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There was a sound almost like golf-claps coming from one of the darkened doorways. Out of the darkness emerged a blue light; as it came closer, it resolved itself into the craggy figure of the ancient knight of Babylon: he was clapping one hand against the metallic casing of his railroad lantern.

"Oh," said Babylon Squire, pointing weakly as he got to his feet. "He's here. Can you see him, Kurma?"

"You know," said Babylon Knight sourly, "In my day we weren't allowed help. Called it cheating. It was right in front of you earlier, you know. I thought I made it easy enough."

"Well, I found it, didn't I?" The squire turned the ring over in his hands, shrinking a little bit under the knight's harsh stare.

Finally, the knight snapped, "Put it on before you drop it! All these cobblestones, you'll never find it again." The squire did as he was told, sliding the ring around his right ring finger, where it adjusted to fit. "No use fussing around out here," the knight told him when that was done. He turned and began retreating back into the darkened doorway. "We have work to do."

Babylon squire gave Kurma a helpless look. "I'd better go," he said, waving hastily as he started to follow his ancestor. "Thanks for your help!"

Solo 8/25/2011 - Glutton for Punishment


“I know what you’re thinking,” said the knight as they traveled through the darkened tunnel.

“You do?” asked Babylon Squire, eyes wide as he struggled to find footing. The ground had a definite slant – they were traveling deeper into the mountain, underneath the city, the only light coming from their lanterns. In the gloom, even the light of Babylon seemed dim.

“Yes.” There was a sound like perhaps the knight had licked his lips. “You are thinking that that ring you now wear on your finger was left in that lamp a thousand years ago.”

Babylon Squire nearly stumbled. He had not been thinking about that at all, but now that it was brought to his attention he had to give it some thought. “Well,” he replied dryly. “It is a long shot.”

“A tremendous leap of faith,” agreed the knight. “I placed that ring in the lamp not knowing if there would ever be another knight of Babylon or, even if there was, if he would find it.” The squire waited for the other foot to fall. “Imagine my disappointment,” clucked the knight.

And there it was. The squire frowned, unsure of why he kept coming back to Babylon if it was synonymous with verbal harassment. Maybe he was just a glutton for punishment.

“Still…” The knight broke him from his thoughts. “You have managed to not die so far, or be seriously maimed…” The squire raised his fingers delicately to the place where, underneath his coat, a brilliant bruise was blooming on his torso. “And you are of my line, diluted as it may be.” The tunnel was bottoming out; they were now on level ground, moving forward at a careful pace.

“Where are we going?” asked the squire. Although he could not see the old man’s face, he knew he was making one of his typical sour expressions. A door appeared out of the gloom, made of some matte white material. It opened with a pneumatic hiss, which the squire thought odd for something presumably ancient.

He was momentarily blinded when they stepped inside, and the door closed once more. The squire blinked stars out of his eyes, and was struck by how warm this room was. When his vision finally cleared, he saw that they were in a sort of cavern apartment, at once Spartan and cozy. “…You live here?”

The knight gave him a sidelong look. “Don’t touch anything unless I give you permission,” he said. The squire suppressed a scowl as he moved carefully around the room. The furnishings had a strange sort of unnamable quality to them – ancient modernity, if he had to guess.

“That ring’s not just any sort of trinket,” said the knight after allowing him to look around for a while. Babylon squire glanced up.

“Huh?” he asked, and instantly regretted his unintelligent vocalizations when the knight gave him a stern look.

“It’s an ancient communication device,” he explained, sounding quite long suffering. The squire brought the ring close to his face, trying to understand what that could possibly mean. How could this thing be a communication device? “Come over here. Sit down.”

Babylon Squire took a seat across from the knight at a small writing desk. “How does it work?” he began to ask, but the knight shushed him, taking a sheet of paper, a quill pen, and an inkpot from the drawer and placing them on the tabletop. The squire tried interjecting logic into the situation and quickly failed – by all means the ink should be dry, yet it sloshed as the knight shook the bottle.

“Address it to someone. A knight, a senshi, even one of those god-forsaken cats,” commanded the knight, handing the squire the pen. For someone used to ballpoints, it was awkward to use, but he dutifully scratched out every letter of “VINDEMIATRIX.” The knight raised an eyebrow, but made no comment. “A quick letter will do,” he sighed, and the squire scratched out ‘Hi from Mercury! -Babylon’ before both of their patience ran out.

The knight waved the ink bottle closer to the page. “Dip your signet,” he ordered. “Now stamp the paper.”

He did, and the paper vanished. “What was that?” asked the squire, blinking in disbelief. The knight gaped back at him.

“What kind of depraved upbringing have you had,” he drawled, “That you do not understand the point of a letter?” The squire found it better not to contest this point, but was a bit tickled to have just sent his boyfriend (!!) a letter written on a thousand-year-old sheet of paper. The knight, on the other hand, seemed utterly unfazed. “If you have wrapped your exceedingly simple mind around that, then perhaps we will attempt something far less infantile on your next visit.”

He rose from the table. Babylon squire sputtered, remembering suddenly what he’d been looking for before he found the ring. “Wait!” the boy exclaimed. “I was looking for the torch-thing. To light the lamps.”

There was a long moment of silence. The knight exhaled, a long, low sound. “It is called the wick,” he corrected harshly. “And it is hidden, and rightly so. You will find it when the time is right.”

“You said I had to write the lamps,” challenged the squire.

The knight shook his head. “The time is not right. We are finished here.”

Seconds later, Babylon Squire found himself back on the plaza, alone and in the middle of a sudden blizzard. He had no choice but to head for home.