In the library of the Spire, two hideously disfigured men went about searching the towering archives of Stripetail’s collection for a certain book.
One of them—Defago--was not wearing his protective metal mask or heavy winter wear. There was no need around Joshua—he was bandaged from head to toe. There was no way Defago could touch him skin to skin. Why, Joshua didn’t even seem to mind the unearthly chill Defago’s exposed skin brought to the room. “I enjoy the cold, to be honest. It soothes the burns I have a little. Just a little, though,” Joshua told the Cancuk. Defago was mighty pleased to hear that. He didn’t trust Joshua half as far as he could throw him, lord no, but he seemed a mighty agreeable fellow at the least. Good enough for pleasant company, at least. While searching the library, they talked a little about their pasts. What they were each willing to talk about, at least.
“Ah, so you’re a Moor-mon, eh?” Defago said as his long finger claws carefully flipped through the books, trying his best to avoid freezing them solid or tearing them to shreds.
“Yes. That was what we were called before the war,” Joshua said mildly as he flipped through a book. “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. We had lost or forgotten many of our old ways with the war, though—that’s why we abandoned the term. With new rituals and new norms, we rechristened ourselves the New Caananites. Mormon is just an historical term now, where I come from.”
“’Suppose that means you wouldn’t like a swig o’ my rye?” Defago said with a grin full of yellowed, enormous teeth. His skin was so blacked and blued that the yellow stuck out like a headlamp in a dark cave.
“No thank you,” Joshua said politely, his hands moving with a disturbing dexterity and speed through the rows of books. “I know there was an old text called the Pearl of Great Price that forbade alcohol, coffee, and tea, and that it was sadly lost to history. But the taboo of alcohol never left the New Caananites after all these years, regardless. Even war can’t scourge the tightest held traditions from its victims’ memories.” Joshua paused, his mummified hand landing on a book high on a shelf towards some of the denser material in the Spire’s vast library.
“Ah. Here it is. This is the one G and Rogan said to start with.” Joshua showed the book to Defago who grimaced slightly.
“Oooh, a doctor’s journal,” Defago said, and gave a slight laugh. “I’m o’fraid I’m not too good at readin’ any o’ that fancy science stuff. Not like I could go to any ol’ night school lookin’ like this, eh?”
“Would you like me to read a loud?” Joshua asked, turning his icy, fire-bleached eyes towards the wendigo. Defago’s grotesque face looked hesitant.
“Nah, I ain’t no little boy. I couldn’t ask ya to do that for my sake.”
“I used to be a translator. Just think of it as that: a translation. During my work in Caesar's legion, I had to work with the science team—I picked up most of the words.”
Defago stared for a moment. Then he let out a boisterous chuckle. “Ah, you musta been one helluva translator, the silver tongue you got there, Joshua. Très bien! Read away!”
Joshua turned his pale eyes back to the book. A label on the cover declared that it was a copy of a text now in AMS custody. It was titled “Pertaining to the 1998 Currien Mansion Case--The Diary of Dr. Roy Curien.”
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Junior was used to getting in trouble. Diddy was not. As they approached Stripetail’s room, the kong began to hyperventilate a little. His scaly boyfriend rubbed a claw on his back.
“Hey hey hey,” Junior said with a gentleness Rogan was not used to seeing. “It’s gonna be alright. Here.”
He offered his hand, which Diddy gripped hard. The monkey nodded roughly, as if he were a bit embarrassed to be reacting like this and wanted to signal that this was just a moment of weakness.
“Thank you,” Diddy said through some heavy breaths. Rogan kept quiet, knowing the two boys were providing better support to each other than he ever could. He expected that to change once they had to be separated from each other to meet their families.
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The blond teenager drummed his fingers on the phone as Haro bounced around happily behind him. “Marbet! Marbet! Marbet!” it cheered. Usso sighed. He was glad one of them was looking forward to this call. He dialed in the number, and put on his best brave face as the phone began to ring.
