve on Route 215."

A faint thrill of excitement and nervousness ran through my stomach.

"The Kadabra reserve? Why?"

"I told you I had East-side friends," he replied. "I did, however, neglect to mention that they are not actually human."

"That's... unexpected," I said. "Uh, can we discuss it over lunch?"

"What is this unnatural obsession with lunch?" wondered Ashley. "Everyone wants it today!"

This was singularly weird, and both Iago and I informed him of it in no uncertain terms.

"Fine!" he snapped. "Find somewhere to eat, and we'll eat – but you're paying, Pearl."

I was only too glad to, and just a few minutes later we were seated at a table in pleasant little café in a pleasant little square (with a pleasant little fountain) in the pleasant little village that was Solaceon.

"This place is very... pleasant," said Iago suspiciously. "I'm not sure I like it."

"It's fine," I told him.

"Yes, you wanted lunch," grumbled Ashley. "So you'll eat it and like it."

The food arrived, and Iago and I set to eating; I'd got something for Ashley, but he still didn't seem interested. I wondered if he'd eaten anything at all since we'd first met.

"As I was saying before lunch so rudely interrupted," he said, "the man who was in the car left a Galactic uniform by the cellar doors." He threw a scrap of silver fabric with a stylised G on it onto the table.

"Wait – you're saying Team Galactic let out the Driftenburg?" I asked, fork hovering forgotten an inch from my mouth.

"That's right," replied Ashley. "And the unfortunate man who actually cracked the seal was devoured for his pains – either that or he ran away naked and without his Pokémon, which seems implausible."

"He had a Pokémon?"

Ashley fished in his pocket and came up with a ball.

"Yes," he said indifferently. "I wasn't sure what to do with it."

"Is it valuable?" asked Iago, eyes lighting up. "I could sell it on..."

That reminded me of the ton of scorpion-demon I had; I looked down at my bag on the floor, and nudged it further away from me with one toe. When Ashley wasn't looking, I'd give that to Iago and see if he could sell it for me – but right now, it was just dangerous.

"We'll see later," replied Ashley. "I doubt the proprietor of this café would look kindly on me releasing it in here. Anyway, the Galactics released the Driftenburg, presumably to slow us down; if they know the Driftenburg exists, they must also know that I would be called in to stop it, and that I wouldn't fail to do so. It was too much of a coincidence for it to escape just when I reached Hearthome."

"OK," I said. "So what does this mean for us?"

"Nothing, really," Iago told me. "Just that the Galactics know we're going to Veilstone. Also, we should now start assuming that Team Galactic knows everything about Ashley – which is plausible, given that pretty much every single fact about him is written down in the League headquarters, where someone could break in and read it."

"OK," I repeated. "Why are we going to the Kadabra reserve? You said your friends could get a search warrant, and Kadabra can't get warrants."

"Well done," said Ashley. "Very astute of you. The truth is that the acquaintances I have in Veilstone are not the same acquaintances I have in the reserve. The former are important; the latter are simply likely to have overheard what the Galactics are doing. Kadabra are gossips by nature, sharing their thoughts in common, and the collective mental power of the reserve's inhabitants covers the west side of Veilstone. If we can get any information about what the Galactics are doing that necessitated delaying me at the Lost Tower."

Damn. How could one brain get so much information out of one car and a discarded silver spacesuit? And more to the point, when was I going to get even half as good as Ashley?

"Are you finished?" asked Ashley, as soon as I'd put the last forkful into my mouth. "Right, we're leaving."

"Hey, what's the rush—?" Iago began, but Ashley grabbed him by one scrawny wrist and dragged him outside. It was quite entertaining to watch, actually: Iago kept wrenching at Ashley's fingers, and completely failing to dislodge them. I shook my head. It must be hard to be a Kadabra without psychic power; they were more or less completely useless without it.

I threw down a few notes on the table, then rushed out to join them as Iago, claws scoring lines in the pavement, was hauled off around the corner. I ran around and almost tripped over Iago's tail: Ashley had dropped him, and was nowhere to be seen.

"What's up?" I asked.

"Not me, that's for sure," muttered the Kadabra angrily, and climbed awkwardly to his feet. "Damn it! That was very undignified!"

"You're not really a dignified sort of person," I pointed out.

"Shut up," he grumbled.

"Where's Ashley?"

"He went in there," he said, jerking a clawed thumb at a nearby door. "It's a cab depot."

"They have a cab depot in Solaceon?"

"Yeah. They do surprisingly good business, actually – they get the people wanting to travel between Hearthome and Veilstone, because the cab firms in the cities charge a hell of a lot for trips outside the city limits." Iago's eyes suddenly lost their focus. "They have twenty-one staff in total and sixteen cars; their registered Sinnoh business number is 4923787; they're jointly owned by Roy Lamperouge and Steve Plath—"

"Iago?"

"Eh?" He looked at me. "Oh. Sorry. I think I hit my head when Ashley dropped me, and that tends to trigger a burst of memories."

"Those were pretty specific memories."

He shrugged.

"Well, I have a pretty specific memory," he said. "By which I mean it's millions of times better than yours."

"Yeah, but you can't forget the bad stuff, can you?" I pointed out. "Like when you were conned out of everything."

"Oh, how wonderfully human," growled Iago sourly. "I show you a miracle of nature, and you point out its disadvantages just because you can't have it."

I smiled at him, and he growled at me again; the argument would probably have escalated, but Ashley reappeared just then, and guided us into a taxi that had mysteriously appeared in the road behind us. I supposed that with sixteen cars and not too much business, the firm probably had about five stockpiled at their depot.

"To the fox reserve, yes?" asked the taxi driver. Iago looked like he was about to smite him, but, realising that his smiting would have no effect at all, abandoned it.

"No," replied Ashley coldly. "To the Kadabra reserve, if you please."

"All right, if that's how you have it," said the driver mildly. "But to the reserve?"

"Yes. Stop half a mile before the entrance to let us out, then use a different road to go half a mile after the entrance; wait there, and we'll join you to be taken to Veilstone."

"How long is this going to take?" asked the driver.

"You'll be paid far more than you deserve," Ashley told him.

"Oh. That's all right then."

And he drove off and took us out of Solaceon.

---

"So, Kadabra," said Ashley, as the countryside flashed by. "Tell me what you know about them, Pearl."

All right, I thought, challenge accepted. I could talk about Kadabra better than most – they're pretty important in philosophy, and though it often seemed like I didn't, I did actually study that.

"They're all one," I replied. "They have a belief system that seems a little bit like Taoism, wherein they perceive themselves as being participants in a single stream of life that pervades all members of their species."

"Well done," said Iago dryly. "Now do it without quoting the textbook."

"Leave her alone," Ashley told him. "I don't mind how she gets the answer, as long as she gets it." He returned his attention to me and smiled encouragingly. "Go on, Pearl. Tell me more."

"The key difference is that they believe this life force only fills them," I said. "Because every single Kadabra, Abra and Alakazam is part of a huge network of psychic connections, they believe that there is only one of them alive, and they therefore have only the bare minimum of individuality."

"Yeah," said Iago. "Like you humans are any better, following your fashions and your systems of government and your scientific progress. What's that if not an excuse to give up individuality?"

"Ignore him. If he speaks again, I shall quell him."

This was apparently a serious threat, and Iago shut up.

"Kadabra sincerely believe Alakazam to be the most perfect organism in existence, being a higher form of Kadabra," I said. "I say 'organism' because, like I said, they believe there's only one of them. Consequently, they've never had a good relationship with humans, and there've been quite a lot of wars between them and us."

"Which we won," pointed out Iago, unable to contain himself, and Ashley stared at him so intensely and for so long that his triangular eyes almost retreated into his skull in fright.

"Carry on," Ashley said.

"Which the Kadabra did indeed win," I conceded, "and so kept the humans out of their ancestral homelands until the invention of machine-guns, which fired consecutive bullets so rapidly that they couldn't block them all with their minds, and later flamethrowers, which fired fire with the same effect."

Iago pouted.

"There were a few genocides and a really nasty period of slavery and oppression and such, and then, when more enlightened times came around, a lot of Kadabra tribes were given their old land back, where they're allowed to live mostly unmolested."

"You know more than I expected," Ashley said. "Perhaps it's all that food; I ought to feed you more often."

"I also know that Kadabra eat mainly meat and that most of them are allergic to gluten," I added helpfully.

"Yes, that'll do," he said. "What do you know about Kadabra social gestures?"

"Er... nothing," I admitted.

He sighed.

"Oh well. So much for your philosophy, Pearl; it seems there are things in heaven and earth not dreamt of in it."

"Is that a joke?" I asked, not quite daring to believe it.

"It was a good one when I first thought of it," Ashley said gloomily. "But times have moved on, it seems. When you meet the Kadabra, don't try and shake their hands, keep looking them dead in the eye, and let them speak first. If they offer you anything, accept it with gratitude. If the Abra want to play with you, don't let them. Even if you can, don't try and hide anything in your mind from them. Most importantly, don't pretend to be sorry for all humans have done to them, don't pity them, and try not to lie." Ashley looked grave. "Humans lie in everything they do: they phrase things to imply something other than what happened, or to spare someone's feelings; the way they dress or the way they stand are all part of a desire to project a certain image. It's anathema to Kadabra; they can neither lie nor be lied to, so they prize truth."

I looked down at myself. Ashley had carefully chosen these clothes so that I'd like them – but I was willing to bet that Kadabra were less fond of expensive designer jeans and dyed hair than I was.

"Crap," I said.

"Indeed," agreed Ashley, raising his eyebrows. "You'll have to try extra-hard, I'm afraid – though at least you aren't wearing any make-up. They hate that."

The car stopped, and Ashley opened the door.

"Come on," he said. "Enough discussion; there's work to be done."

Outside it was raining, and there are few things quite as depressing as a forest in the rain; the ten-minute walk to the reserve was a pretty nasty one. If I had been wearing make-up, it would have been ruined; as it was, my hair turned into wet blue strings and refused to go back. I supposed it was probably better for meeting Kadabra – if the style was all gone, it would be more truthful.

After a while, the trail rounded a sharp corner, and the large wooden gates of the reserve appeared as if by magic before us. There was a large blank plaque atop it, and absolutely no sign of anyone around.

"Is there a bell we can ring or something?" I asked, trying to shelter my head from the rain and failing.

"No," replied Iago. "They'll hear us thinking and someone will come along to let us in."

Silence fell again, and while I was waiting I started to worry about the reception we were going to get. I knew Kadabra lived their lives at the speed of thought; they would have heard us by now. They must have noticed me, and decided to make me wait.

"The Kadabra must like you too though, right?" I asked. "I mean – since you are a Kadabra, and you're... well, you're Ashley."

"No," replied Ashley.

"Me neither," said Iago.

My heart sank.

"Oh dear."

"Admittedly, it's Iago who causes the most problems," Ashley said. "They don't hate him any more than they hate me, but they're more wary of me, since I could make trouble for them if they irritate me."

It was at that point that the unmistakeable voice of a Kadabra sounded in my head: slow and laboured from the effort of converting thinkwaves into inefficient words.

Humans. We are Kadabra. Who are you?

"You know who I am, and that is enough to earn our entrance," replied Ashley; I supposed this was the sort of blunt talking you had to do with Kadabra, but I couldn't help thinking how rude it was. "With me is my attendant, Iago, and a student of philosophy, Pearl Gideon."

I felt curiosity drip into my skull, and knew it came from the Kadabra.

Philosophy...

For a moment, everything tasted very strongly of cantaloupes – even stronger than cantaloupes themselves – and then the sensation abruptly stopped.

The philosophy of Pearl Gideon is incomplete, partially incoherent and worthless, the Kadabra decided, and I realised with a small jolt that they'd just read my mind. What do you want with us, Diamond?

"I have questions to ask you," said Ashley. "I would like to ask them inside, so that I and my companions don't get wet."

Two humans and a demon.
The voice paused, the Kadabra presumably mulling it over. You may enter, Diamond.

"Demon?" I asked Ashley in a whisper. "What do they mean, demon?"

"It's interesting," he replied as the gates swung open, "that you looked at me when they said 'demon', and not Iago."

Not really knowing what he meant by that, I followed him through the gate, across a little clearing and into one of the four large, dome-shaped buildings that I could see nearby. Cloaked by trees and dead leaves, it was almost invisible; when I got close, I could see it was actually made of cement, which dented the fairyland sort of impression. We passed over a roofed veranda, through a small round door, and ended up in a dimly-lit chamber which was full of Kadabra.

I stopped and stared. I couldn't help it. I must have seen about twenty Kadabra in my whole life up until then – and here were at least double that, all in one place. They sat on low benches in rows, facing inwards towards a central aisle; this aisle lay between us and a dais at the other end, on which three immensely ancient- and sagacious-looking creatures sat, legs crossed and eyes shut. Before each one was a little pot containing a pair of polished silver spoons, and I had no doubt that I was in the presence of a trio of Alakazam.

Three, I thought. All in one place! Most people never even see one. Then: Crap. They'll have heard that. Crap! That too. Aah! Stop thinking!

"Don't stop thinking," Ashley whispered to me without moving his lips. "You'll come across as a liar."

Diamond.

The voice was so old, and so slow; it brought with it ideas of glittering clarity, of unparalleled strength, of cold and mines and harsh white light...

"Pearl," said Ashley softly. "Come back."

I blinked, and the diamonds disappeared from around me.

"She has never heard Alakazam speak before," Ashley told the assembled company.

We know, replied the ancient voice. We have seen it already.

I couldn't have said which one the voice came from, but it didn't matter: they were all one, weren't they? Their outlines seemed to blur together before me, and I felt beads of boiling hot sweat break out on my forehead; I wiped them away, blinked hard and willed the blurring away. Listening to these people was much harder than I'd thought it would be.

Diamond. What do you want?

Why didn't they already know, I wondered. Surely they had already read Ashley's mind?

"I want to know what you know about the humans who call themselves Team Galactic," he said. "They want me dead."

Your death would not be a loss.

"They also want Iago dead."

His death would not be a loss.

"They also want Pearl dead."

Her death would not be a loss.

"Talk about a limited vocabulary," I muttered under my breath, and then bit my tongue: the Kadabra had probably overheard me thinking that.

"Iago and Pearl would miss their lives, if no one else would," Ashley replied. "And I intend to see to it that they do not have to."

The Alakazam and their attendant Kadabra were silent for a while.

You are always so difficult, they said at length. Why are you always so difficult?

"You do not exactly make things easy for me," he retorted. "Tell me what you know about Galactic."

Send the man who looks like a Kadabra away. We refuse to speak to him.

"You could broadcast the thought directly to me only—"

You will do it our way.

Ashley turned to Iago.

"Wait on the veranda," he said, and Iago left without another word.

And the woman, the Alakazam said. The walls seemed to be crawling around me; Ashley turned to me, took one look at my face and asked if he could be excused for a moment. Without waiting for a response, he took my hand and led me from the room; I took one step and almost fell over, and the rest is quite blurry until we joined Iago on the veranda.

"Pearl? Are you all right?" Ashley tipped me backwards gently until my face was in the rain; that did the trick and I snapped back to reality with a jerk.

"Whuh? What – how did we get out here?"

"You had a bad reaction to the telepathy," Ashley told me. "How do you feel?"

"Like a bubble made of lemon," I replied, rubbing my head. "Also drunk."

"I see." He nodded, as if he really did. "Wait here with Iago. I'll be back soon."

He went back inside, and I looked over at Iago.

"Seriously, what happened?"

He shrugged.

"You went weird from the telepathy. You're probably just not used to it; don't worry about it."

"Oh... OK." There was something else I had to say, something weird that I'd heard while in my trance... ah, that was it. "Iago?"

"Yeah?"

"Why do they call you a man who looks like a Kadabra?"

He was silent for a while, and I began to think he wasn't going to answer; I was just about to apologise for being insensitive when he said:

"Because that's all I am, Pearl."

I knew something was up even before I'd processed what he'd said. This wasn't his usual tone; this was bleak, and unattractively full of self-pity.

"Kadabra and humans are both – relatively – smart creatures," Iago went on. "There's just one key difference. Humans have their own minds, and Kadabra share theirs in common."

"But you can't," I said softly, seeing it.

"There's a brain cell somewhere in that skull of yours after all," Iago said. "Yeah, this" – he indicated himself – "is what happens if you're a square peg in a society of round holes. I'm defective and I don't fit and—" He broke off sharply, aware that he was starting to ramble. "Shut up, Pearl," he said eventually, and took to staring at the rain.

I had no idea what to say to him, and was pretty sure that whatever I did would only make it worse, so I said nothing and looked out at the rain with him. Even if he hated me, even if Iago hated everyone, company might make him feel slightly better. We stayed that way until Ashley returned; when he did, he immediately detected that something was wrong, worked out what it was and told Iago to go on ahead back to the car. Unusually, he obeyed without a word.

"He's really quite pathetic, isn't he?" remarked Ashley, leaning on the veranda railing and watching Iago hurrying away through the driving rain. "Split in two down the middle, with a mind that makes him think like a human but a body unfit to bear his thoughts. Humans discriminate against him for his body, and Kadabra for his mind. It's little wonder that he hates everyone around him. He's not really proud to be a Kadabra; it's just an excuse to dislike humans."

"That's horrible," I said. "It's just... God. Isn't there anything—?"

"Don't pity him," Ashley advised. "Humans are at their worst when driven into a corner, and Iago has been in a corner for a very long time. If there ever was anything but bitterness in him, it's long since rotted away."

"How can I not pity him?" I asked, starting to get angry. "How can you not pity him?"

"Because if he thought it would benefit him, he would kill you without a second thought," replied Ashley. "He thinks like a human, yes. But don't make the mistake of thinking that he has the morals of one. He was raised by Kadabra, after all, and they do not understand morality; since they all exist as one organism, they don't need a code of ethics for how they treat one another. Iago has, of course, come into contact with the idea of right and wrong – but he sees it as a construct for the continued functioning of human society rather than an immutable law. For him, there is only what is good for Iago and what is bad for Iago. Someone as amoral and intelligent as him..." Ashley shook his head. "He is dangerous, Pearl. He's entertaining and often funny, but he is a very dangerous creature."

"I'd kind of already worked that out, Ashley. You know, on account of how he keeps almost murdering me with a knife. It's noticing little details like that that gets you ahead in life."

"You're angry with me," observed Ashley. "How odd."

"I'm not angry, I'm being facetious."

"It is a very angry sort of facetiousness." He sighed, took off his glasses and rubbed the raindrops off them. "Come on. Let's go back to the car. I need to tell you and Iago about what I heard from the Alakazam." He glanced behind us. "Besides, I think they wanted us gone a while ago. The only reason I stayed to talk to you here was to annoy them."

"Why would you do that?" I asked as we started walking.

"Because, contrary to popular opinion, I do actually have emotions, and one of them is annoyance," he replied frankly. "The Kadabra and Alakazam are superbly talented at eliciting it from me. They're worse than swans."

"Swans?"

"I hate swans," Ashley said. "I can't stand them."

"What, to eat?"

"No, in general," he replied. "I don't like geese either. They're very angry birds, and they all seem to hate me in particular." He shivered. "I was chased for two miles by a goose once."

I suppressed a grin. Ashley Lacrimére, the great detective, the Diamond, Sinnoh's great national secret, was scared of waterfowl.

"Don't you laugh," he said, glaring at me and pushing open the gate. "Have you ever fought a swan?"

"No."

"They're much stronger than you think," he said darkly. "I've only broken a bone once, Pearl, and it was a swan that did it."

"Are you looking for sympathy?"

"No," he said firmly. "I simply wish for you to understand that my fear of swans and geese is wholly rational and rooted in real trauma."

"I don't think it can be rational," I said.

"Well, I don't think it's rational to change your entire wardrobe every time the fashion changes," he countered. "I also don't think it's rational to think that wearing sunglasses and a long coat makes you a detective. And I think it's very irrational to pretend that you don't need glasses to read."

"Stop stalking me!" I cried.

"I'll stalk whosoever I please," Ashley replied. "I'm a detective."

"Aagh! You're so annoying!"

The really annoying thing was that he'd somehow managed to turn a conversation about his inadequacies into one about mine. I hate it when people do that.

"I know," said Ashley, smiling. "I'm often told that I would be the worst person to be trapped in an elevator with. Although personally I'd find it worse to be trapped in one with you, if only because you would probably get cross enough to punch me eventually."

"Gah!" That was all I could manage now, and it was a sign that I should probably stop talking before I got worked up into a vengeful fury and did something stupid like kick a tree. I've been down that road before, and it only leads to a broken toe and a night in the Accident and Emergency ward. So I shut up, and we made our way back to the car in silence.
 

Cutlerine

Gone. May or may not return.
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Chapter Nineteen: In Which Little Happens but a Lot is Said

'After Jubilife, Veilstone is the second most important city in Sinnoh. Boasting a hugely successful financial district and the world's oldest suicide booth (a sixty-metre spike-lined pit inside a steel hut), it is far and away the biggest contributor to the Sinnish economy. It also has a long history of meteor showers, and even today there are strike shelters strategically placed around the city.'
—Ordi Nannsevei, The Big Book of Sinnish Cities

"Doesn't it seem to you like ordering their deaths was actually what got them involved?" Cyrus asked the Desk Sitter.

"Perhaps if you had done it as we told you to, things would have gone according to plan," they replied haughtily.

"Look, I know you're knowledgeable about murder, but you are a little out of touch," Cyrus pointed out. "When was the last time you killed anyone?"

The Desk Sitter paused.

"It does not change the fact that they are not dead yet."

"Yes, I'm working on it," said Cyrus irritably. "Stop needling at me."

"There is very little else for us to do," the Desk Sitter told him.

"Well, this trap should work," Cyrus replied. "I mean, Liza came up with it."

"Ah yes," said the Desk Sitter. "That one. We like her."

"I know." Cyrus pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned forward on his desk. "But you can't deny that it's the actual order to kill them that got them involved. If they end up stopping us, you'll be to blame."

"We were told they had to die," the Desk Sitter said. "We do not fully understand why."

"That's what makes it hard to see what's going on," Cyrus replied. "I can only hope this all becomes clearer when we reach the point that the other you came from."

"It is enough to make anyone confused," agreed the Desk Sitter. "Even us."

"You're very arrogant for a hallucination."

"We are not a hallucination," said the Desk Sitter indignantly. "We are great and powerful, and humankind has feared us since—"

"Since they first looked out of the cave and saw the eyes looking back out of the dark, yes, I know," said Cyrus wearily. "You've said it all before."

"You keep forgetting our fearsomeness."

"You don't give me a chance to."

Cyrus and the Desk Sitter glared at each other for a while.

"Well, I'm going to get back to work," Cyrus said eventually. "Don't bother me."

"We do not bother. We destroy."

"Not right now you don't, you lunatic monster," muttered Cyrus, and went back to his papers.

---

"How's your head now?" asked Ashley.

"Better, thanks," I replied, vaguely surprised that he'd bothered asking me.

"Good. I thought you might faint in the reserve, and that would have been bad – the background consciousness of the Kadabra would have given you horrific mind-altering nightmares that could well have driven you permanently insane."

"Really?"

"No, not really," admitted Ashley.

"Are you going to tell us what the Kadabra told you or not?" asked Iago snappishly.

"All right, all right," said Ashley mildly. "Calm down. They told me that they haven't been listening out for Galactic, so they don't know much about them – but they did overhear an unusual series of thoughts moving around the city."

"What do you mean, an unusual series of thoughts?" I asked. "Are they thoughts about unusual things, or what?"

"Thoughts about unusual things in Veilstone? Come on, Pearl, you're smarter than that, aren't you?" asked Iago. "In a big city, people are thinking about all kinds of things, from murder to fraud to any of about four thousand fetishes."

"All right. So what are unusual thoughts?"

"They were a dialogue," said Ashley. "A dialogue between Cyrus Maragos and someone else, all taking place within Maragos' head."

"OK, that is unusual," I said. "How do they know it was Maragos?"

"Because the other person kept calling him by name," replied Ashley. "During the course of this dialogue, several references were made to a message that was apparently delivered to the other person, who then passed it on to Maragos."

"And this message is...?"

"To have the three of us killed," said Ashley matter-of-factly. "Which means that there is someone beyond Team Galactic who wants us dead, presumably to stop us interfering in the Team's affairs – which means that it must be in their interest to see to it that they succeed."

"Does that help us at all?"

"What do you say to doing some of the detective work for once?" asked Ashley. "Tell me if that helps us."

"Uh..." I thought about it. Come on, Pearl, you're a detective now. You can do this! "I guess it means we need to look for who this person is..."

"No, it doesn't help us," interrupted Iago wearily. "To find this person, we need to find Maragos. Ultimately, everything ends with him."

"Yes, it does," agreed Ashley. "It's strange... What I want to know is whether this is the same Cyrus Maragos who gave the speech in Sunyshore – and if so, what changed him from minor politician to criminal mastermind."

I hadn't made the connection before, but now that Ashley had said it, it was so blindingly obvious that I felt like an idiot for missing it. He'd been in the news, I remembered; there was definitely something weird about him, and there couldn't be that many people named Cyrus Maragos in Sinnoh...

"You think he's the guy we're after?"

"Maybe," replied Ashley. "Anything is possible, after all." He looked out of the window. "Ah. It's stopped raining."

"I hate comments about the weather," said Iago. "They're so irrelevant. Then again, humans like to busy themselves about inconsistencies, don't they?"

I gave him a look, and he looked back for a minute before glaring at Ashley.

"What did you say to her, you mutant bratchny?"

"I merely enlightened her about the precise differences between Kadabra and humans," he replied with a little smile. "She was very sympathetic, actually."

Iago turned his eyes on me, and they blazed with such ferocity that I shrank back in my seat.

"Well, it wasn't sympathy as such," I began weakly, and trailed off with a nervous laugh.

"Don't you ever—" snarled Iago, but Ashley tapped him on the shoulder.

"Ah, leave her alone," he said. "She can be very annoying, yes, what with her insistence on eating and coming along with us, but I have to say that Pearl is growing on me. Haven't you noticed that I've stopped being horrible to her?"

"Don't worry, I'll do it enough for both of us—"

"No," said Ashley sharply. "I like Pearl now, and that means she has my protection. Do I make myself clear?"

Iago muttered something into his moustache and fell silent. Ashley smiled at me over his head, and left me feeling slightly weird for the rest of the journey, though I couldn't have said why.

---

"So, Ishmael," said Ellen, "how is it that we can find out where this weak point is?"

Following Team Galactic, replied Pigzie Doodle. It's simple. From listening to what Liza says, they're conducting some sort of investigation into space and time – that's where I got the idea of there being a weak spot from.

"You aren't basing this on any factual evidence, then?"

Hell no! cried the Duskull. I made up this whole plan on the spot. But it makes sense, right? If there's a weak spot in the fabric of spacetime, it stands to reason that the laws of nature are weak there, too. And if they're going to find this weak spot, then we can follow them and find it too.

"You made this all up, didn't you?"

Yes I did. Do you know why? Because I'm smart. And hey, here comes Jeeves.

"Who?"

Ellen looked up, confused, and saw a sinister black motor-car coming around the corner, apparently driverless; as it came closer, she could make out the translucent form of Bond at the wheel.

"Madam," he said, bringing the car to a halt next to her and getting out to open the back door. "Your motor-car."

"Where did you get it?" asked Ellen. "It looks just like the other one!"

"There is a chain of shops, madam – purveyors of sinister black motor-cars to those of ill intent. They appear to have branches in most major cities. I... acquired... both of the motor-cars from them."

"Oh. That's all right, then." Ellen indicated Pigzie Doodle. "Bond, Pigzie Doodle came back!"

Bond looked. Indeed, he said, it seemed that the Duskull had returned. Why, he enquired politely and without the slightest hint of suspicion, was this?

Fortune and glory, kid, said Pigzie Doodle. Fortune and glory. He chuckled, and the energy made his eye bounce up and down inside him. No, but in all seriousness, I'm going to help you guys speak to Tristan Shandy so you can alert everyone to what Liza Radley is, and then I'm going to earn my place in history.

Bond turned to Ellen.

"Madam, what precisely did he say?"

"He knows of a way we can contact Tristan!" And Ellen explained it all to Bond, only she was a little confused by all this 'spacetime' business, and it might have come out a little garbled.

"I see," said Bond, who, having had things explained to him by Ellen, almost certainly did not. "Most intriguing. In that case, we ought to make our way to Veilstone, should we not? I believe Pigzie Doodle—"

Ishmael! snapped the Duskull furiously.

"—said that they were based there," continued Bond without pausing, which was understandable since he could not hear him.

Good God, I need to change my name, said Pigzie Doodle dispiritedly. Why on earth haven't I done it already, that's what I want to know. And I suppose my question's never going to be answered. Actually, who named me? And he fell into a pensive silence.

"Yes, I believe that's right, Bond," said Ellen, getting into the car. "Shall we go, then?"

"Naturally, madam," replied Bond, shutting the door behind her and returning to his seat in the front. "Is our spectral benefactor coming?"

Yeah, yeah, muttered Pigzie Doodle. I'm coming. He drifted in through the roof and came to a rest above the passenger seat. Hit it, Jeeves.

"Did he say something, madam?"

"He said: 'Hit it, Jeeves'," Ellen told him helpfully. "Whatever that might mean."

"Very good, sir," Bond said to Pigzie Doodle, who looked at him in an appreciative sort of way.

Now, I like that, he said, and the sinister black motor-car made its sinister way through the darkening streets of Jubilife.

---

On balance, I decided I didn't like Veilstone. OK, so it was huge, full of shops, clubs and some amazing hotels – but it was also full of dust. There was a thin grey layer of the stuff over every street; you'd have thought that all the people walking down each street would have churned it away years ago, but it seemed to cling tenaciously to the ground like a drowning man to a rope. It wouldn't rise into the air and dissipate; it stuck to the soles of your shoes, and to the sides of buildings, but that was as far as it would go. It was like the whole city was painted grey, and it made the place pretty ugly.

"What's with this dust?" I asked, as we left our taxi behind and headed for the nearest subway station. "It won't go away."

"No, it won't," agreed Ashley. "No one knows why."

"That is such a shoddy explanation."

"Yes, but you can't very well dispute it. It's not as if you know why."

He had a point; I sighed and tried not to get any dust on my jeans. It probably wouldn't wash out.

"I have a theory that it isn't really dust, but tiny Rock-type Pokémon that resemble granite dust," Ashley said.

"Really?"

"No, not really," he said. "Come on, Pearl. You've fallen for exactly the same trick twice this afternoon, and it's not even three yet."

"Huh. Are we going to the Galactic warehouse you mentioned?" I asked. "The ones your East-side 'acquaintances' told you about?"

"Actually, we're going to see my acquaintances," Ashley said. "I don't actually know where the warehouse is, and the fastest way of finding it would be to ask them."

"Some detective."

"That was wholly uncalled-for," Ashley said, raising his eyebrows. "I don't have to keep being nice to you, you know. I could go back to treating you like a lobotomised Panpour."

"What's a Panpour?"

"Something that should never have been born," Iago replied darkly, which kind of put an end to the conversation.

Ten minutes later, we got to a subway station; as we descended the steps, I asked Ashley why he was taking public transport instead of a taxi, and he replied that he was tired of paying for them. At that point, I pointed out that I'd been paying for them, which he chose to ignore.

The train was quite crowded – which struck me as strange, since it was only three o'clock. Most of the people on board were kids as well, and a lot of them were dressed pretty weirdly. I didn't actually realise the significance of any of this until we got off and went back up above ground to the street, where I saw that we were directly opposite Veilstone City's Pokémon Gym.

Like Eterna's, it was old and belonged to a time before the rest of the city had even been dreamed of; it had once been a watchtower or something, judging by the look of it, and it had been expanded at the base to accommodate the arenas within. That wasn't the main attraction, though – that was the huge crowd of weird-looking kids gathered outside in the street, and the large temporary stage that had been set up in their midst. TV cameras and boom mikes were dotted around, swinging from side to side as if looking for prey; there even seemed to be fencing at points around the street, to keep the traffic out. Whatever was going on, it was planned and it was big.

"What's this?" Ashley wondered. "Oh, I remember – Wake was supposed to visit Marlene for a televised battle today." He sighed. "How tiresome. I'd better catch her before the fight begins."

Of course – the odd kids were Trainers. That made sense, given what I'd learned about Trainer fashion sense from Marley.

"A Gym Leader battle?" I asked, interested. "Can't we stay and watch?"

"Well, you can," he said. "But I have a Galactic warehouse to infiltrate, and I'm not putting that off."

I would have said more, but at that point I was shoved forwards by a group of Trainers trying to get out of the subway station and almost knocked over.

"I think we need to get out of this crowd," murmured Ashley, and started to slink off to the left. Iago and I followed close behind, and after a few uncomfortable minutes, we had reached the barrier fence and got out of the crush. We made our way along the edge of the crowd, dodging the occasional surge of excited teenagers, and then along the side of the Gym building; it took far longer than I would have liked, but we did eventually get to the door, whereupon we were immediately stopped by a man who looked like he was strong enough that he had to register his hands as deadly weapons.

"Sorry, guys," he said. "Gym's closed. Can't you see that?"

"Maylene will make an exception for me," said Ashley.

"Really." It was not a question. The big man leaned back and folded meaty arms. "What, you her boyfriend or something?"

Ashley raised an eyebrow, which made me ridiculously envious – I can only lift both at once.

"To be honest, I would have thought you were too busy grieving to come into work today," he said. "In my experience, jilted lovers tend to be a lot less composed than you are. But then you are composed," he went on, sounding interested now, "so you either have incredible emotional strength or you didn't care about her, which was rather nasty considering you've been married a year already. Now why wouldn't you care? I suspect an affair – and in fact you're going to take your new lover out today, right after you finish work. I think she'll like it, unless she's allergic to seafood."

The man stared at him, and so did I. Unless I was very much mistaken, I'd just seen the full power of a true detective at first hand.

"Wha...?"

"Oh, please," said Ashley, shaking his head. "You make it far too easy. There's a pale band of skin where your wedding ring used to be; since the skin is quite noticeably more tanned, you've obviously been wearing it at least one summer. Now, I'll admit that I guessed at the length of your relationship, but I was fairly certain it would be a year or under; if I recall correctly, 65% of Sinnish marriages currently end in divorce, and 81% of those fall apart within the first eighteen months. In addition to that, you don't seem the sort of man who'd have the intellect to conceal an affair adequately for any length of time.

"I knew you had broken up because the ring was gone and yet you're far too well-turned-out for a martial artist Trainer coming to work at the Gym, even on a day like this. You're wearing an expensive aftershave, your fingernails are freshly cut – you missed the left edge of that one, by the way – and you're also freshly shaven. Finally, and most obviously, you aren't dressed like your colleague over there." Ashley indicated another massive man over by the stage; he literally towered head and shoulders above the rest of the crowd, and was dressed in that white outfit that martial artists wear. "Why would you be in work and so nicely prepared when you should still be upset over the collapse of your marriage? You must not have cared about your wife at all, so chances are you were having an affair, something that becomes more likely when we consider that the extent of your preparations today indicate that you probably planned to meet with your lover straight after work – which wouldn't leave you time to prepare later.

"As for the seafood, I noticed as we approached the edge of the tickets in your pocket. I can make out the word 'The' and the first letter of the next word, 'C'; the only shows in Veilstone at the moment that begin like that are The Cheese Thief, a play at the Morlow Theatre, and The China Dragon, a ballet at the Dupont. You are clearly not a ballet man, so it's far more likely you're going to the Morlow; The Cheese Thief is also a romantic comedy, ideal for a date. And what do you eat after you've been to the Morlow? You're a Gym Trainer, you don't have enough money to go to an expensive restaurant – and there is an excellent cheap seafood place two streets away from the Morlow that would suit your purpose admirably."

The big man was still staring, and so was I. I had been hit by a horrible feeling that I was never going to be a good detective.

"You..." He seemed to be struggling for words. "How..."

"I just told you how. Now let me in."

"Uh... no!" He recovered himself. "You can't come in."

"Actually, I have an I.D. card here that says I can," said Iago, holding it up.

"Yes," said Ashley, far too quickly, "we have I.D. Look." He grabbed the card off Iago and thrust it at the giant guard. He studied it carefully, suddenly looked very worried and opened the door.

"Right," he said. "Go on in, sirs, ma'am."

"Thank you," said Ashley. "Come, Pearl."

He swept in through the doorway, and I followed, still in a sort of trance.

"That. Was. Incredible," I hissed. "Jesus, Ashley, that was like something out of a movie!"

"Yeah, it was also completely pointless," said Iago, more cynically. "Was that really necessary?"

"I forgot about the I.D.," Ashley said stiffly. "And it sometimes works. The surprise makes people rather suggestible."

"Huh? Ashley, is that you?"

"Oh, Lord," groaned Ashley. "It's Wake."

Standing before us were the two people who'd be competing in the battle outside, and they could not have been more different: one was the size of a bear and muscled to match, and the other was about eleven, tiny, and skinny as a rake. If my senses hadn't been dulled already by the shock of Ashley's detective power, I'd probably have been almost as shocked as I was when we met Cynthia: these were two of Sinnoh's Gym Leaders, 'Crasher' Wake and Maylene Roberts, and they were both within three feet of me.

"Ashley!" roared Crasher, snatching up his hand in a bone-crushing handshake. "It's been too long – I was beginning to think that you were avoiding me!"

"Yes, I wonder why that is," said Ashley, withdrawing his hand and shaking it back into shape. "I actually came here to see—"

"And Iago!" cried Crasher, grabbing for the Kadabra's hand and missing; Iago had jumped backwards to avoid having the wrestler break his arm. "I guess it's because you go around with Ashley, but I don't see much of you either."

"Yeah, blame Ashley," muttered Iago. "Why don't you meet Pearl?"

Crasher turned to face me, which was actually quite alarming – it was like watching a mountain suddenly rotate on the spot.

"So you're Pearl, eh? I've heard about you!" He lurched towards me, and I stepped to one side before he crushed me. I decided that perhaps I didn't like him quite so much; he wasn't a nasty person, but he seemed to be quite dangerous. "Cynthia doesn't think much of you," he confided.

"She doesn't?"

"I think she thinks you're trying to st—"

"Crasher!" interrupted Maylene suddenly, in a clear, high voice. "I think Mister Lacrimére is in a hurry, and I'd like to deal with it soon, so we can start our battle on time. Would you like to go outside for a while?"

"Outside?" Crasher considered. "Aha! To entertain the crowd, of course! Leave it to me, Maylene. I am a fabulous warm-up act!" And he strode out, bellowing his famous theme song: "The ring is my roiling seeeaaaaa...!"

The four of us who remained stood still for a moment, savouring the sudden silence. Then Maylene jumped up and wrapped her arms around Ashley's neck.

"Ashley!" she squealed. "You've come!"

Much to my surprise, Ashley smiled and hugged her back.

"Yes, I have," he said. "Evidently you missed me."

"Have you brought—"

"Not today," he said sadly, peeling her off him and setting her back down on the floor. "Another time, yes?"

"OK," agreed Maylene. "Did you come about the Galactics?"

"Yes."

"I'll go get the address," she said, and ran off down a corridor. She looked like a nimble little monkey, all thin limbs and spiky hair. Ashley watched her go for a while, and then turned to see me staring.

"What?" he said. "I like children."

"I have never seen you show so much affection," I told him. "What have you done with the real Ashley?"

"No, seriously," said Iago. "If he wasn't a detective, he could be a children's entertainer. For some reason, they love him, and his massive ego feeds off that."

"That's not true. I just like them, that's all, and they like me back."

Maylene came back a moment later holding an envelope.

"This is what my people gave me," she said. "This is the address."

"Thanks," said Ashley, ruffling her hair and taking the envelope from her. "You were right, Maylene, I was in a hurry, so I can't stay today." Maylene looked disappointed, but nodded understandingly. "But I do have another favour to ask of you." Ashley indicated the door, through which we could faintly hear the sound of Crasher's singing. "Can we use the back door?"

---

Fifteen minutes later, we were in the heart of Veilstone's industrial district, looking up at one warehouse among a sea of hundreds; here, the dust on the ground had mixed with spilled oil to make a black paste, and there was graffiti on almost every wall you looked at. Ragged cranes rose up in their hundreds from behind the buildings; somehow, they seemed to me to be trying to escape. This was a bleak place, and it wasn't friendly.

It also had a lunatic Frenchman in it, which was something I wasn't expecting and didn't really want.

"Ah, Mademoiselle Gideon!" cried Looker, abandoning his staring at the warehouse and coming over to join us. "And le Diamant!"

"What about me?" asked Iago. "Actually, no, I don't want to talk to you."

"Monsieur Looker," said Ashley, smiling. "I suppose your investigation of the Galactics brings you here?"

"Looking for the Galactics, ah, it can only lead me to Mademoiselle Radley," explained Looker. "But I am not so sure now that this place is, how you say, of any significance."

Ashley looked interested.

"What makes you say that?"

"Why, monsieur it is completely empty!" said Looker. "There is nothing in there. I can find no secret passage or concealed clues."

"Nothing at all?" I asked. "There has to be something, right?"

"If there is, I expect le Diamant could find it," said Looker, casting a reverential glance at Ashley. "If you would thank?"

"Eh? I think you mean 'If you please'," said Ashley. "But yes, I'll take a look. Pearl, you're coming with me."

"Why?"

"Because I need someone to explain things to as I find them out, and Iago has been in a bad mood since we left the reserve."

"Why not Looker?" I asked. "He's your number one fan."

"Yes, why not Looker?" asked Looker eagerly.

"Because he's too eager," said Ashley. "There's no point if someone agrees with everything I say. I need someone who fights back a little bit – just enough for me to prove them wrong."

"Oh yeah. That really makes me want to go with— hey, let go of my arm!"

"I am not listening to you right now."

So saying, Ashley dragged me into the warehouse and slammed the door behind us.

---

Iago and Looker exchanged looks.

"He knows what he is doing, non?" asked Looker.

"How the hell should I know?" replied Iago irritably. "He's Ashley Lacrimére. Half the time he's a genius and half the time he's making stuff up as he goes along."

"Ah, I see," said Looker, who, thanks to the language barrier, did not. "Let us hope this is the best of halves!"

Iago stared at him for a moment, tried to decipher what he'd just said and gave up.

---

"Wow," I said. "Looker was right."

There really was nothing in here. The warehouse wasn't that big, and even in the gloom we could see clear across to the other sides; there was nothing there. No crates full of suspicious artefacts, no cages full of unevolved Pokémon, no gigantic van-based batteries... Nothing that seemed connected with Team Galactic at all. In fact, nothing period. This place was empty.

"Oh." Ashley looked around. "Ah. Pearl, I'm sorry."

"What? Why?"

"This is a trap."

"What? How can you tell?"

"When I walk into a room and the door locks behind me, it usually indicates a trap."

"The door what?"

I turned around and wrenched at the handle – but Ashley was right. It was stuck fast.

"What do we do?" I asked, trying not to hyperventilate. "What do we do? Is there going to be nerve gas? People with guns? A giant, angry Pokémon? Will they flood the place? Oh God, they're going to flood the place, aren't they? Drowning sounds like such a painful way to go—!"

"Pearl!" snapped Ashley. "Shut up!"

I did. He grabbed my shoulders and looked at me very intently; far away in the back of my head, a little voice told me that life was finally turning into a movie, and that I'd seen this exact scene in the cinema a few weeks ago.

"Listen very carefully," he said. "I shall say this only once. You're not going to die, Pearl. Do you remember what I said in Hearthome? The reason I've let you come with me is so that you don't get hurt. I can guarantee that whatever is in this room, I can protect you from it."

"Really?"

"Yes, really," snapped Ashley. "My God, this is like trying to talk to a stuffed animal."

"Sorry."

"Now, as to your earlier question..." Ashley let go of me and cast his gaze across the room. "This warehouse is definitely smaller on the inside than it is on the outside, which allows for the possibility of hidden compartments in the walls and ceiling. Look up at those ventilation ducts there: they're abnormally large. This can only be one sort of trap."

"What is it?" I asked, noticing for the first time a low, booming droning. It had been there all along, I realised, but now it was getting louder, as if something were coming closer—

"A honeytrap," said Ashley, and the bees arrived.
 
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Silent Memento

Future Authoress
85
Posts
12
Years
...I ought to get off my lazy arse more often and actually type out a good review before two chapters go by. I'm truly sorry about not doing that.

I just noticed that you had a new chapter up, but I'll go through the first one beforehand:

I (platonically) love Ishmael a whole lot. Honestly, he's even more of a jerk toward Ellen than Puck was to Kester, which shocks me. Maybe that's why I have such strong feelings toward the guy; I love the characters that you just want to strangle and hug at the same time (Agent Washington).

Anyway, there were a few typos where you spelled Maylene's name as "Marlene", but otherwise, I can't see anything.

I find your idea of the Kadabra society to be rather intruguing, although I find it confusing that they couldn't stop machine-guns with a single Barrier; I thought they had that in their arsenal of attacks. It also explains why Iago is so...fractured. I know he'll kill me for this, but I really do feel bad for him.

Much like Pearl, I was stunned at Ashley's astute observations of the jerk who cheated on his dying wife. It was almost eerie to see him dissect the information he had so effortlessly. Of course, he's had years of experience and has met with Holmes and Watson, so it makes a lot of sense for him to be such a great detective.

I wonder what kind of Pokemon is in the Pokeball of the now-deceased man sent to release the Driftenburg. It's probably not that important, but it is a rather interesting detail.

I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to cut the review short. I posted the damn thing while I was distracted and hit the wrong button. I guess that's life, huh?

Sincerely,

Mem.
 
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Cutlerine

Gone. May or may not return.
1,030
Posts
13
Years
...I ought to get off my lazy arse more often and actually type out a good review before two chapters go by. I'm truly sorry about not doing that.

I don't mind. It is nice, I'll grant you that, but you're under no obligation to. Unless, of course, you object to the imaginary kitten I drown every time a chapter gets no response.*

I (platonically) love Ishmael a whole lot. Honestly, he's even more of a jerk toward Ellen than Puck was to Kester, which shocks me. Maybe that's why I have such strong feelings toward the guy; I love the characters that you just want to strangle and hug at the same time (Agent Washington).

Ishmael is great; I like him a lot. He's not nearly as nasty as Iago, and almost as much fun to write as Puck was. In fact, he complements Puck rather nicely, being a spirit of Olden Times to Puck's Now Generation - something that has hidden significance.

Anyway, there were a few typos where you spelled Maylene's name as "Marlene", but otherwise, I can't see anything.

I didn't get them all? Damn. I can't stop writing 'Marlene' for some reason. It really bugs me.

I find your idea of the Kadabra society to be rather intruguing, although I find it confusing that they couldn't stop machine-guns with a single Barrier; I thought they had that in their arsenal of attacks. It also explains why Iago is so...fractured. I know he'll kill me for this, but I really do feel bad for him.

I suspect that a few high-power bullets break a Barrier, and the next few tend to hit the Kadabra creating it before they can make another. Besides, I had to think of some reason why Kadabra wouldn't have become the dominant race in the Pokémon world - a most inconvenient oversight on the part of the game designers.

Yes, Iago is a piteous creature, doomed to think like a human. I'd feel bad for him too if I didn't know what was coming up with him.

Much like Pearl, I was stunned at Ashley's astute observations of the jerk who cheated on his dying wife. It was almost eerie to see him dissect the information he had so effortlessly. Of course, he's had years of experience and has met with Holmes and Watson, so it makes a lot of sense for him to be such a great detective.

Er, the wife wasn't dying. Ashley says that he's a 'jilted lover' and that they broke up; I'm not sure where you got the idea of the wife dying from. The guy was a jerk, but probably not that big a jerk.

As regards Ashley's powers of detection, I wrote that literally immediately after watching last week's episode of Sherlock, which explains it. It was very fun to write; I'm going to have to include more Holmesian bits like that.

I wonder what kind of Pokemon is in the Pokeball of the now-deceased man sent to release the Driftenburg. It's probably not that important, but it is a rather interesting detail.

Yes, it probably isn't important. At all. This is not a hint.

Anyway, I've had the next chapter all written up for a couple of days now, and I really must get around to posting it. Thanks for the response, and know that you'll be rewarded with the most revealing chapter yet.

F.A.B.

*No animals were harmed during the posting of this message.
 

Cutlerine

Gone. May or may not return.
1,030
Posts
13
Years
Chapter Twenty: In Which Bees Hate You

'Combee (Frendomelissa dimorphus), like Miltank, is a tricky creature to keep. It seems that the danger posed by Pokémon increases in time with its usefulness to humanity, for Combee are both producers of the world's best honey and the greatest misogynist threat the world has ever seen. If you live in Sinnoh, it is likely you already know what I mean; if not, I shall explain. Female Combee eventually evolve to the hive organism and aerial honey-factory Vespiquen, which occupies a place of particular power in the Sinnish ecosystem; male Combee do not evolve, and leave the hives as soon as they are born to join swarms of other males. These swarms are driven by a unifying hatred for females and the power they wield, and roam the land in an attempt to kill every female organism on the planet.'

—Coriolanus Rowland, Coriolanus Rowland's Guide to Pokémon Husbandry

"Male Combee," said Ashley, stepping in front of me with his eyes fixed on the vent. "Stay out of sight, Pearl; we may be able to avoid confrontation."

"What do you mean?" I asked, panic rising in me. "Ashley, what do you—"

"Ssh!" he said sharply. "Male Combee are resentful of females, because female Combee evolve into Vespiquen and they don't. If they see any female organism at all, they'll kill them – but as long as they don't notice you, they won't attack."

The bees spread out across the ceiling; they were each like fragments of honeycomb, with multiple faces and intimidatingly large stings. Their wings thrummed and their mouthparts clicked, and each of them bore three identical creepy little smiles.

"It was a clever plan," Ashley admitted. "Lure us here by letting Maylene find out about the warehouse, then send in bees – you're a woman, so they'll attack, I'll defend you and so they kill me too."

"I'm not being reassured!" I hissed in his ear. "Ashley, reassure me!"

The bees kept on coming; it seemed like most of the warehouse was a solid mess of sticky honeycomb and insectoid legs. Their relentless buzzing vibrated right through me, setting my teeth humming in their sockets and my stomach jumping, and I knew that in a moment, they would notice I was a woman and go on the offensive.

"Neither of us will die," Ashley said calmly. "The only difficulty is that I daren't break down the door, since that will release them, and in all honesty I'd rather keep them contained so that as few people get hurt as—"

"Ashley!"

I'd seen it. Just one Combee, that happened to fly a little closer than the others; one Combee, that caught a glimpse of something blue behind Ashley's shoulder; one Combee, that saw a pale heart-shaped face and had a bolt of red lightning shoot through its head. I saw its tiny smiling faces each suddenly turn sour, its little eyes pop with rage, and its mouths open in three hideous snarls.

The next moment, the bees were on us.

They flew forward in a great curl, spiralling like a hunting Fearow, those inch-long stings all zooming towards my face in one great blood-curdling rush of terror—

—and then something pushed me to the floor and I heard a series of soft thumps as the Combee thudded harmlessly into something that definitely wasn't my head. I opened my eyes cautiously and found my field of vision blocked by what appeared to be a shield made of paper.

"What the hell?" I murmured, halfway between stunned and amazed, and was about to sit up when a strong hand pressed me back down.

"Stay there," said Ashley – and his voice was, while not as distorted as it usually was when he released, slightly different; it was as if someone were doing an impression of him that was just half an accent off. "Don't move."

The papery shield whipped away from me, and I saw that it wasn't paper, it was skin, and it was attached to Ashley's shoulder where his arm usually was, exploding through the sleeve of his shirt and his coat and spreading out into a huge, flat blade. The Combee wheeled away from us, buzzing in alarm at this new and alien threat; a few of them flew towards Ashley, stings out, but he whipped his shield between him and them so fast that my eyes could barely catch the movement. The ensuing gust of air blew half of them away, and the rest embedded their stings harmlessly in what had once been his arm.

"Damn!" he cried. "I can't stop their stings if they hit dead-on... How much venom is that?"

"What the hell!" I shrieked, staring at him as he turned and swept away another attacking cloud of bees; these hit his shield at an angle, and ricocheted away to crash into each other and the floor. Where they impacted, they cracked and let out streams of honey, gluing themselves to the floor.

"Shut up, I'm busy saving your life!" roared Ashley, eyes burning yellow; bees whirled around him, and his right arm shot out and expanded into a second shield-blade. One half of the swarm crashed into the left arm, and the other into the right; he flexed his shoulders, and the bees fell away in waves. Honey splattered across the concrete and over my jeans; so deep in shock was I that I didn't even notice the stains. Ashley was shifting shape in order to do battle with a swarm of three-headed bees right in front of me. That kind of took precedence over everything else.

Deciding Ashley was too strong, the Combee darted past him and towards me instead – but he turned and slammed his two shield-blades into the wall and floor either side of me, curling over the edges to enclose me completely within a shell of pale, flawless skin.

Damn, I thought distractedly. Wish my skin was as good as his.

No sooner had I thought this than the two shields tore away from me, leaving deep grooves in the walls where their edges had struck home; mashed wings and honey flew away to either side and spattered across the floor.

"Come on!" shouted Ashley, staring around at the bees with a wild look in his eyes. "You want me, not her!"

The Combee were not in agreement, and they dived towards me again, stings outstretched – but they thumped harmlessly into the flesh of Ashley's arm as it blurred back into position to cover my face.

"Ugh. This toxin appears to be powerfully psychotropic," he muttered, which would have made me look up in surprise if I hadn't been staring rigidly ahead and wondering what in God's name was happening around me.

Ashley withdrew, his shields liberally studded with snapped-off stingers and bespattered with honey, and so did the bees; after losing about four thousand of their number in less than five minutes, they appeared to be reconsidering the wisdom of the attack.

"Hell's teeth," said Ashley, one of his arms shrinking and reforming back into a human one,the stings popping out of the fluid flesh as it did so. "This is inordinately painful." He shook it and it expanded into a shield again, then repeated the process with the other arm. Things were getting more surreal by the second, I noted vaguely.

The Combee, apparently deciding that they might as well try and kill me before Ashley repaid the favour, buzzed forth once more for another assault; again, Ashley blocked them, but this time they came in such quantities that they flowed over and around him, zooming past and heading straight for me—

—and suddenly I snapped back to reality, my self-preservation instinct kicking in and making me roll over and to the right. Five hundred bees, unable to stop themselves in time, crashed into the wall and broke into a delicious, toxic mess of honey and stingers; a thousand more saw the error of their predecessors and turned at the last moment to follow me—

—only for something to grab my ankle and drag me out of their way, allowing Ashley's shield-blade to sweep the Combee as one into the corner of the warehouse and crush them against the wall.

"Get up and keep moving," said Ashley, letting go of my leg and reforming his arm into a shield. "If one manages to sting you, the others will go into an attacking frenzy."

"OK," I said, adrenaline rushing through my system and telling me to survive now and ask questions later. I jumped to my feet (which was pretty impressive, if I do say so myself) and stood behind him, eyes on the bees; we were at the centre of a column of clear air defined by the wary distance the Combee kept from Ashley.

"I'm not sure how many stings I can take before I pass out," muttered Ashley to me. "I think I must have been stung about four thousand times now, and I'm starting to feel dizzy."

"Are you trying to make me even more scared?"

"No, I am merely telling you the facts. It's common courtesy in a life-or-death situation."

"Well, I have to say I'm pretty new to those – oh, cal!"

The Combee surged towards me again, and Ashley angled his shield so as to bounce most of them away; even so, a good four hundred ended up embedded in his arm, and I watched him wince through worried eyes. I had no idea what was happening, or how he was able to shift his shape like this, but what I did know was that if he slipped up even once I was going to very rapidly become dead, and that was something I really didn't want.

I ducked the lone survivor of the bee crash, and it hit the back of Ashley's head, sting first. Ooh. That had to hurt.

Ashley turned and swept at another swarm of bees, but the gust of air he generated simply blew them out of his reach; he couldn't attack them like this, only defend – and watching, I had to wonder how long he could do that. His breath seemed laboured now, and though his eyes still blazed yellow, his movements were definitely slowing down. I had the horrible feeling that I wasn't going to get out of this warehouse alive, and I didn't like it one bit.

---

Liza put down the phone, thought for a moment, and went to find Tristan; since he was in his room watching TV with his Croagunk, it turned out not to be a long search.

"Come on, you two," she said. "The boss called. It's time to head out."

"Really?" asked Tristan. "Can't, say, you go on ahead and I'll stay here?"

"You don't have a choice," Liza told him. "Get up and get your things ready. Stravinsky's waiting in front of the hotel with our tickets."

"Tickets?" Tristan paused, puzzled. "Where on earth are we going?"

"Pastoria," replied Liza. "We're the explosives team, remember? And we've got a bomb to set."

"A bomb?" Tristan seemed to be a few steps behind in his understanding of the situation. "What? Why are we putting a bomb in Pastoria?"

Liza wondered whether she ought to tell him or not, decided that it didn't matter, and walked out, calling over her shoulder.

"Come on," she said. "I'll tell you on the way. Our flight leaves in fifty minutes."

"What?" Tristan leaped to his feet. "Whose idea was it to book a flight so ridiculously soon – ah, it was yours, wasn't it?" he said, as Liza stopped and gave him a look. "And what a very fine idea it was, there's no doubt about that—"

"Shut up, get your stuff together and meet me in the car," Liza snapped. "And in future, when you open your mouth, try not to put your foot in it."

She stormed off down the stairs, and Tristan stared after her for a moment.

"Well," he said, turning to his Croagunk. "That went as well as could be as expected, don't you think?"

"Gurrp," replied the Croagunk, without apparently understanding what he had said, and hopped off the bed.

"Come on, then," said Tristan. He tucked his oversized frog under his arm and walked out; he hadn't actually brought any luggage, since their food and accommodation were paid for by a credit card given to Liza by the higher-ups of the Team, and it wasn't necessary for him to bring anything but himself and his Croagunk. There was some unpleasantness at the front desk where Tristan explained he was checking out and the receptionist asked him to pay; however, Liza turned up with the card in the end and rescued him. A few minutes later, Tristan was in the back of Stravinsky's car and heading off to the airport.

"Get your Croagunk off me," Liza told him, pushing the unfortunate amphibian off her lap and onto the floor. "Ugh. Nasty creature... what's its name anyway?"

"Jackie," replied Tristan.

"How typically uninspired of you," said Liza. "Name your Fighting-type after Jackie Chan. Huh."

"Oh, he's not named after Jackie Chan," Tristan told her cheerily.

"What? Who's he named after, then?"

"Jackie Gleason," said Tristan, which left Liza very confused and made Stravinsky burst out laughing. For once, it seemed, he'd won – if only with his idiocy.

---

I was getting desperate now.

Ashley was struggling to stay conscious, I could see. His skin was black with crushed stings and the yellow fire in his eyes had dimmed; whatever arcane energies fuelled his strange morphing abilities, they were running low. He must have been stung several thousand more times by then, and I imagine that there must have been more venom than blood in his veins.

For their part, the Combee were wary. They could see that their opponent was tiring, but he had killed half the swarm now, and they had no desire to be completely exterminated. Wings humming, mouths clicking, they circled us; occasionally, a few would dart forwards and Ashley would block their path, but for the most part, we existed in a horribly tense stalemate, bees on all sides and safety on none.

It might have gone on forever had Ashley not stumbled and almost fallen; immediately, a cloud of Combee broke away from the rest of the swarm and swirled towards us. I threw myself flat on the floor, felt the wind of their wings pass over my back and—

—watched the bees slam sting-first into Ashley's side, driving deep and sticking like arrows. He brushed them away lethargically, crushing them into crumbs, and shielded me as another group of Combee buzzed towards us.

"Pearl," he said softly, through the din, "I'm going to pass out soon."

"Don't you dare!" I replied, which came out much less sympathetic than I'd intended it to.

"I love you too," he said dryly, a bee bouncing off his forehead. "Look, these bees can't kill me, but they can knock me unconscious with enough poison – watch out!"

I curled up tight, pressing myself against him as the bees aiming for my head glanced off his shield; he stood up, setting me back on my feet, and continued, keeping a wary eye out for further bee attacks.

"Don't worry," he repeated breathlessly, and fell over.

"Cal!"

Immediately, I dropped to his side, slapping his face and hoping against hope that he'd open his eyes—

He didn't.

I looked up at the bees, which were staring at him in disbelief. They held a hurried, buzzing debate, came to the consensus that they should attack me, and swooped down in a great giddy spiral, their tiny eyes locked on mine...

I saw the bees approach in glorious slow motion. They seemed to drift toward me as if time had become treacle, and they rippled through it languidly, without fear of my escape. There was nowhere for me to go, after all, and I was far slower than them. My mind shrank to a tiny point deep inside me, where it wouldn't trouble me with such things as fear or anguish; a sense of extreme clarity overcame me, and for one beautiful second I could see every vein in every bee's wings, every mote of dust in the air; I saw the honey on the floor shining like divine fire in the palm of God, and the pillars of sunlight that illuminated them glowing softly like Ampharos. The world was opened up to me in all its beauty, and I couldn't do anything except stare.
Then the moment passed, and I returned to mad screaming terror as the Combee bore down upon me like a tidal wave of demon honey—

WHOOSH!

The explosion came first, to be honest, but I didn't really hear it over the cacophony; what I did hear was the tornado-like roar of the purple-tinted wind that followed. It shredded the Combee in midair, tearing their wings asunder and fracturing their brittle bodies; bits of insect fell everywhere, bouncing off the far wall and pattering against the floor.

And then suddenly it was over, and everything was quiet once more. After the all-consuming drone of the bees, the silence hit me like a fist; I crouched there by Ashley with my hands still held over my face, incapable of moving or even full rational thought. I couldn't handle it. Too many impossible things had happened in too short a time: a swarm of Combee had tried to kill me, Ashley had shifted shape to protect me, Ashley had been beaten... The list went on and on, and terminated in the final, awful reality that I had come within three inches of death.

"Ashley?" cried a child's voice. "Are you OK? Ashley!"

Maylene, I thought, and took a deep breath. My mind revolved slowly on its axis and became something approximating normal, and I stood up on shaky legs.

Maylene was already over here, kneeling by Ashley's side in concern; in the doorway stood my saviour, a lithe figure that was slightly too short and too canine to be human. Its sharp snout and pointed ears gave the Lucario the look of Anubis, and, judging from what it had done to the Combee, it had something like the same power. Behind it were an assortment of martial arts masters, little men with onion-shaped heads and officious-looking bureaucrats; behind them was a titanic wall of flesh in blue trousers and a luchador's mask – Crasher Wake had come along too, it seemed.

"Dan!" shouted Maylene, turning around sharply. "Help me!"

Without a word, the closest martial artist rushed over and scooped Ashley up off the floor; his eyes widened as he saw the vast, flat blades that drooped from his shoulders, but he still said nothing.

"Someone call Cynthia!" yelled Iago from out of sight. "She'll be even more pissed if she hears this second-hand!"

A whirl of confusion and noise and people rushing to and fro ensued; someone was kind enough to escort me from the building and into a car, and before I knew it we were at the Pokémon Centre, and someone was speaking into my ear.

---

The discerning reader will, of course, already know what must have happened for the timely intervention of Maylene and company to take place. It does not take the detective skills of the Diamond to work that much out.

However, purely in case you perhaps want to confirm your suspicions, the causes are laid out here; they begin with a faint and peculiar noise, the suspicious nature of which was first picked up by our moustachioed antihero.

"Do you hear that?" asked Iago.

"Hear what?" replied Looker, listening.

"That." One of Iago's ears stood up, like that of a dog that has heard an ultrasonic whistle. "It's..."

He walked over to the warehouse door and pressed his ear against it.

"Pretty thick," he said, "but I think I hear... ah, cal!"

Iago whirled away from the door and grabbed Looker by the lapels.

"Have you got a mobile phone?" he asked urgently.

"Pardon? If you could speak a little slower, monsieur Kadabra—"

"I'm not monsieur sodding Kadabra, my name's Iago! And I want to know if. You. Have. A. Sodding. Mobile. Phone!"

Iago's voice increased in volume as the sentence went on, and by the end he was practically screaming into Looker's face – or as close to his face as he could get given his height, which was his neck.

"I have one right here," said Looker timidly, producing it from his pocket.

"Thank you," cried Iago, snatching it off him. He dialled swiftly, muttering in a very specific and highly crude way about the inadequacies of the French, and set the phone to his ear. "Hello? I need to speak to Maylene. She's busy is she? Crasher Wake, eh? Well, how about you tell her that her favourite state secret is in the process of being murdered by a swarm of angry bees!"

It wasn't really a question by the end. Iago had once again got louder as he spoke, and was shrieking by the word 'bees'.

"I— oh, for Christ's sake! I – fine, I'll hold." Iago glanced at Looker. "Damn receptionists," he said confidingly. "I always get the stupid ones."

"Ah," said Looker, backing away from him with rather less subtlety than one might have expected from an elite agent of the International Police. "Is that so, mon ami?"

"Yeah. It's not like I care about Ashley or anything," Iago said with sudden eagerness. "It's just that if he does end up dead, I can probably expect to be arrested within twenty-four hours."

"Naturally," agreed Looker. "I do not doubt that you have the heart of lead, as they say."

"Heart of stone," corrected Iago. "Or heart of gold, I guess, but that's pretty unlikely since I'm about as kindly as a bucket of battery acid – oh, hey," he said, as the phone twittered in his ear. "That made her listen, did it? Yeah, I thought it might. She knows where we are; get her here with that Lucario of hers now. Now sod off and do as you're told."

Iago thumbed the button on the phone and handed it back to Looker.

"There."

"What exactly is it that is happening?" enquired the French detective. "I confess, I am a little confused."

Iago waved at the door.

"Put your ear to that and listen," he said, and Looker did; a moment later, his eyes widened and he drew his head back sharply.

"Ah, this plot," he said. "She is so fiendish... It can only be the work of Mademoiselle Radley!"

And he began to stride around in circles, gesturing wildly and pontificating in French, all of which was greeted with a quizzical eye and stony silence by Iago.

---

Cyrus looked at the computer monitor pensively. Things had panned out just as he'd expected, which was good; with any luck, he'd keep the Diamond busy for another half a week at least.

"That went well," observed the Desk Sitter, but since Cyrus had company, he chose not to answer.

"Sir?" asked Saturn. "Shall I send someone for the girl?"

"No," replied Cyrus, which made all three of the others look up nervously. Was the plan being changed again? It was a stressful business, this Galactic commander work; they were all worked off their feet as it was. Charon had his research team to deal with (and they were lamentably slow-witted), Mars had the mess from the Eterna and Windworks incidents to finish cleaning up, and Saturn was the second-in-command, which essentially meant he did the things that Cyrus didn't want to. (It will be noted that Jupiter was not present; she was at home with her boyfriend and a large bottle of wine, drowning her post-traumatic stress disorder in cheap alcohol.) "No, I don't want you to send someone," continued Cyrus. "I want you to go yourself."

"Me?" asked Saturn, pointing to himself. "As in, me, sir?"

"No, the other you," replied Cyrus irritably. "Yes, of course I mean you, you cretin." He waved a hand in the direction of the other commanders. "Take Mars with you too," he said.

"Two Galactic commanders? For a simple kidnapping? Isn't that a bit... excessive?"

"I can assure you it isn't," Cyrus informed him. "Both of you need to requisition Golbat from the storerooms, by the way. I expect you'll need them."

"We have Pokémon of our own—"

"A Toxicroak and a Purugly are admirable enough, but you will need the Golbat," said Cyrus patiently. "Believe me."

"Yes sir."

Saturn and Mars retreated from the room.

"Honestly," said Cyrus to the Desk Sitter, "it's so much harder to get decent higher administration than I thought it was. I have the greatest respect for the Aqua and Magma leaders now – if they had to go through half the effort I have with these people then it was a miracle they ever summoned anything."

"Ehehehe," laughed Charon nervously, and Cyrus turned to glare at him.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded to know. "You're meant to have left!"

"Oh, sorry," said Charon, making no attempt to leave. "I assumed that it was just those two leaving – the lesser commanders, you know. After all—"

"Get out," said Cyrus flatly.

"—you surely wouldn't treat me, the genius even you—"

"Get out."

"—recognise, in such a way—"

"Charon, if you don't leave right now I'm going to repurpose this Newton's Cradle in a very inventive and extremely painful sort of way," said Cyrus, picking it up off his desk. "Now get out."

"Right," said the scientist, getting up and going to the door. "Of course. We geniuses need our alone time, right sir?"

He winked and stepped out, shutting the door behind him.

Cyrus and the Desk Sitter stared at each other.

"That man," proclaimed Cyrus in a low, strained voice, "is the very worst substitute for a human being that I have ever had to work with."

"He seems to stimulate emotion in you," remarked the Desk Sitter. "That isn't desirable, is it?"

"He's more than undesirable," muttered Cyrus darkly, and turned back to the video on the screen. Lacrimére was gone now, and all that remained were a couple of Gym Trainers, poking around at the sticky mess of bee corpses and making sure there were none still alive; if they escaped into the city, they could have a serious issue on their hands. "Well, I suppose we can't do anything more than wait now," he sighed, eyes fixed on the grainy image. "The rest is down to the Diamond." He picked up a phone (a cheap, disposable one; he wasn't stupid) and began to dial. "Now," he said, a sudden smile spreading across his face. "Let's get this little game started..."

---

I know exactly where I was when I got the call. I was in the Pokémon Centre, in the hospital room where Ashley was being treated; there were burly Gym Trainers standing guard at the door, and no one was allowed in except for a certain doctor, who was, it seemed, on the payroll of the League. Maylene was there, and Iago and Looker – but not Crasher; he had been refused entry to the hospital area on the grounds that he would disturb the patients.

Ashley himself was all right, it seemed. He hadn't lied – the Combee venom had done no more than knock him out, though the doctor said there was enough of it to kill a bull elephant in his system. Given twelve hours or so, he would shrug off the effects on his own, but the hospital care, I was told, would have him back up in a quarter of that.

I was mostly OK now; Looker and one of the Gym Trainers (who, being male and not blind, seemed to have become infatuated with me) had, between them, managed to calm me down. After what I'd seen and experienced, I had a thousand questions – but I knew that I couldn't ask them of anyone except Ashley, and he was currently unconscious. Hell, I had no idea if even he'd answer; he was so fond of being cryptic that I sometimes think it's a wonder I ever even learned his name.

It was at that moment that Ashley's mobile phone started to vibrate across the bedside table.

Instantly, everyone fell silent – that is to say, everyone else fell silent and I, sensing that something was wrong here, followed suit.

"Is... is that Cynthia?" asked Maylene anxiously.

"We already called her," replied one of her Trainers – the adulterous one who'd been watching the door, in fact. "She wouldn't be calling back on that phone."

"What's the matter?" I asked, for once not pretending to know what was going on.

"No one apart from Cynthia has the number of that phone," replied Iago slowly. "That's the phone that only rings in emergencies, Pearl – when Sinnoh needs a weapon."

"Oh." I stared at it. "Is someone going to answer it?"

Everyone looked at each other and shuffled their feet. The phone kept vibrating.

"Anyone at all?" I asked. "It's probably important."

"Allow me," said Looker, stepping forward with a flourish. "As an elite of—"

"No, I'll do it," decided Iago, and snatched up the phone a moment before Looker's hand touched the table. "Hello?"

The tension was so thick that you'd have struggled to cut it even with a knife; this was the sort of tension you'd need a bandsaw to deal with.

"Who is this?" asked Iago. "No, I asked you first. I said, I asked you first – well, what the hell do you want to talk to her for? Oh, fine. Talk to her then."

He held out the phone.

"It's for you," he said. "No clue who this is – but it's a man's voice, quite deep, probably a good singer."

"For me?"

"Yes, my little blonde parrot, it's for you," said Iago sardonically. "Now take the damn phone."

With some trepidation, I did, and a curiously familiar voice met my ears:

"Hello, Pearl."

"Who is this?" I asked immediately.

"Not yet. I have a message for you that's in your best interests to hear. If you'll guarantee me that you won't interrupt, I'll tell you."

"I won't interrupt," I said impatiently. "What is it?"

"By now you will have stepped into and survived my honeytrap," the voice said. "Although I can't claim all the credit for that – the idea came from an associate of mine. But I digress. The point is that this is only the beginning of what I have in store for you." He paused. "You may speak now, if you wish. This is the interval."

"What? What do you mean, this is only the beginning?"

He chuckled, and it was kind of sinister.

"Somewhere in Pastoria is a bomb, Pearl. A bomb that has the power to destroy at least a quarter of the city, and probably more."

A sudden chill ran through my body; it travelled by way of the veins, and froze each muscle as it passed.

"And when does it go off?"

"Oh, you interrupted," said the voice despairingly. "And you were doing so well. I'll have to have the time put forward an hour."

"When does it go off?" I demanded.

"I'll put it forward another hour if you're not quiet," he snapped, and I fell silent. "That's better. Now, you have two days, six hours, forty-two minutes and twelve seconds until this bomb explodes – in other words, Pearl, it will go off at midnight on Friday."

"I've got one more question," I asked, suddenly realising who this man must be. "Why are you telling me this, Maragos?"

Around the room, eyes widened.

"Finally," said Maragos despairingly. "I thought you'd never get it. The reason I'm telling you this is that this bomb is extremely well-concealed. You know as well as I the efficacy of the police; this case is out of their league. I'm afraid to say that only one man in Sinnoh has any chance of finding and defusing it before the timer reaches zero – and that man, if I'm not very much mistaken, is currently lying before you in an unconscious stupor." I could almost hear his smile down the telephone. "That'll be all, Pearl," he said. "I'll see you later, I'm sure."

The line went dead, and I lowered the phone, staring at Ashley and willing him to wake up.

"What did he say?" asked Iago. "It was Maragos, right?"

"Yeah," I replied. "It was. Basically..." I thought about it. "Basically, it's business as usual."

"Ah, crap."

"Yeah," I said thoughtfully. "Yeah, that pretty much sums it up."
 

Silent Memento

Future Authoress
85
Posts
12
Years
Er, the wife wasn't dying. Ashley says that he's a 'jilted lover' and that they broke up; I'm not sure where you got the idea of the wife dying from. The guy was a jerk, but probably not that big a jerk.

Yeah, after reading it a second time, I realized that they had just broken up. Oops. -_-

Anyway, the plot thickens. Nice work incorporating the bomb in the games in your fic. I thought that it was strange that the bomb in Pastoria (D/P/Pt games) had such an pitiful effect, while the one at Lake Valor blew all of the poor Magikarp to tiny bits.

Anyway, I find Ashley's new powers to be even stranger. He literally used his skin as a sword and shield. Still, I laughed like a jester when Pearl thought about how "flawless his skin was." That was absolutely priceless.

Iago's ranting at the receptionist was also funny, as well as Looker's obsession with Liza Radley. I can definitely see the Pink Panther reference now. Best theme song ever...of all time.

And now they're going to Pastoria? Wow. My favorite Sinnoh city and the home of one of my more evil protagonists. Those are good memories...

Anyway, I'm really excited for the next chapter. Many kudos for this one.

Sincerely,

Mem.
 

Cutlerine

Gone. May or may not return.
1,030
Posts
13
Years
Yeah, after reading it a second time, I realized that they had just broken up. Oops. -_-

Anyway, the plot thickens. Nice work incorporating the bomb in the games in your fic. I thought that it was strange that the bomb in Pastoria (D/P/Pt games) had such an pitiful effect, while the one at Lake Valor blew all of the poor Magikarp to tiny bits.

Anyway, I find Ashley's new powers to be even stranger. He literally used his skin as a sword and shield. Still, I laughed like a jester when Pearl thought about how "flawless his skin was." That was absolutely priceless.

Iago's ranting at the receptionist was also funny, as well as Looker's obsession with Liza Radley. I can definitely see the Pink Panther reference now. Best theme song ever...of all time.

And now they're going to Pastoria? Wow. My favorite Sinnoh city and the home of one of my more evil protagonists. Those are good memories...

Anyway, I'm really excited for the next chapter. Many kudos for this one.

Sincerely,

Mem.

Ye gods... Has it been so long already? Sorry I haven't replied sooner; I discovered Skyrim over the weekend and... well, it doesn't need to be explained.

Uh, anyway. Yeah, Pastoria's coming up soon, which will be nice; I have a mortal fear of the city that stems from a Rock-type monotype run I did of Platinum, where I had to beat Crasher Wake with a Graveler, a Rhyhorn, an Onix and a Probopass. My God, it was hell.

So yeah, Pastoria ought to be interesting - especially because of the little modification I've made to the Galactic Bomb. It's also going to be weird, because if my calculations are correct, we're close to halfway through the story now, and things are starting to get revealed. Weird things.

As ever, thanks for replying, and I'll do my best to get another chapter up soon, though school is currently somewhat time-consuming.

Actually, I had a friend who could play The Pink Panther theme tune on the saxophone. It was fantastic. Ah, happy days.

F.A.B.
 

Cutlerine

Gone. May or may not return.
1,030
Posts
13
Years
Yeah, I did actually have this finished a couple of days ago, but I've only got around to posting it now. And since it's just finished snowing, I've got to make this brief so I can go outside and play in the snow like a four-year-old.

Chapter Twenty-One: In Which There is a Reference

'There had been rumours over the last few years about a man named Cyrus Maragos. They say he's a genius, a master criminal, and even sometimes a necromancer. Intrigued, I started tailing him three years ago, but though I followed clues from Gibraltar to Timbuktu, I never once got anywhere near him. It was like trying to catch Suicune, or Carmen Sandiego.'
—Narcissus Rex, Noir Memoirs

"...Oh," said Tristan. "So that's what you meant by 'honeytrap'."

"Yes," replied Liza. She had just finished telling him about her plan to kill Lacrimére; it seemed it hadn't worked out quite as she'd hoped, but Cyrus – being the resourceful man that he was – had turned the situation to their advantage. It might be that they could not actually destroy the Diamond, but they could certainly keep him occupied until they were finished. It was a dangerous game when the opponent was so strong, but there was nothing to be gained from conceding it now; all they needed was a couple of days' reprieve to finish the prototype, and then a day or so longer to let them hunt out and capture the lake Pokémon.

"We are reaching our destination," said the pilot over the PA system. "We should be touching down in Pastoria in fifteen minutes."

"Are you ready?" Liza asked Tristan. He nodded.

"Sure. Give me the materials and I'll have it done in no time."

"They'll be waiting for us when we get there. I'd tell you who's going to meet us, but you probably wouldn't manage to recognise him."

"Is that an insult?"

"Only if you understand it."

"Oh. That's OK then," said Tristan, looking vaguely confused but content, and settled down in his seat to await the landing.

---

After I relayed Maragos' message, the room went very quiet. Which, as it happened, made Cynthia's entrance all the more startling.

"What the hell is happening here?"

The doors flew open so hard they bounced off the walls, and the Champion stormed through them so fast that her hair flew out horizontally behind her. Before anyone could so much as register her presence, she was at the bedside, staring deep into Ashley's eyes with the sort of look you might find on a kicked puppy.

"Ashley..."

"Before you say anything," said Iago, recovering, "it wasn't my fault."

Cynthia's face turned without the rest of her body moving an inch, and her eyes locked onto his as if they were about to fly out and strike him down.

"You," she said in what was probably the most terrifying voice I'd ever heard, "can consider yourself fired."

Iago stared at her. He looked like he'd been unexpectedly castrated.

"Er, Cynthia—"

"Now I do realise I must have given you a bit of a shock, Cynthia, but this seems like a distinct overreaction."

Ashley sat up and blinked; he looked at each arm, shook them out and watched them return to their original shape.

"Right," he said. "Will someone please explain the shocked silence to me? I do hate feeling that I've missed things."

"Ashley!" cried Cynthia, and hugged him so tightly that I thought she might snap him in half. If I'd been thinking straight, I'd probably have thought that was an intriguing reaction, but I wasn't.

"Ouch," he said, but got no reprieve, for a moment later Maylene did the same. "And ouch again. What's all this for?"

"You're... OK," I answered, since no one else seemed to want to. "And that's... good. Yeah. That's good."

"Why are you so surprised?" With a sudden movement too deft for me to actually see, Ashley escaped Cynthia and Maylene and appeared on his feet at the end of the bed. "I did say I'd be fine. I'm especially surprised at you, Cynthia. After all, you've seen me come back from worse than that, and – and I'm being insensitive again, aren't I?" he concluded, looking at the faces of the assembled company.

"Just a little," Iago said.

"Ah. Well, never mind." Ashley patted Marlene on the shoulder, and then, with some trepidation, did the same to Cynthia. "Now, our Grecian nemesis must have known that that wouldn't kill me; in all likelihood, he was trying to slow me down. I expect he has something else planned out, and since we're at the end of our investigation he's probably contacted us to feed us another clue. He wouldn't trust Iago, which means that I need to ask... Pearl." He turned to face me. "Well? What did he say?"

I stared at him.

"You really don't care that you were just stung to death, do you?"

"Death is a very unsatisfying mistress," he told me. "I try not to let her rule my thoughts."

"Is that a joke?"

"Quite possibly," he agreed. "Now, will someone please tell me what is going on?"

"First," said Cynthia, grabbing his chin and turning his face to hers, "you're going to tell me what in God's name happened to you."

"Ah," said Ashley, nodding his way free and taking a nervous step away from her. "Dearest Cynthia, if I'm right, then some sort of disaster is about to happen—"

"Believe me, there's going to be a bigger disaster happening right here in this room if you don't start talking," Cynthia said, voice dangerous.

"Bigger than Maragos blowing up Pastoria?" I asked, finally finding my voice, and everyone in the room turned to stare at me.

"You see?" Ashley said, gesturing at me. "A disaster, and on a rather large scale as well."

"OK," said Cynthia begrudgingly. "Pearl? Tell us about Maragos blowing up Pastoria, and then let me get back to interrogating Ashley."

"Yes, you'd better tell us," Maylene added. "We'd better tell Crasher, too."

"You can tell him later," the doctor said firmly. "He'll disturb the patients."

"I don't want him here either," agreed Iago. "He's probably the most annoying person in Sinnoh. Why the hell he was made a Gym Leader, I have no ide— and I'll shut up now," he decided, as Cynthia shot him a look.

"Right," I said uncertainly, once again the centre of attention and not at all sure that I liked it. "Well, Maragos said he'd planted a bomb somewhere in Pastoria, and..."

---

"There is no way in God's own earth that I can get on that – that thing," said Ellen firmly.

Oh, come on, complained Pigzie Doodle. I know it's not an airship, which would most definitely be better, but they did have planes back in the 1930s, you know. Admittedly, Sinnoh didn't have more than a couple of them, and they weren't passenger ones, but still. There's no need to be afraid of it.

They were standing on the runway, staring up at a large and imposing passenger aeroplane, and neither Bond nor Ellen seemed to be in the mood to appreciate it.

"Madam, I must say that despite appearances, I believe we might be able to trust this craft," Bond ventured. "After all, a great many living people are entrusting their lives to it – and we, being already dead, have surely nothing to fear."

That's what you think, Pigzie Doodle said darkly. In the land of flesh, the spirit is choked; special evils are reserved for those who evade the dangers of the meat men. He shuddered, and a ripple went through his gaseous body. Childhood imaginary friends, for instance. Without a child's love and attention, they have to derive their sustenance from other places. Oh, and unicorns. I hate unicorns. So many of them are dreamed up, and only a few make it into respectable literature or film. Then you have the other Ghosts, of course – people like me, in fact, who subsist on thoughts, memories and souls—

"Ishmael? Would you please be quiet and listen?" asked Ellen. "I—"

Why don't you be quiet and get on the damn plane? the Duskull snapped back at her. It can't kill you, can it? Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm pretty sure that Liza Radley beat it to the punch.

"I don't understand—"

Just get on the plane.

Pigzie Doodle gave Bond a suggestive sort of nod, which was about the only movement he could make, being mostly head; of course, being the excellent servant he was, the butler understood immediately, and took hold of Ellen's hand.

"Come, madam," he said. "We cannot be put off by idle fears. This will be the fastest way of getting across to Veilstone."

"Do you promise that it won't fall out of the sky?"

Bond looked up at the other aeroplanes. He had not seen one fall yet – and that didn't seem like the sort of thing he would be likely to miss.

"I give you my word, madam," he replied solemnly, and led her across the asphalt.

Finally, sighed Pigzie Doodle. Ugh. What is it they say? Never work with children or animals. I'm definitely taking that advice from now on. He turned to face his two companions, and saw that they were no longer with him. Hey, wait for me! he cried, and whizzed after them to catch up.

---

"Dear me," muttered Ashley, as we rounded the corner. "First Eterna, now this. It will take more than a fancy dinner to placate Cynthia this time."

"A fancy dinner?"

"Yes – the last time I did something she disapproved of, I flew her to Paris and we had dinner there. I don't recall where, just... somewhere in Paris."

We had finally made our escape from the Pokémon Centre; after I'd explained what Maragos was up to, Ashley had talked at Cynthia, Maylene and anyone who would listen until they were so confused they agreed to let him go, and not to tell Crasher about the bomb until he'd got ten minutes' head start. I had the distinct feeling that neither Ashley nor Iago were entirely comfortable being surrounded by members of the League, and that Ashley in particular was very glad to have got away from Cynthia.

"Why don't you want Crasher to know about the bomb?" I asked.

"He's not really the sort of person I want to work with," Ashley admitted. "He's one of those unfortunate people who don't understand long words or irony."

"He means he's a sodding idiot," clarified Iago. "Which is worse than a regular idiot, because that's what you are, and I assume you understand long words, being a philosopher. Actually," he went on, taken with this new line of thought, "that's all philosophy is, isn't it? Long words, cunningly arranged to give the impression of intelligent thought."

"Shut up," said Ashley affably. "Right. To Pastoria, then."

"You don't seem too worried," I noted, stopping at a crossing.

"Why would I be?" he replied. "I sincerely doubt that our Mister Maragos can come up with anything I can't foil. Cross now."

"But there's a car comi—"

Ashley yanked me across the road, narrowly evading the broad grille of an oncoming truck; for the third time that day, I thought was about to die – and after nearly being shaken apart by a Ghostly scream and stung to death by misogynist bees, it would have been a disappointingly banal way to go.

"Are you crazy—?"

"Iago won't be able to cross for a while," said Ashley, very quickly. "Which means I have a couple of minutes to speak to you without being overheard."

I stared at him. What was this?

He led me out of the path of the pedestrians and glanced back; across the road, Iago was shifting from foot to foot, watching impatiently for the lights to turn red.

"What?" I asked.

"He has to report everything I say and do to the League," he explained. "And I want to tell you something that is strictly top secret."

My ears pricked up, and a surprised smile spread over my face; quickly, I changed it into a sly grin, and gave a knowing nod.

Ashley looked at me oddly.

"Are you having a neck spasm?"

"Uh, no, it was a knowing – actually, forget it. What was it you wanted to say?"

"The League's been infiltrated," he said. "Someone knows everything about me, Pearl – and that means that someone got the information out of the League. Despite what Iago said earlier, it would be tantamount to suicide to try and break in to get at it; the Sinnoh League is probably the strongest in the Northern Hemisphere, and as you have probably worked out, they're very conscious of security. No, someone from within the League got at it – which means that Galactic has someone important working for them there."

"A mole," I breathed. Now this was proper detective fiction. We'd have to be careful about what we said around everyone, and have a list of suspects that we whittled down to two, and we'd almost choose the wrong one until the other made a small but fatal mistake that alerted us to his true identity—

"Pearl? Please don't go off on one of those wild fantasies of yours," Ashley said, snapping his fingers in front of my eyes. "Stay focused, if you would – ah! Iago's coming. Look, just be careful what you say, understand? I have a horrible feeling that Maragos is getting a little desperate, and men like him are at their most dangerous when desper—"

"What the hell were you playing at?" Iago demanded to know, catching up and gasping for breath. "Running into the road like that?"

"It isn't as if a car could kill me," pointed out Ashley.

"And what about Pearl?"

"What about Pearl?"

"Fair point," conceded Iago. "Doesn't matter if she dies, does it?"

"Hey," I said, annoyed, "at least the world benefits from my existence—"

"And it doesn't from mine?"

"No. You're a nasty bratchny barely worthy of sentience."

"Ooh. Ouch." Iago grinned broadly. "I'm hurt. Now, are we going to Pastoria? I have a feeling that we'll be in a lot of trouble if we let it blow up – and besides, I just saw Crasher Wake on the other side of the road."

Ashley and I exchanged glances. Then, as one, we grabbed Iago and fled for the subway.

---

"A bomb in Pastoria," said Ashley, making a steeple of his fingers and leaning back in his seat. "A bomb capable of levelling a quarter of the city."

We were half an hour out of Veilstone, heading south at high speed through the Fulsom Woods in a first-class train carriage; naturally, I'd had to pay for the tickets. There had been some unpleasantness at the ticket office regarding whether or not a Kadabra was entitled to ride first class, but this had been resolved by the simple expedient of slamming the shutters to the ticket window on the clerk's fingers. Well, I had had a hard day, and I didn't really feel like talking things over.

"There are two things that worry me about this situation," Ashley went on. "Pearl, would you like to guess at what they are?"

"Uh... you're worried that thousands of people will die?"

Ashley considered.

"There are now three things that worry me about this situation," he amended. "One being that thousands of people might die. What about the other two?"

"I can't believe you didn't think of that first—"

"I'm approaching it as a logical problem, not an ethical one," Ashley said. "It's more helpful – look, I don't need to justify myself to you. Are you going to answer the question or not?"

"All right, all right... You're worried that... that we're doing exactly what Maragos wants?"

"Correct." Ashley looked despondent. "As I told you earlier, this is a delaying tactic on his part. He knows I can't refuse to stop the bomb going off; he intends to buy himself a couple of extra days' time. The worst of it is, he probably has a second scheme ready in case I solve the bomb case too quickly, or if he finds he needs more time. He holds all the cards, and it stops me from getting anywhere near him."

"Clever, isn't he?" said Iago admiringly. "You've got to admit he's clever."

"Oh, I do," replied Ashley. "It doesn't make him any less reprehensible. If he's doing what I think he is, of course – and that's another thing. I need more evidence about that."

"What do you think he's doing?" I asked curiously.

Ashley paused, and glanced at Iago.

"I'm sure she's already seen that much," the Kadabra told him. "Go for it. Whatever."

"Pearl," said Ashley, choosing his words carefully, "do you recall that I am in some ways rather... different... to normal people?"

"Yes," I answered earnestly, thinking of bees. "I can honestly say that I don't think I'll ever forget."

"Well, based on what that thieving Rotom is looking for here in Sinnoh, I think that Maragos may be attempting to, er, make himself like me. Do you see?"
"He wants immortality and weird arm-blades?"

"There is more to it than that – but essentially, yes. And you can see how this might be a bad thing."

I certainly could. Maragos was the bad guy, and if he ever gained whatever strange abilities Ashley had, then it would probably be the worst thing that had happened to the world since the invention of marzipan.

"Uh huh..."

"The thing is, I have no real evidence to back up this assertion," sighed Ashley. "I need to find out more in order to know for certain what's going on, and I can't do that if I'm off defusing bombs in Pastoria."

"Well... maybe someone in the League could do that for you—"

Ashley gave me a meaningful look.

"Oh," I said. "Or maybe not."

"What?" asked Iago, but he got no answer.

"Well, maybe I can do it for you," I suggested. "I could investigate Maragos, and you can solve the bomb mystery."

"That's a fantastic idea," said Iago. "It'll get you killed, which will mean you can't divulge any League secrets. Like the Driftenburg."

"He's right," Ashley told me. "Not about it being a good idea, but about you being killed; if you can't survive a swarm of Combee without me, you won't be able to take on the Galactics alone."

He had a point. I was better off sticking with the shape-shifting immortal detective than running around on my own.

"Right. Er, what was the other thing you were worried about?" I asked.

"Ah, that." Ashley nodded slowly. "Maragos has a bomb that can destroy at least a quarter of Pastoria. Those were his exact words, yes?"

"Yeah...?"

"Pastoria covers approximately fifty-three square miles. To completely destroy a quarter of that would at least two hydrogen bombs, and probably more. So the question we must ask ourselves is: what sort of weapon, what kind of monstrous bomb, could Maragos possibly have put there?"

I stared at him. I hadn't thought of that – but then, I didn't know the area of Pastoria, or the blast strength of an atomic bomb. Did he just memorise all this stuff on the off chance it would come in useful one day?

"You may close your mouth, if you wish," Ashley said kindly. "You'll look prettier that way."

I realised I was gaping and shut my mouth hurriedly; I'd been doing far too much of that lately. It wasn't my fault – it was just that everyone around me kept being so damn amazing. At this rate, I was never going to catch up with them and become a decent detective.

"So what do we do?" I asked at length.

"We hope we defuse that bomb in time," Iago replied. "Or, failing that, that we escape the city before it goes off."

"Be quiet. Pearl, how long exactly did Maragos say we had?" asked Ashley.

"Two days, six hours..." I thought for a moment, and gave up. "Look, it's going off at midnight on Friday, OK?"

"No," said Ashley. "That's not what I asked. What exactly did he say? How specific was he?"

"He was really specific," I said. "Went into the seconds – what use is this? Surely there isn't a clue in the time—"

"You don't get it," Ashley interrupted. "Maragos is clever, Pearl. He doesn't want us to give up and just chase after him in the hope of getting him to stop the bomb for us; he wants us to have a good chance of working it out. He gave us his first clue there – didn't you think it was strange that he counted the time down to the last second? He did it for a reason."

"So," summarised Iago, "you'd better start remembering. Or else Ashley's going to get cross, and I think we all have a good idea about what happens when he does that."

"OK, OK." I thought hard. What was it? Two days, six hours... then what? Four minutes? No, longer... Thirty? No, it wasn't a round number, it was something harder... thirty-two minutes? Forty— forty-two! That was it. And how many seconds...?

I thought for a while longer, and then said:

"I think – I'm not sure, but I think – that he said it was two days, six hours, forty-two minutes and twelve seconds."

Ashley looked sharply at Iago.

"Search your memory," he said. "See if you find a match. I'll try and come up with possible connections, but it may be a reference."

"Got it," sighed Iago, and closed his eyes.

"What's he doing?" I asked.

"Going through my prodigious memory in the hope of recovering some data relating to that specific time," Iago replied without moving. "Now shut up and let me concentrate."

I turned to Ashley, but he too was deep in thought; his eyes were hooded, unblinking, and he was staring out into space, occasionally muttering something incomprehensible under his breath.

"Fine, then," I muttered. "I'll talk to myself."

And I did, until they both violently shushed me, at which point I gave in and stared out of the window instead.

---

Veilstone had been dusty. Pastoria was... moist.

I'd been there before, but it was still an unwelcome surprise. The air was damp and cold, as if it had just rained – as indeed it probably had. Pastoria was the wettest city in Sinnoh by a long way, catching the rain that fell from the clouds that travelled east from the sea and ended up stuck on the side of Mount Coronet.

"Ugh," I said, turning up the collar of my coat. "I hate Pastoria."

"It's very atmospheric," observed Ashley, looking around at the neo-Gothic buildings and wind-ruffled puddles. "I would have thought you liked it."

Well, it was a good place for a horror movie, I could see that much. Dark and damp, with buildings that looked like they could once have been outhouses at Dracula's castle – it was undeniably creepy, but it wasn't a detective sort of place, and it was also just kind of depressing. There's only so much Gothic architecture and rain that a person can take before she starts thinking she's trapped in an Edgar Allen Poe story and commits suicide.

"No," I replied. "It's horrible." Then: "So, where are we going?"

"Nowhere just yet," Ashley said. "I haven't thought of anything. How about you, Iago?"

"Ssh. Not yet."

"All right." Ashley turned to me. "I suppose we should find a base of operations, since we're going to be here a few days. Do you know any good hotels?"

"In general or in Pastoria?"

"Don't be facetious, it doesn't suit you. In Pastoria."

"No."

"In that case, I shall trust in the knowledge of this taxi driver."

"What taxi driver?"

"This one. Taxi!"

One rounded the corner, and Ashley hailed it; a minute or two later, we were all inside and heading for the somewhat Norsely named Hrafn Hotel. Ten minutes into the journey, Iago had his idea.

"Found a match," he said abruptly. "Got the link. It's Donnie."

"Darko?" asked Ashley, turning around in the front seat.

"Yeah."

"Oh, of course!" cried Ashley. "Twenty-eight days, six hours, forty-two minutes, twelve seconds!"

"That is when the world will end," stated Iago. "Yeah. It's a Frank line."

"Excuse me, but what is this?" I asked.

"Donnie Darko," said Ashley.

"A 2001 film by Richard Kelly," said Iago. "Starring Jake Gyllenhaal, Jena Malone, Drew Barrymore, Patrick Swayze, Maggie Gyllenhaal, Noah Wyle and Mary McDonnell. Runtime 113 minutes, or 133 if you're watching the director's cut. Set in 1988, where the title character (Jake Gyllenhaal) keeps seeing a man in a rabbit suit named Frank, who incites him to commit crimes and tells him that in twenty-eight days, six hours, forty-two minutes and twelve seconds, the world will end. It failed to break even at cinemas, having been shot on a budget of 4.5 million dollars and only grossing—"

"Enough," interrupted Ashley. "I think she gets the idea. It's a reference, Pearl; the numbers are too similar for it to be a coincidence. Maragos has given us our starting point." He smiled. "Iago. Do you remember what Grandma Death says to Donnie?"

"Of course. 'Every living—' oh, yeah, that's quite funny, isn't it?"

He chuckled, and I had to ask what the line was; they might leave me out of their League business, but I was damned if they were going to leave me out of their jokes.

"'Every living creature dies alone'," said Ashley, laughing and unnerving the taxi driver, who edged away from him. "Oh, I laughed so hard when I heard that. The other people in the cinema were very annoyed."

I didn't know what was weirder: the fact that Ashley found that funny or the fact that Ashley watched films.

"Er, O-K," I said. "What does it mean, then?"

"I have absolutely no idea," confessed Ashley. "Rest assured, though, that I will work it out presently. I just need a little more time to think."

It might just have been me, but I didn't think that was true somehow; I had a strange feeling that Ashley knew exactly what it meant, and that he didn't want Iago listening in.

Wait. Was... was Iago the Galactic mole? Everything fit, didn't it? He'd do anything if the price was right; he had a defective heart, utterly barren and devoid of compassion. Was that why Ashley didn't want to say anything – he thought Iago might report it to Maragos?

I smiled to myself and gave Ashley a knowing wink, to which he replied with a puzzled look.

"Why— actually, I won't ask. I need to think."

"We're here," announced the cabbie, as the taxi drew to a halt. "That's four hundred and seventy-two dollars, then..."

I sighed and handed over my credit card. Not for the first time, I wondered if perhaps Ashley only kept me around as a source of cash.

---

Many miles away, a busy passenger aeroplane was making its way through the newly-cleared sky over Mount Coronet; the air hostesses had just come around and offered everyone an unspeakably foul but mercifully small portion of what might in some alternate reality be called a meal, and our spectral friends, comfortably seated in seats 31A to C, were beginning to feel that perhaps there was something to be said for air travel after all.

(It might be asked where the three human passengers who had been meant to occupy seats 31A, B and C were, for this was a popular flight; the answer was that they were currently in the car park, deep within that deep and dreamless form of sleep known as catatonic. Upon hearing this, it might be asked why they were catatonic in the car park, and to find an answer to that question one would have to ask Pigzie Doodle, for just as those unfortunate souls' minds were now diminished, so he appeared to have grown.)

"This is rather nice, isn't it?" said Ellen, looking around. "We're so high up!" Here she made an expansive gesture towards the window. "And it really does seem quite safe."

"Indeed, madam," agreed Bond, as if he had never entertained a doubt in his life about the safety of heavier-than-air travel.

I told you it'd be fine, said Pigzie Doodle, picking childhood memories out from between his teeth. But no one listens to a humble Duskull. No one even asks why someone who's been around longer than Christianity hasn't evolved yet.

And so it will be seen that they were all enjoying themselves, for Ellen and Bond enjoyed the novelty and Pigzie Doodle enjoyed feeling superior to them, and events might have continued in this vein until the plane landed had not at that moment there come a very distinctive sound from without.

"What was that noise?" asked Ellen.

Pigzie Doodle froze.

Er, he said. Well. You know that wonderful sound when a small child laughs, and it brightens everyone's day?

"Ye-es?"

Well, it wasn't that, it was an engine exploding. Buckle up, kids!

And then, as Bond would later put it, things got rather interesting.
 
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Silent Memento

Future Authoress
85
Posts
12
Years
Oh, Skyrim. If I hear one more "arrow to the knee" comment, I'm going to massacre a whole freaking village - and I haven't even played the game yet.

...Why do I get the feeling that Pearl's going to majorly screw things up? If Iago is the traitor, Ashley has to know about it - and if Ashley knows about it, it wouldn't make sense for him to be confused at Pearl's knowing wink. I get that he's poor at social interactions, but surely he can't be that bad, right?

Another thing doesn't make sense. If Iago is the traitor, he has to be suspicious at this point. That's two times where Ashley's cut him out of the loop in this chapter alone. If he's reporting knowledge to Cyrus, it has to make him nervous and feel like they're on to him. If Ashley's trying to make Iago feel comfortable in order to lull him into a false sense of security, he's doing a really poor job at it; he's drawing more attention to himself than Pearl, for fate's sake. If he's doing it to intentionally drive Iago away, I don't get it; it would be so much more useful to give a spy false information.

However, there's other possibilities (another really insane theory of mine that probably won't make a lick of sense. Joy.):

Spoiler:


Oh well. Ishmael is amazing, as he usually is. And I love how you've described Pastoria. I love that city (even though I don't care for Wake, it's still my favorite city in Sinnoh).

I'm really excited to see what the next chapter is going to turn out like. I'll be waiting.

Sincerely,

Mem.
 
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Cutlerine

Gone. May or may not return.
1,030
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13
Years
Oh, Skyrim. If I hear one more "arrow to the knee" comment, I'm going to massacre a whole freaking village - and I haven't even played the game yet.

Oddly enough, I actually did that - massacre a whole village, that is. And it was wholly accidental. Because Skyrim entrusted control over someone's actions to me, I managed to fail the first mission of the game, which is asking someone for help. I killed a chicken in the first town, whereupon everyone in the place attempted to kill me and I was forced to burn each and every one of them to death, including the one I was supposed to ask for help. It was not one of my finer moments; since children are immortal, they all survived the massacre and sent hired killers after me for a very long time. Sigh. Such is life, I suppose; I seem to be doomed to be an accidental supervillain.

...Why do I get the feeling that Pearl's going to majorly screw things up? If Iago is the traitor, Ashley has to know about it - and if Ashley knows about it, it wouldn't make sense for him to be confused at Pearl's knowing wink. I get that he's poor at social interactions, but surely he can't be that bad, right?

Another thing doesn't make sense. If Iago is the traitor, he has to be suspicious at this point. That's two times where Ashley's cut him out of the loop in this chapter alone. If he's reporting knowledge to Cyrus, it has to make him nervous and feel like they're on to him. If Ashley's trying to make Iago feel comfortable in order to lull him into a false sense of security, he's doing a really poor job at it; he's drawing more attention to himself than Pearl, for fate's sake. If he's doing it to intentionally drive Iago away, I don't get it; it would be so much more useful to give a spy false information.

Mm. Theories are delicious, aren't they? Rest assured that there's an explanation that ties everything up, just as there always is. And I'm sure you know exactly how crazy it'll be.

However, there's other possibilities (another really insane theory of mine that probably won't make a lick of sense. Joy.):

Spoiler:


Oh well. Ishmael is amazing, as he usually is. And I love how you've described Pastoria. I love that city (even though I don't care for Wake, it's still my favorite city in Sinnoh).

I'm really excited to see what the next chapter is going to turn out like. I'll be waiting.

Ashley isn't perfect, I'll say that much. He's not really a genius, just... very experienced; he doesn't always win. But I've given too much away already; I'll have to rein myself in with thoughts of Crasher Wake.

Oh, Crasher. My old nemesis. Rock-type Platinum monotype run on an emulator? Without the ability to trade or go underground, you end up with this team by the time you get to Pastoria: Graveler, Onix, Rhyhorn and Probopass. It took me weeks to beat him; I would lose confidence, or get bored with the endless, endless grinding, and leave it for two days to come back again. That I ever beat him at all with those four is nothing short of a miracle, and a testament to the power of Probopass, who single-handedly took down the Gyarados and the Floatzel, and made a brave stab at the Quagsire only to be felled by Mud Shot. Damn you, Wake, I won! Why won't you leave me alone? I have the Badge, so stop! Torturing! Me!

...

Er... yeah, so I have a thing about Crasher Wake. I don't know why I force myself to do Rock-type runs, to be honest. It's really nothing more than softcore masochism, only without the benefit of enjoying the pain.

And the relevance of all this? I suppose it's an explanation for why Crasher Wake doesn't come off too well in this story. The slimy luchador *******.

Nevertheless, I don't have too much against Pastoria. I just thought I'd theme it, for some reason. I suspect this might become a regular thing; it's certainly quite prevalent in the next chapter. Which should hopefully be up either today or tomorrow, depending on how long it takes me to finish the damn thing.

F.A.B.
 
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Cutlerine

Gone. May or may not return.
1,030
Posts
13
Years
Chapter Twenty-Two: In Which There is Much Detectivery

'Pastoria City's the best place in Sinnoh to write poetry. You can really feel the rainy miasma in your soul there.'
—Gloomrainia Shadowdespair, How to Write Goth Poetry

Stephanie Knew Too Much.

And she was under no misapprehensions about it. This was no conspiracy movie cliché – she really did know a lot more than anyone was meant to, and she had no doubt that there were going to be repercussions if she was ever found out.

Serious repercussions. Of the sort that generally befall those who Know Too Much.

Repercussions of the kind that involve midnight visitors and garrottes, or possibly black-suited agents and detention centres.

So naturally, Stephanie had taken precautions. There was now no incriminating information stored on her computer; she had wiped it all off, and consigned the hard copy she had printed to the shredder, and the remains to a fire. Now the only source of data she had was her own memory, and that, she felt, was pretty safe – or as safe as anything could be, anyway.

She was still fairly tense, of course. At any moment, she knew, someone might walk off the street and casually kill or abduct her; according to her research, the League had killed before to preserve its secrets, and would do so again without compunction. Ordinarily, Stephanie wouldn't have believed these conspiracy theories, but she'd met Ashley now, and found out about Darkling Town – and after that she would have believed almost anything about the Sinnoh League.

Yes, she Knew Too Much now. She knew about Allegra Fairfax and Nathaniel Pyke. She knew about the hushed-up Pokémon disasters and the star. She even knew about the chambers that didn't appear on the plan of the Elite Four building on Gibbous Island, the vaults below ground, where certain things that were best kept out of the public eye were housed.

And Pearl still hadn't called her.

It was getting quite annoying, really. Stephanie had got herself a new phone, and she would have thought that Pearl would have done by now too; after all, she was the one who'd wanted this information, not Stephanie. If Pearl didn't call soon... well, Stephanie wasn't sure what she'd do, but the tension definitely wasn't doing her nerves any favours.

So she kept going, fingernails bitten down to the quick, and waited for the phone to ring.

---

Inside, the Hrafn Hotel was even creepier than it looked from outside. A large battleaxe, crusted with ancient blood, hung on the wall over the reception desk; the receptionist himself had a steel eyepatch and a raven on each shoulder. He was also seven feet tall and dressed in what looked like bear fur.

"Greetings," he rumbled, in a heavily-accented voice. "I am Wednesday. Do you have a reservation?"

"Is he...?" whispered Iago.

"Yes," I replied. "Yes, he definitely is. I'm trying not to think about it."

"No, we don't," Ashley told Wednesday. "Will that be a problem?"

"It depends how much you're willing to pay," he replied. "Many of our cheaper rooms are taken this time of year. Pastoria is a popular honeymoon spot."

"Who in their right mind wants to spend their honeymoon in Pastoria?" I asked.

"Goths," replied Wednesday frankly. "From the East."

Ah. Sunyshore was notorious for its Goth population; you'd have thought Pastoria would have more, but they preferred to save it for their holidays, as a treat. A rainy, depressing treat.

"We have almost limitless funds," Ashley proclaimed, which was a statement calculated to dismay the one with the credit card. "So. Three rooms, if you please."

Three... There was something strange about that.

"What? Are you planning on sleeping for once, Ashley?" Iago asked.

That was it – Ashley had said earlier that he didn't sleep any more. So why did he want a room now?

"Yes," he replied. "I'll need the rest."

Iago looked suspicious, but said nothing; Wednesday told us that rooms 13, 666 and 42 were unoccupied, and held out the keys.

"Why?" I asked. "Surely Goths would want those rooms more than the others?"

"No, they're too nonconformist to be nonconformist in such a conformist way," said Iago. "It's a weak attempt to assert some individuality. Pathetic, really; if you really want to show people that you're different, you're better off becoming a serial killer."

Wednesday gave him an odd look, and shook the keys; Ashley took them from him, gave me one and Iago another, and led us away towards the stairs.

---

It turned out that I had room 13, which was something of a relief; I'm not really superstitious, but I wouldn't have liked 42. Unsurprisingly, it was panelled in dark wood and boasted a large four-poster bed; the cord that drew the curtains bore more than a passing resemblance to a noose, and the door-frame a gallows. I threw my bag on the bed, turned around and went back outside – where I was immediately accosted by Ashley.

"Come," he said. "We have work to do."

I looked at my watch.

"Ashley, it's eight o'clock; can't we get something to eat?"

"We'll stop off on the way," he conceded. "Just come on, will you? The Donnie link throws up multiple lines of inquiry, and we have to investigate them all. Tonight, if possible."

"You do realise I have to sleep at some point?"

"Real detectives don't sleep," he informed me.

"Maybe they do, maybe they don't," muttered Iago – which made me jump; I hadn't seen him standing behind Ashley. "Can we just get on with this? I'm hungry."

"Well, that's what I'm trying to do," said Ashley. "Now come on."

A few minutes later, we were in yet another taxi – honestly, did Ashley never think to take the subway? – and heading for Banninet Street. This turned out to be a quiet cul-de-sac in a residential district, which confused me until Ashley and Iago led me down two roads and up to the (decidedly Gothic) iron gates of the Courmocan District High School. It didn't take a genius to figure out that we'd stopped short of our destination because it was pretty weird to go around visiting schools at half past eight in the evening.

"Why are we here?" I asked. "I thought I'd escaped school three years ago."

"I never went to school," said Ashley. "And I want to see what I missed."

"Really?"

"No. Pearl, you really must stop falling for that one."

"We're here because a large part of Donnie Darko is set in a high school," said Iago. "And this is the biggest one in Pastoria. We'll check it out, and if we can't find anything we'll have to look up the others and go through them."

"And if we find nothing there, we'll investigate the airport and any eerie old houses inhabited only by insane elderly women," concluded Ashley.

"How long is this going to take?" I asked.

"It depends on whether or not you choose to sleep," he replied frankly. "You should probably be prepared to stay up until nine in the morning; I usually manage to find some sort of clue by then."

"If you think you'll need it, I think I have some ecstasy somewhere," offered Iago, which was a comment that I chose to outwardly ignore but filed away for future reference.

I sighed and looked up at the gate, its bars glinting in the moonlight.

"Are we breaking in, then?"

"Well, I suppose I could ask Wake for permission," said Ashley thoughtfully. "And I could cooperate with him and the Pastoria police force, get a warrant and the backup of the whole city."

"So we're definitely breaking in, then?"

"Oh yes," said Ashley, and started to climb the gate.

---

"You said it was safe!"

And I was right, wasn't I? I mean, you're not hurt.

"I'm dead!"

In my defence, that isn't a result of the plane crash.


Ellen slipped on the snow and almost fell back into the fuselage; at the last moment, Bond's white-gloved fingers wrapped themselves around her wrist, and steadied her.

"Madam," he began, but Ellen didn't seem to be finished speaking.

"And you said it was safe too!" she cried, jabbing her finger at him and hitting him painfully in the sternum. Bond, of course, did not react, other than to incline his head slightly.

"I believe that this is a very rare occurrence—"

"You said that this wouldn't fall out of the sky!"

"I had every reason to believe that that was so—"

"The wing exploded!"

Shut up, snapped Pigzie Doodle, rolling over in midair and shaking a flight attendant's thumb out of his skull. You're fine. We're all fine. Well, except for the three hundred other passengers, but let's not dwell on that, hm? We just have to travel by foot now, and so our journey might take a bit longer than I'd previously anticipated.

"We fell from the clouds!" shrieked Ellen, kicking a piece of landing gear hard and sending it skittering down the slope. "We landed on a mountain! And – and now we have to walk to Veilstone!"

"Madam, the fact that the aeroplane crashed here is due to no more or less than extreme bad luck," said Bond, as serenely as a swan. "Please, let us put all of this unpleasantness behind us, and move on."

Perhaps it was the powerful aura of tranquillity he exuded, but Ellen actually did seem to calm down a little, and she sat down on one of the surviving seats.

"Very well," she sighed. "I'm calm now."

"Excellent," said Bond. "Now, I propose we commend ourselves to the direction of Pigzie Doodle."

"And hope he doesn't almost kill us again," muttered Ellen.

"Madam," said Bond, with just the faintest trace of warning in his voice, and she fell silent.

Everyone calm now? OK. Here's the plan.
Pigzie Doodle paused. While you two were lying there unconscious, looking like sleeping puddles of mercury, I drifted upwards and had a little look around. The bad news is that with the engine on one side gone, the plane must've started turning in a circle as it fell, and it's... Well, let's just say we've landed in a bad place.

"Where are we?" asked Ellen, suddenly concerned.

We're just west of Hearthome, replied Pigzie Doodle. He was a little more serious than usual; it seemed like traces of worry had leaked into his voice. We're in about as bad a place as we could possibly be.

"What? What is it?"

Hearthome has a Ghost-type Gym, he said. There are a hell of a lot of us in one place, and because there are so many, even more of us are attracted. There's also a tower with lots of Ghost-types nearby, and a monstrous Ghost in the basement of it.

"What are you trying to say, Ishmael?"

That the city is stewing with Ghosts, Pigzie Doodle said. Ghosts who regard people like you as nothing more than prey. Ghosts who would see a lone Duskull as fair game; Ghosts who would view a Duskull that actually travels with human ghosts as completely insane and probably to be destroyed on sight.

"What is it, madam?" asked Bond, sensing that something undesirable was either about to happen or in the process of happening.

"We're close to Hearthome City, Bond," Ellen replied, a slight tremor in her voice. "Do you recall what Mans told us about Hearthome City?"

Bond closed his eyes.

"Perfectly, madam," he replied, and promised himself a career change as soon as this was over.

---

"I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad," sang Ashley quietly. "The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had."

"Stop being creepy," I replied. It was bad enough skulking around in a school in the dead of night, every shadow appearing to conceal a hidden policeman or lurking monster; I didn't need Ashley singing weird songs as well.

"It's from the film," he replied. "Iago can give you the details."

"It's called 'Mad World'," the Kadabra told me immediately. "Released as a single in 1982 by Tears for Fears, it was covered in 2001 by Gary Jules and Michael Andrews for Donnie Darko, in a minimalist style. This version reached #1 on the UK charts and—"

"All right, you know everything, I know that already," I grumbled. "You don't have to prove it." We walked on for a little while longer, and then I asked: "Where are we going, anyway?"

"Down to the basement," Ashley replied. "To the boiler room. It's the first place in the school we need to check."

The boiler room, when we got there, turned out to contain about a thousand litres of water, which was probably meant to remain inside a tank but which instead washed out and around our ankles when we opened the door. I found it singularly unpleasant; there's something really quite nasty about getting your feet wet when the rest of you remains dry.

"Ah," said Ashley, staring at the water. "It looks like we're heading in the right direction."

"How do you know this is the right direction?" I asked; that was when he pointed out the axe in the water main.

"This happens in the film," he said, as if that was explanation enough on its own, and stepped in. For a moment, I considered whether or not I should follow – the water level had dropped to about a millimetre since we'd opened the door, but it was still flowing freely – and then decided that my shoes were already ruined, and it could do no harm to enter.

"Get on with it," snapped Iago from behind me. "I want to get this over with and have a beer and a pizza."

That sounded quite pleasant.

"Might have to join you," I said, going in and curling my toes inside my shoes as the water squelched around them.

"Well you can, since you can pay and I'm not averse to getting drunk with you," he said. "Just hurry up."

Inside, the boiler room was almost completely dark; I could just about make out the axe and the water, and a series of pipes around the walls that looked like they belonged on the maintenance deck of a spaceship, but that was it.

"Ashley?" I called in a low voice. What is it about being in the dark that makes you whisper? I knew Iago was behind me and a detective with superpowers was somewhere in front of me, but my heart was still racing; a whirl of images from the long, terrifying nights of childhood rattled through my mind: tigers on the ceiling, hands that reach out from under the bed, pale faces in the shadows with sharp-toothed grins and black-rimmed eyes—

"What is it?" asked Ashley, and now that he turned towards me I could see his eyes were two little rifts in the dark, cold yellow lights that lit up his nose and forehead.

"Uh, nothing," I said, wondering if he could tell how nervous I was and deciding that he probably could. "Just... found anything?"

"Not yet," he replied. "There's nothing out of order on any of the pipes, and I don't think the axe has anything written on it." The glow of his eyes disappeared; I guessed he turned away to investigate something.

"How can you—?"

"You watched him fight off a swarm of Combee using only the skin of his arms," interrupted Iago. "You really think he can't see in the dark?"

"Oh. Yeah. Er, right." I stood there and fidgeted nervously for a moment. "Found anything yet?"

The yellow lights returned sharply.

"If you give me more than four seconds, I might be able to find something," Ashley snapped. "Even I'm not that good."

"All right, all right," I said. "Sorry."

It felt like an hour later when Ashley next spoke, but it was probably only a few minutes.

"Back outside," he ordered. "We're done in here."

"Did you find something—?"

"Not quite, but it's here," he said cryptically, pushing past me. "Come on; I assume you don't want to stay here in this little lake."

He was right; I didn't, and so retreated thankfully to the corridor, which, as it turned out, was now just as wet as the boiler room. In fact, the water level seemed to be rising; if no one noticed by morning, it was probably going to reach the classrooms above.

"There it is," said Ashley, bending down and picking something up off the floor. "It washed out when the water came out; that's why I couldn't find anything inside." He examined it. "I know who put the axe in the pipe," he announced. "What about you, Pearl?"

"No, but I have a feeling you're about to tell me."

"Go on. Guess."

"Uh, OK. Is it... Liza and Tristan?"

"Well, Tristan at least," said Ashley, holding out the thing he'd picked up; in the dim light, I could just about see that it was a piece of coloured foil. "It's part of the wrapper from a Kinder Egg – a curious European treat that I've noticed Tristan seems to like a great deal. Every time I've seen him, he's had one or two about his person."

"Great," said Iago sarcastically. "We could've guessed this much – have I got my feet wet for nothing here?"

"No," replied Ashley. "Look closely."

Iago and I crowded closer, peering at the foil – and realised with a start that it had been folded into a tiny origami unicorn.

"What the hell? A unicorn?" I looked up at Ashley. "Why is it a unicorn?"

He and Iago looked at each other.

"Do you think—" began Ashley.

"Oh yes," agreed Iago. "He's using—"

"How strange."

"Yeah. It is, isn't it?"

"That's enough," I said, resisting the urge to knock their heads together. "What does the unicorn mean?"

They turned to me, man and Kadabra, and said as one:

"Blade Runner."

---

"How's it going?" asked Liza.

"Nearly done," replied Tristan, twisting two pieces of wire together and pressing them down into the casing. "OK?"

"Yeah." Liza sat down on an empty packing case and watched him work for a while. It was quite remarkable really; Tristan might be a moron, but his skills as a bombsmith were unmatched. Was that a word? Bombsmith? If not, she decided, it should be. Anyway, she'd never seen such a complex bomb as he was making constructed so swiftly and with such accuracy; Liza was no slouch in the field herself, and she knew that the machine taking shape before her was good. "You dry yet?"

"No," admitted Tristan, glancing down at his soaking boots. "You?"

"No." Liza looked around and drummed her fingers on the wall impatiently. They were behind schedule – there was still plenty to prepare for the Diamond's appraisal – and there were another two address here in Pastoria, those of Berenice Anders and Samantha Wilson, which she wanted to investigate. Either of them could be the one...

"There," said Tristan triumphantly, straightening up and dusting off his hands. "All done." He was about to high-five his Croagunk, but then remembered his poisonous claws, and thought better of it. "So, er, what's next, Liza?"

"You're sure that's done?" Liza slid off the case and back to her feet.

"Yes. All we have to do is press the button and set the timer going." Tristan indicated the button, which was of the large red variety that one is usually forbidden to touch. "Shall I?"

"No, not yet." Liza checked her watch, keeping a careful eye on the second hand; this whole event had to be very carefully timed. "Get ready... get ready... get ready... now."

Tristan's finger clicked down on the button, and the numbers on the digital display blinked into life.

"OK," said Liza. "Timer's set. Let's move."

"Where are we going now?" asked Tristan as they left. "The hotel?"

"I wish," replied Liza, sighing and running a hand through her hair. It came away slightly blue, she noted; what was it about her hair that made it so resistant to dyeing? "No, we've got more work to do. You need to help me kidnap some people."

"Ooh! Ooh! A kidnapping!" Tristan bounced up and down in excitement. "Can I tie them up?"

"The last time you tied someone up you managed to hogtie yourself."

Here, Jackie let out an amused croak; he remembered that one.

"OK, OK. Can I knock them out prior to the spiriting away?"

"How? You're not strong enough."

"I could use Jackie—"

"We don't want to kill them."

"OK." Tristan thought. "How about this: can I—"

"No," Liza said firmly, pushing open the main door and stepping out into the cool night air. "You don't get to do any of that."

"Well, what can I do?" whined Tristan. "I just built you the most powerful bomb in Sinnoh – I deserve to do something."

Liza pondered. He did have a point.

"You can stick the duct tape over their mouths," she conceded at last.

Tristan sighed in satisfaction, and joined her in the car. Things were looking up for him.

---

"OK," I said, "will someone please tell me what is going on?"

"Iago?" asked Ashley. "If you would be so kind."

Iago sighed.

"Fine, but let it be recorded that I object to being used as a fact regurgitator. Blade Runner, 1982, sort of based on the novel Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, by Isaac Asimov. The main stars were Harrison Ford, Rutger Hauer and Sean Young. It follows the efforts of one Rick Deckard, as he attempts to track down and destroy four genetic robots, replicants, who have illegally returned to Earth to track down their maker in an attempt to extend their lives. Like Donnie Darko, it wasn't a huge success at first, but has since become a cult classic."

"For whatever reason, Maragos is using cult films as his clues," Ashley said. "I suspect that this is him showing off, or perhaps he thinks I'll solve the case too quickly if he structures it like a conventional mystery."

"So what's the unicorn connection?" I asked.

"The most famous symbol in Blade Runner is the unicorn," Iago replied. "It's the means by which Deckard's reality is called into question; through showing him an origami unicorn, that weird guy with the accent communicates to him that he might well be a replicant himself. Hey, do you think there's a theme here?"

"There might be, I suppose," said Ashley. "But that's beside the point. We were lucky enough to get what we wanted; now I suggest we leave, before someone finds us here next to an axe in a water main and puts two and two together."

"We didn't get what we wanted," I said, as we started heading for the upper floors. "I mean, where's the food?"

"A damn fine point," said Iago, thumping his fist into the palm of his hand. "Ashley, I command you to let Pearl and I stop for beer and pizza."

"Do I have to be there?"

"Not ordinarily, but with all this weird cal going on... yes. You have to stay with me at all times."

Ashley ground his teeth.

"Oh, fine," he said. "Suit yourself."

"Great. Now, it's been six years, so it might have closed down, but there's a great place on Hircine Avenue..."


Note: As those of you well versed in Sinnish culture will no doubt know, 42 is a very unlucky number in Sinnoh, owing to a spectacularly bad translation of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. This is in no way a desperate attempt on my part to find a third unlucky number.
 
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40
Posts
12
Years
  • Seen Nov 9, 2013
Hi Cutlerine!

This story is getting very good now!

Review:

Disclaimer: I am not an English teacher, tutor, major, or student, and this is not writing advice.

Overall reaction: The first few chapters were not so good. Reading it felt awkward. (I think we all needed some time to get over Puck and Fabien et al.) Now it has broken out of the shadow of its predecessor and is coming into its own.

End review.

Fan stuff:

1. Driftenburg theme. A song popped into my head while reading. I wondered what it was for a while, and eventually realized it was this (yay for subconscious title match):
http://kjos.vo.llnwd.net/o28/audio/mp3/so145.mp3
Atwell, Shirl Jae. "Drifen." Neil A Kjos Music Company, 1997. <http://www.kjos.com/detail.php?table=author&division=4&auth_id=52>

2. Predictions.

a) Cyrus is bluffing about the power of his bomb. It's only got enough boom to kill Pearl. Or knock out Ashley for a few hours.

b) It's probably just an NBC weapon to kill Pearl (dirty bomb, germ bomb, and/or nerve agent/other poison).

c) Ok, ok, it's a nuke. Or some sort of exotic poke-nuke, if you will. But it's still only got enough boom to kill Pearl. Or knock out Ashley for a few hours. Because if high-yield weapons were available, they could have been used against Groudon/Kyogre.
 
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Cutlerine

Gone. May or may not return.
1,030
Posts
13
Years
Hi Cutlerine!

This story is getting very good now!

Review:

Disclaimer: I am not an English teacher, tutor, major, or student, and this is not writing advice.

Overall reaction: The first few chapters were not so good. Reading it felt awkward. (I think we all needed some time to get over Puck and Fabien et al.) Now it has broken out of the shadow of its predecessor and is coming into its own.

End review.

I know, I know. Basically, the problem is that I started too soon after finishing The Thinking Man's Guide to Destroying the World. I didn't leave myself any time to reset my writingness to zero and start again properly. I've been meaning to redo the first few chapters for a while now, and this reminder is exactly what I need. I'll get to it in the next couple of days.

Fan stuff:

1. Driftenburg theme. A song popped into my head while reading. I wondered what it was for a while, and eventually realized it was this (yay for subconscious title match):
http://kjos.vo.llnwd.net/o28/audio/mp3/so145.mp3
Atwell, Shirl Jae. "Drifen." Neil A Kjos Music Company, 1997. <http://www.kjos.com/detail.php?table=author&division=4&auth_id=52>

2. Predictions.

a) Cyrus is bluffing about the power of his bomb. It's only got enough boom to kill Pearl. Or knock out Ashley for a few hours.

b) It's probably just an NBC weapon to kill Pearl (dirty bomb, germ bomb, and/or nerve agent/other poison).

c) Ok, ok, it's a nuke. Or some sort of exotic poke-nuke, if you will. But it's still only got enough boom to kill Pearl. Or knock out Ashley for a few hours. Because if high-yield weapons were available, they could have been used against Groudon/Kyogre.

It might not necessarily be a nuke, remember? It might be a different sort of bomb, a bomb that would easily take out a quarter of Pastoria but be completely unable to harm Groudon or Kyogre. That sort of weapon does exist - or it does now, because I made it up about a month ago.

From Cyrus' point of view, whether or not they solve the case and disarm it is irrelevant. If they fail, they die, which removes them from the equation; if they succeed, they've spent enough time trying that Team Galactic will have finished up their preparations and be ready to move into Phase Two of their operation. The only reason the bomb needs to be that strong is to provide a strong incentive for our heroes to find and defuse it.

Anyway, thanks for prodding me about the early chapters, and I'm glad you're liking the later ones. It's good to know that I have readers plural rather than a reader, singular.

F.A.B.
 

Silent Memento

Future Authoress
85
Posts
12
Years
"Why?" I asked. "Surely Goths would want those rooms more than the others?"

"No, they're too nonconformist to be nonconformist in such a
conformist way," said Iago. "It's a weak attempt to assert some individuality. Pathetic, really; if you really want to show people that you're different, you're better off becoming a serial killer."

Oh, I laughed my head off at that quote. I really don't know know if you intended to do this or not, but that quote just reminded me of a character I wrote about - a goth trainer who moonlights as a serial killer.

I was wondering when Stephanie was going to make her appearance. You know, I wonder how many of the things that she mentioned are relevant to this plot...and I also wonder how many things she didn't mention.

Bond - is - freaking - awesome. He totally needs a new job, but I'm guessing that in spite of his thoughts, he wouldn't want to leave Ellen behind. He's just a really calm, tolerant, selfless, and believable character.

Tristan can't figure out that his own Croagunk would kill the person they're trying to kidnap, but he can build a complex bomb in a matter of seconds. Go figure.

There's one confusing thing about the Galactic duo scene:

"Nearly done," replied Tristan, twisting two pieces of wire together and pressing them down into the casing. "OK?"

"Yeah." Liza sat down on an empty packing case and watched him work for a while. It was quite remarkable really; Tristan might be a moron, but his skills as a bombsmith were unmatched. Was that a word? Bombsmith? If not, she decided, it should be. Anyway, she'd never seen such a complex bomb as he was making constructed so swiftly and with such accuracy; Liza was no slouch in the field herself, and she knew that the machine taking shape before her was good. "You dry yet?"

"No," admitted Liza, glancing down at her soaking boots. "You?"

"No." Liza looked around and drummed her fingers on the wall impatiently.

It's just a bit vague as to who's speaking in the bolded part. Is it Liza or Tristan?

Anyway, you're far from the only person who hates Wake. I can tolerate him, at least; I've never had real problems with him, since I use Luxray a fair bit. I think the only gym leader I hate beyond all reason is Whitney. Damn you, Miltank! Stop abusing stomp, attract, and milk drink, you fat, ugly cow! Just let me win for once!

...Sorry about that off-topic tangent.

Anyway, things are just starting to get interesting. I'll be waiting for the next chapter.

Sincerely,

Mem.

Edit: If this review seems weird, it's likely because I wrote it at four in the morning. My apologies.
 
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olih

Who says you can't go home?
417
Posts
13
Years
This story is getting good ^_^ The characters are very believable, and the plot's moving along nicely :3 I like the slightly cynical theme of this, and Pearl as an unfortunate protagonist who has no clue was nicely done; it's kinda like your last story :P Great!
 
40
Posts
12
Years
  • Seen Nov 9, 2013
1. Uh, Cutlerine, you probably shouldn't listen to me. I probably set off a volcano that, while it would erupt anyway sometime in the future, (I don't know where this sentence is going)
What I mean is, keep in mind you can't please everybody and afaik I'm the only reader who doesn't really love the first few chapters.

2. Whatever that bomb is, it is an "exotic poke-nuke" to me (and your user title is "Nuclear!") as of now.

3. The important thing is, did you listen to Drifen? The publisher's website has a full recording available for free (the thing they sell is the sheet music) so it is certainly NOT piracy. Go ahead and download the mp3. Do it. Do it, do it, do itttt.... Oh and turn the volume up.
 
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Cutlerine

Gone. May or may not return.
1,030
Posts
13
Years
1. Uh, Cutlerine, you probably shouldn't listen to me. I probably set off a volcano that, while it would erupt anyway sometime in the future, (I don't know where this sentence is going)
What I mean is, keep in mind you can't please everybody and afaik I'm the only reader who doesn't really love the first few chapters.

Ah, you misunderstand me. This is nothing to do with pleasing the readers - I really have been planning to overhaul them for some time now. You're not deceived; they really are of subpar quality. I always say that if a story can be made better, it ought to be.

2. Whatever that bomb is, it is an "exotic poke-nuke" to me (and your user title is "Nuclear!") as of now.

My user title is Nuclear! for a completely different reason. It's to do with my avatar.

3. The important thing is, did you listen to Drifen? The publisher's website has a full recording available for free (the thing they sell is the sheet music) so it is certainly NOT piracy. Go ahead and download the mp3. Do it. Do it, do it, do itttt.... Oh and turn the volume up.

I meant to... and I will, as soon as I get around to it.

This story is getting good ^_^ The characters are very believable, and the plot's moving along nicely :3 I like the slightly cynical theme of this, and Pearl as an unfortunate protagonist who has no clue was nicely done; it's kinda like your last story :P Great!

It's kind of like, yeah. That's what I was aiming for. However, Pearl actually has a whole different set of strengths and weaknesses to Kester, as will be revealed in time...

Oh, I laughed my head off at that quote. I really don't know know if you intended to do this or not, but that quote just reminded me of a character I wrote about - a goth trainer who moonlights as a serial killer.

That was entirely unintentional. It's just that serial killers are funny. Wait. No they're not. Scratch that.

I was wondering when Stephanie was going to make her appearance. You know, I wonder how many of the things that she mentioned are relevant to this plot...and I also wonder how many things she didn't mention.

You'll like the next chapter, then.

Bond - is - freaking - awesome. He totally needs a new job, but I'm guessing that in spite of his thoughts, he wouldn't want to leave Ellen behind. He's just a really calm, tolerant, selfless, and believable character.

I know, I know, he's great. He's the only character (besides Pigzie Doodle) whose ultimate ending I've actually worked out properly so far, purely because he's awesome.

There's one confusing thing about the Galactic duo scene:

It's just a bit vague as to who's speaking in the bolded part. Is it Liza or Tristan?

Fixed. I, uh, must've lost concentration mid-paragraph there and regained it two sentences later.

Anyway, you're far from the only person who hates Wake. I can tolerate him, at least; I've never had real problems with him, since I use Luxray a fair bit. I think the only gym leader I hate beyond all reason is Whitney. Damn you, Miltank! Stop abusing stomp, attract, and milk drink, you fat, ugly cow! Just let me win for once!

I found Whitney horrendously difficult the first time, and really easy after that. It's Jasmine's Steelix that got me - especially in Gen 4 Contests. Did you know it's a Master Rank Beauty contestant? And that it always wins? Damn snake...

Edit: If this review seems weird, it's likely because I wrote it at four in the morning. My apologies.

It doesn't seem weird at all, which is probably a reflection on me rather than you.

F.A.B.
 

Cutlerine

Gone. May or may not return.
1,030
Posts
13
Years
Chapter Twenty-Three: In Which Pearl Calls Stephanie

'Hm? Oh, at first it was simply to gain my freedom, yes – there's no question about that. But over time... well. It's something of a cliché, is it not? Albeit one that almost never occurs in real life.'
—Ashley Lacrimére, interview on The Ruby Rhodes Show

Eleven o'clock at night. The hotel was silent. All was set and I was ready.

I slipped out of my room and down the corridor, pausing at regular intervals to check that nobody was following me; as it turned out, no one was, and I reached the lobby without incident. Wednesday was still there behind the desk, and I approached him as sneakily as possible.

"Ah, Miss Gideon," he said, when I was about thirty feet away. "What are you doing up at this hour?"

Blast. What hope was there for me as a detective if I couldn't even sneak up on a one-eyed man? As if they had read my thoughts, the ravens on the Norse receptionist's shoulders cackled, and I narrowed my eyes: had they sensed me and given me away?

"Little feathered bratchnies," I muttered under my breath – and then, louder: "Um, hi. I was wondering if there were any mobile phone shops nearby?"

Wednesday looked at me as if I'd suddenly climbed into my own pocket and carried myself out.

"A phone shop? At this time of night?"

"Er... well, when a girl needs a phone..."

"I don't know if any will be open," he said kindly, as if talking to an idiot. "Most shops are closed at night."

"Isn't there even one?"

"Well..." Wednesday pondered. "None of the real phone shops will be open now, but there are all-night electronics stores on Muscat Street."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. I always wondered why you'd need an all-night electronics store. I suppose now I know."

"Yeah. I guess you do."

I thanked him and walked out, where the cab I'd ordered from my room was waiting. I smiled. It was like one of those crime movies where there's an elaborate con, and all the parts move perfectly smoothly in that really satisfying way.

After our meal earlier – which had been a hurried affair, at Ashley's insistence – we'd headed straight back to the hotel, where Iago and Ashley had begun thinking about possible places to investigate based on the Blade Runner clue. This left me at a loose end, so after sitting around bored for a while I came up with a plan: I would do what I'd meant to do days ago, and get a new phone. Then I would call Stephanie, and see what she'd found out about Ashley.

As for why I was being so stealthy about it... well, that wasn't strictly necessary, but it was fun and I enjoyed it, even if I was awful at it.

The all-night electronics store was every bit as unpleasant as I thought it would be; the only mobile phones it sold were cheap and frankly nasty. The one I settled on was the least horrible, but it was still a poor trade for my thirty-eight thousand dollar Devon model; still, it was the best I could get right now, so I loaded Stephanie's number into it, got back in the cab and called her on the way to the Hrafn Hotel.

"Uhmm?"

"Steph? It's Pearl."

"For Christ's sake, I'd just fallen asleep," she mumbled.

"At eleven-twenty?"

"Not everyone's Pearl Gideon," she said. Then, as she woke up properly: "Wait. Pearl? Pearl, is that you?"

"Yeah, I just said—"

"What took you so long?" Stephanie demanded to know. "I've been waiting for this call ever since you left!"

"I only just got a new phone—"

"Only just? You're Pearl Gideon!" she snapped. "When have you ever passed up an opportunity to shop?"

"I've been pretty busy – I almost died—"

"It's been that way here ever since I learned the truth," Stephanie said darkly. "Pearl, for the last few days I've gone to bed fully expecting for someone to come and knife me in the night."

"Ah, I wouldn't worry about that – the guy whose job it is to knife people is here with me. Well, he's back at the hotel. Talking about movies with a superhuman detective in the hope of finding a bomb."

"Are you feeling all right?" asked Stephanie, after a suitable pause.

"Yeah," I replied. "It's just... things are weird here."

She gave a short, sharp laugh.

"You have no idea just how weird they really are," she said. "But I guess that's why you called."

"Yeah." I glanced at the cabbie and lowered my voice. "I've seen Ashley change his shape, Steph. I've seen Cynthia Buckley hug him because he'd shrugged off the effects of enough poison to kill an elephant. I've seen him make the strongest Ghost in Sinnoh scream for mercy without even moving. So tell me, Stephanie: what is he, and what is it that no one wants me to know?"

---

Liza punched the wall, splitting both her knuckles and the plaster; her fingers came away with a film of bloody dust.

"Cal," she hissed at the floor, voice rasping with anger. "Not here either."

74 Zana Road, which was supposed to be the residence of one Samantha Wilson, was in fact deserted – and had been for at least three years, judging by the state it was in.

She had searched so many, house after house after disappointing house, and now Liza was growing desperate. There were just four remaining places to check in Sinnoh – the last four in the world, in fact – and when they ran out—

"Stop," she told herself. "You're going to find the right place. You will. It has to be one of these."

And what if it isn't? asked the little voice inside her head. What if you find nothing? What do you do then, when it turns out that your life has no foundation after all?

"I go with Cyrus," Liza replied, after a pause. "I let him unmake the world, and I join him where nothing matters any more." She pulled away from the wall and rubbed her knuckles, wiping away the blood and plaster. "Bad cut," she said, wincing and thrusting her hand into her pocket. She could see to it later; it wasn't like it would kill her.

Liza left the bedroom, and was halfway down the stairs when one of those blinding recollections struck her: she was by a tower again, and there was an arch – that was very important, she knew, that there was an arch – and something rushed down upon her and her brethren with the points extended out towards them—

When Liza opened her eyes, she was lying at the bottom of the stairs, in the remnants of a rotting rug, and her head was aching as if it had been hit with a mallet. She barely registered the pain, though; her whole mind, her entire being, was bent upon one thought, one supreme thought that blazed in her mind like an erupting volcano:

There was an arch.

How long she stayed there, lying on the floor and staring sightlessly at the ceiling, was a mystery even to her. It might have been ten minutes, or ten hours; all Liza knew was that when she came to her senses, and the image of the arch faded from before her eyes, her clothes were damp from the moisture in the decaying floor.

"What the hell?" she mumbled, sitting up and rubbing her head, which had started to pulse with slow, dull bursts of pain. "There was an arch..."

Then it passed, and Liza got to her feet. She was slightly unsteady, and put a hand against the newel post to keep her balance; as she did so, she noticed that there was blood on it – though when she investigated further, she couldn't find its source.

"That's..." Liza shook her head and blinked firmly, trying to clear her head. "It's probably nothing," she decided eventually, and stumbled out.

---

"You have to understand, that's the most difficult question," Stephanie said, her voice low and urgent. "No one's completely sure – there're lots of different explanations. But I know the main three, and believe me, I think that's enough to have the League after me – especially since I'm pretty sure at least one of these is true."

"Are you OK?" I asked, frowning. Stephanie was almost gabbling; it was very unlike her. "You don't sound OK."

"I'm fine," she said. "Shut up and listen. Now, the first explanation is that he's somehow influenced by Dialga."

"Dialga?"

"You never read any books of legends as a kid?"

"Only the Greek ones."

Stephanie sighed; it sounded like it was born half of exasperation at my ignorance and impatience that she'd have to explain further before continuing.

"It's an Ancient Sinnish legend, Pearl. In the beginning was the One, the Alpha – Arceus. You know that one?"

"Yeah, of course." I made sure to sound indignant; everyone in Sinnoh knew about Arceus, the old creator-god. He was a national symbol: you could find him in statues and paintings across the nation, on the flag, on tinned food, for God's sake. In fact, I could see a picture of him advertising newspapers in a shop window outside the taxi – tall and red-skinned, holding a copy of the Pastoria Gazette in each of his many hands.

"Well, the legend goes that Arceus created two lesser gods to start the universe going," continued Stephanie. "Dialga and Palkia, the gods of time and space respectively. When they were born, the universe started to be."

"Hang on a minute," I said. "You think Ashley might somehow be channelling the power of the Ancient Sinnish god of time?"

"Everything fits," said Stephanie. "I've uncovered records of Ashley that go as far back as 1891; he's immortal, Pearl. He doesn't age. Like his body is frozen in time."

"Hm," I said, unconvinced. "Steph, are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm fine, just paranoid," she replied, surprisingly frankly. "Look, I'm serious about this. If Ashley is blessed by Dialga – or even is Dialga – it explains everything he can do. The only leap of faith is believing that Dialga exists."

"It's a pretty big one," I pointed out.

"I know. That's why I think the other two explanations are more likely," Stephanie went on. "Well, at least one of them is."

"Give me the likely one first."

"Do you remember that Zero affair from this summer?" she asked.

"Yeah, vaguely."

"Some people think Ashley's like Zero – a Ghost-type Pokémon fused with a human mind to create a new being."

"That would explain what he did to the Driftenburg," I mused. "And we know that that's definitely possible."

"Yes. But—"

"How did I know there was going to be a 'but'?" I sighed.

"Because twenty years of life is just about long enough to teach you that nothing's straightforward," replied Stephanie. "Anyway, I've got my doubts about this one. Ashley is supposed to be immune to having his mind read by Psychics, yeah?"

"Oh yeah – even the Alakazam at the reserve couldn't read it."

"You went to the reserve? No – wait – don't distract me. The point is, there's no Ghost species skilled enough in telepathy to resist that. A really strong one might kill or stun a Psychic before it managed to read anything, but it couldn't actively resist having its mind read. It's more like he's a—"

"A Time God?"

"No, I wasn't going to say that. I was going to say, like he's a Dark-type. Dark-type Pokémon are completely immune to everything Psychics can do."

"What do you mean?" I asked. "Dark-types can't get inside someone like a Ghost can."

"That's not strictly true," said Stephanie, sounding triumphant. "They can. I found a record of an old dual Ghost/Dark Pokémon from the sixteenth century – something called Spiritomb."

"You think that could be in Ashley?"

"It's a possibility," Stephanie told me. "It would give him the Ghost powers, and explain why no one can read his mind."

"But it wouldn't explain the shape-shifting," I said thoughtfully.

"The what?"

"Hang on, the taxi's stopping. Tell you in a minute."

I paid the driver, got out and walked over to the hotel; it was cold and the rain was beginning to get harder, so I ran over to the portico before putting the phone back to my ear.

"Sorry. What was I saying?"

"You were telling me about Ashley shape-shifting."

"Oh yeah. That. Well, I know he can do weird stuff with his arms."

I told her about the arm-blades and the bees as I went in.

"Combee? Pearl, are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Hey, I can't back out now," I said, nodding at Wednesday as I passed. "Look, we've had this discussion. What do you think about the shape-shifting?"

"I don't see how a Spiritomb could do that," Stephanie said dispiritedly. "Maybe Dialga could. He's a god, after all."

"Maybe." I paused. "Is there anything else you know?"

"A lot. Where do you want me to start? The League? The secret Pokémon disasters? The vaults?"

I pressed the button for the elevator, and stopped to think for a moment.

"What do you know," I asked, "about Darkling Town?"

---

They don't let their children out after dark in Hearthome. There's a reason for that.

When dusk falls over the city of show business, of glitz and glamour and gilt edges, the lights go out, and the theatres close. The Contest Hall doors are barred, and the night shift from the Gym patrol the leafy boulevards with torches and Haunter.

Silence falls.

And the Ghosts come out to play.

Walking through the midnight streets of Hearthome is always an unnerving experience. Rarely, if ever, does one see a Ghost, but they're there; you can hear them in the sound of approaching footsteps, of unexpected whistles and shrieks, of low, throaty chuckles. If you see anything at all, it will be a shadow on a wall, or a pale face that flickers in your sight for a brief instant before vanishing; occasionally, the star Pokémon coordinators on their posters will move to a different position, or leave the paper altogether for who knows where.

No, they don't let their children out after dark in Hearthome – and with good reason.

"Bond," whispered Ellen, as they looked out over the dark, silent city below, "I'm scared."

"I would be lying if I were to deny sharing some of your concerns, madam," Bond admitted, "but I have faith we shall make it through."

They stood atop a small hill west of the city, having made their laborious way down from the mountaintop over the last few hours; being much lighter than normal people, they had taken the journey in a series of jumps, drifting down from crag to crag like strange fusions of balloon and mountain goat. This was, it turned out, a far faster method of transport than the more conventional climbing, and so now, at midnight, they were just a few miles west of Hearthome, watching it with increasing trepidation.

We want to get to the train station, said Pigzie Doodle. From there, we can get to Veilstone relatively quickly, and without too much hassle. Thank God there are no Rotom around, he added. Plasmic bratchnies just love to mess around with the railways.

"What's a Rotom?" asked Ellen.

The vanguard of the future, said Pigzie Doodle in tones of such disgust that she dared not ask him more. Look, we should get going. It's midnight now; if we start moving now, we should get to Hearthome after dawn, when most of the Ghosts have retreated for the day.

Ellen relayed this information to Bond, who agreed that it seemed a sound idea, and together, the three of them began to climb down the hill and towards the city.

---

"Darkling Town? That's the key, Pearl," said Stephanie. "That's the one time where there's solid, reliable evidence and eyewitness accounts about Ashley and what he can do."

"Good. Are you going to tell me about it or not?"

The lift pinged and the doors slid open; I stepped in, pressed the button for the second floor and listened to Stephanie as they closed again.

"In 1891," she told me, "Ashley returned to Sinnoh from wherever he'd been before, on Newmoon Island."

"Newmoon Island?"

"It's this little place far north from Canalave. There used to be a town there – Darkling Town."

"Used to be...?"

"Until Ashley came there." Stephanie paused. "See, when you know there's someone like him around and you're a wealthy, egotistical kind of person, you want to own him. You must've seen what an asset he is for the League, even if he does spend eighty per cent of his time playing around with his detective agency."

"Yeah. So, what – someone tried to catch him?"

"Yes. It was the Stone family, actually – you know, the mining dynasty from Kanto? Currently run Devon in Hoenn? They'd heard about him and, since the Stones haven't always dealt with their problems entirely legally, they decided he'd be good to own. So they sent some people after him, and they met him in Darkling Town."

"I suppose he released?"

"If by 'released' you mean 'turned into a bladed monster and turned his attackers and Darkling Town into paste', then yeah. I don't think he was expecting anyone to try and attack him; he seems to have got a bit... carried away."

I thought of Ashley and the Combee, or of Ashley and the Driftenburg. Yes. I could see that happening. One moment, he would be completely normal, then his eyes would flash yellow and... Well. I didn't doubt for a second that nothing in 19th-century Sinnoh would have been able to stop him.

Ding!

I stepped out of the lift, checked to see if Iago was spying on me (which he wasn't) and headed back to my room.

"Right," I said. "So... what happened next?"

"The League turned up, thinking that some ridiculously powerful Pokémon had gone berserk," replied Stephanie. "Two Elite Four members flew in, and sent a request for help about an hour later; the rest of the Elite Four and two of the Gym Leaders went in after them. In the end, it took the combined efforts of the Elite Four, the Champion and six Gym Leaders to stop Ashley."

"Whoa. Stop there. That – that can't be right." I thought of the bees. "He was beaten by a swarm of Combee earlier."

"I think either his powers are waning with time or he's just not as angry as he used to be," Stephanie said. "He was really pissed back then. Thinking about what you just said about him shape-shifting – well, they said he wasn't even recognisable as human until they got him back to the League HQ. Now I know why."

"Jesus."

"Yeah, I know. They only managed to stop him because a lucky Leaf Blade cut his head off and knocked him out."

"Only knocked him out... you know, I'm not even surprised any more." I unlocked the door, went in and flopped onto my bed. "Tell me more."

"The Champion at the time was a woman called Allegra Fairfax," Stephanie told me. "If half the stories about her are true, she was probably the most powerful lunatic in the history of Sinnoh. I can't think of any other example where someone so out of touch with reality ended up with such a high position."

"Probably someone European," I suggested. "A king, maybe?"

"That's really helpful, Pearl," said Stephanie with deep sarcasm. "Thanks for that. Anyway, she had Ashley cut up and stored in pieces in different vaults. Spent years interrogating him – though no one knows why. She did a lot of stuff like that – like banning Mightyena from all official Trainer battles, and stabbing her mother-in-law in the chest with a bayonet. That was what got her sent to prison, actually."

"Nice lady."

"Mm-hm. Once she was out of the picture, the next Champion was Edmund Carthelwick, who negotiated a deal with Ashley: they'd let him go if he'd work for them when they needed him. He agreed, thinking he'd just leave as soon as he was released."

"But? I feel like there should be a 'but' here."

"There is. But Ashley found out he couldn't actually break free of the League's control. No one actually knows why – there's a theory that being chopped up for so long weakened him or something, but I guess the only way you'll find out is by asking him."

"So now he's stuck with them," I said.

"Yeah. He was imprisoned again by the last Champion – you remember him? Jonathan Farnese? – but he saw his chance when Cynthia came to power and seduced her so she'd free him."

"What?"

"They're lovers. You saw Cynthia with him, right? Didn't you know?"

"I... actually, yeah," I said, thinking of Cynthia's reaction earlier. "It explains it perfectly – especially why she doesn't like me. She's the jealous type."

"They've been together ever since she became Champion."

"But Ashley? Seriously? I can't imagine him ever being in any sort of relationship..."

"He is human," Stephanie reminded me. "And he's also at least a hundred and twenty years old. I bet he's had thousands of girlfriends."

I tried to imagine it and failed. Ashley was just too... alien. No one could actually love him, could they? And he could never love someone either, I was sure. It just couldn't happen.

"I'll take your word for it," I said at length. "For now, Stephanie, what does all of this mean? Is there anything conclusive you can say that would be the turning point in a detective movie?"

"You want a McGuffin? Pearl, this isn't a film—"

"Do you have one or not?"

"No. This was all I could find. If this was a film, I'd be a genius hacker and would've got the whole story already, but this is all I can get that we can reasonably believe to be true." Stephanie paused. "Understand?"

I sighed.

"Yeah. Sorry. Look – thanks, Steph. You're a – a good friend."

"I thought I told you this wasn't a film."

"Shut up. It's close to twelve. I can only think in clichés at this time of night."

Stephanie laughed, though it sounded a little off; she must be tired.

"It's OK, Pearl. I got pretty paranoid, but no one's come to kill me so far and I feel better for getting it off my chest. I should get back to bed now. I'll call this phone if I find anything else out."

"Thanks," I said.

"Now, get some sleep for once. You'll probably need it."

"Who are you, my mother? Anyway, I doubt I'll be getting to sleep any time soon." I sighed again. "We're on one of those all-night detective cases. It turns out that in the movies they skip over the bits where the hero sits around for hours thinking about what they need to do."

"That's real life for you, Pearl," said Stephanie. "Anyway, some people have work to do tomorrow. See you later, Pearl."

"Bye. Thanks again."

The line went dead, and I looked at the phone for a moment, alternately contemplating how hideous it was and how surreal that conversation had been. Then my thoughts were interrupted by Ashley, who threw open the door and proclaimed in ringing tones:

"Pearl! Quickly – to Stanner Square!"

---

"There we go, darlin'. Wasn't so 'ard, was i'?"

Stephanie shook her head, beads of nervous sweat shining on her brow. The man in black smiled, and pulled the gun away from her head.

"Atta girl," he said. "Gimme that phone now." She handed it over, and he retied her wrists. "Cheers. Don' go nowhere, will you. Be back soon enough."

With that, he walked out, leaving her alone in the dark.

Yes, Stephanie Knew Too Much.

And serious repercussions had come to pass.
 
Last edited:

olih

Who says you can't go home?
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13
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Great chapter! The part about Hearthrome's Ghosts added an interesting bit of culture to Sinnoh. Also, that's a theory to think about, Ashley being infused with a Spiritomb... I do wonder what Pearl thought of Cynthia being with Ashley, since Pearl's thought of Ashley as handsome once or twice, I believe. I'm not saying it means anything, though. Anyways, I enjoyed reading this chapter ^_^
 
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