Mayhem

Well, it's been a little while hasn't it? Sorry about that.... anyway, I decided to hit you with an excerpt from a novel I've been working on. It's a sci-fi/ fantasy/ action/ comedy/ parody titled "Mayhem." The excerpt comes from the first chapter and the footnotes are very important, so make sure you read those as well. Let me know what you think....

Excerpt from Mayhem, Chapter 1
Intellectual property of Justin Herter

A figure that could have easily been mistaken for a swiftly passing shadow sliced through the darkness in the outskirts of a rural little Asian fishing town. Not a single lamp lit the gloom of the small coastal village tonight—no one was alive to light them.
Hyangsook paused at the crest of a hill overlooking the settlement, her long black scarf flapping regally behind her as she stood in a strikingly cliché, yet flattering and intriguing pose. Her masked face barely protected from the cold, cutting wind—her narrow emerald eyes cutting right back.
She bore no sentiment whatsoever for her actions. In the past four-and-one-half minutes she had swept into the sleepy village and silently ended the life of all three-hundred-twelve of its inhabitants. That’s just the kind of thing she did with her evenings—assassinating entire villages and such. She was a ninja, and that’s just the way ninjas roll. That’s not to say, however, that Hyangsook—or any ninja for that matter—ever killed without reason.[1] Tonight’s ruthless slaughter was particularly necessary; this specific village had been abetting pirate forces for far too long, despite the numerous warnings sent by the ninja clans. The Kaze-Norite[2] clan’s intelligence reported a high-ranking pirate official and his men would make their beds there tonight so they sent her, their most skilled warrior, to end the tiny town’s insolence.
She stood now at the apex of the lonely hilltop overlooking the soulless shell of a town. The fishing boats swayed uneasily in the black waters and the eerie sound of dull harbor bells rang with a somber tone—ringing a ghostly farewell to the newly dead.
Despite her heightened levels of awareness, she hadn’t even the tiniest inclination that a pair of wide blue eyes was gazing at her from the concealment of nearby shrubbery. With a sudden rustle, the lanky man pounced from his hiding place behind her. In the space of a blink and seemingly without the slightest movement, she whirled around in a combat stance with her tantō[3] at his neck.
“I see we’ve reached yet another stalemate,” he said with a wink as she heard the familiar click of the revolver being cocked at her temple.
“How did you escape?” she demanded.
“You know, we really must stop meeting like this, princess—what with you killing all my men and such,” he said, ignoring her question, “As much as I adore seeing your breathtaking smile, the loss is so unnecessary. If you wanted to see me, you could have just asked—”
“Mattaku no baka!” She snarled the Japanese insult as she did a quick double back flip away from him.
“Aw, you’re so adorable when you’re all mad and assassiny and such,” he grinned and tipped his tri-corner hat as he took a long step backward.
She replied with a quick flip of her wrist and three shuriken[4] flying in deadly succession toward him. He dodged them each with speed and agility, while still maintaining his suave composure.
“If you had wanted to dance,” he bowed gracefully to avoid another knife, “you needed only to ask, lovely.”
“Your cockiness sickens me,” she said as she reached for the katana[5] strapped to her back.
“Oh come off it, love; I know you’re madly infatuated with me and don’t really wish to kill me.”
“And how is that?” she asked, stalling him as she drew the sword from its sheath
“I’m far too pretty,” he replied with another trademark wink of his sparkling blue eye, “besides; you could have done it by now if you really wanted too.”
“What of you then? You have yet to fire a shot….”
“Me? Strike a lady? Never, m’dear,” he said calmly. He whirled and flipped over her as she suddenly charged him. Her katana sliced through thin air.
“You really are quite a bit more agile than most pirates I’ve met, Finch,” she said coldly and stepped toward the nearby tree line.
“What’s this now?” he inquired with mock surprise, “Was that a compliment that just escaped those pretty lips of yours? I do believe there is hope for this relationship yet, dearest!”
She threw him a final icy glare before jumping silently into the dark branches above.
“I really do love these little get-togethers of ours,” he called after her, but she was already gone deep into the forest.
A few short moments later, the distant trees rustled and shook slightly at the whooshing wings of a great beast taking to the air from a hidden perch, Hyangsook saddled on the creature’s back. The leathery wings of the mighty animal beat swiftly several times before holding steady as she glided off, silhouetted against the silver moon. The ancient beast seemed to cut through the air with less effort, and far more grace, than a guillotine through the neck of a French aristocrat.
Quincy Bloodfinch thrust his hands deep into his pockets and began whistling a cheerful ditty as he ambled blithely down the hill toward the gutted village. His hiding, fighting and pseudo-romancing antics had caused him to miss the departure of the air-ship that was meant to carry his men and their precious cargo home. No matter, though, Wimbledon would be waiting for him by the docks.
Quincy meandered through the deathly silence of the recently vacated town, still whistling. He had no fear of the deceased and cared little for the superstitions and omens on which many of his calling relied. The harbor bells still resounded with their monotonously eerie funeral song as he neared the origin of the sad tune. The waves lapped with steady rhythm against the derelict dock down which he now trod, lending their talents to the Dockside Symphony of Despair.
Quincy made his way down the length of the dock with a steady waltz, right up to the very end. He made the slightest pause before his right foot stepped off the edge as though with enough determination he could continue his course on the thin sea air. The split tail of his ragged overcoat fluttered up behind him as he dropped toward the steadily churning surface of the water. A moment later, he rose above the waves on the back of his best friend, a Pelagic Thresher affectionately known by Quincy as Wimbledon.[6] Wimbledon leapt high into the air with Quincy clutching tightly to his back before riding the waves home.

***

Higgins was frightened. He was the sole survivor of the slaughtered fishing town (or so he thought) and the only one to make it to the waiting air-ship. The air-ship carried him and the precious cargo back to Foggy Island, but none of the other hands, as they were all recently deceased. Higgins, well intentioned as he may be, had no blooming idea that the Dread Captain Bloodfinch’s only son and heir to his empire of piracy had survived the attack, and was at this moment nearer the island than he could guess. He assumed Quincy lay dead with the rest, and was now biting his lip hard and twiddling his fingers in apprehension because he had just had the opportunity to inform the Dread Captain this dire, though entirely erroneous, piece of information.
“He’s WHAT!” demanded the enraged captain through clenched teeth and a matted dreadlock beard.
“D-dead, my lord,” stammered the cowering brigand as he bowed low before his captain, “Not a one of them survived the slaughter; I alone escaped to the air-boat. I am truly sorry my—” his statement ended prematurely by the sharp staccato of a pistol blast. Higgins groaned as he bowed a little lower before collapsing.
The Dread Captain Gregori Bloodfinch, smoking gun in hand, stood from his imposing throne built of the bones of his less than fortunate enemies and paced the breadth of the torch-lit great hall. Two henchmen who had been standing silently by dragged the corpse of Higgins out of the way, as was their grim duty all too habitually.
The captain pondered his predicament in grave silence as he paced back and forth. His only son was now dead, along with the entire crew of a gunship. Who now would continue ruling his hard won empire and see all those bloody ninjas to their fated deaths?
The captain awakened from his depressed daze as the large wooden door boomed open and the voice of his son echoed off the rafters.
“Good evening father,” Bloodfinch the younger said in a chipper tone as he marched into the hall. Then, with a glance at the body that lay to the side, “Aw, you didn’t shoot poor ol’ Higgins did you?”
Bloodfinch the elder stared with eyes frosted in disbelief at his son.
“Yes, but he said ye were dead…” the Dread Captain’s voice trailed off.
“Well, as you can clearly see, I am quite alive father,” Quincy replied, then added, “‘Twas a good man, that Higgins; shame he couldn’t get his facts straight.”
“Are ya sure ye no ghost?” inquired the captain as he prodded his son’s shoulder with a bony finger, making certain he was indeed of solid material.
“Quite. Now can I get a coffee please? I have a few matters of some importance to discuss with you, Father.”
It had always baffled the Dread Captain as to why his son had such peculiar mannerisms and affinities for a pirate, such as his preference of coffee over pirate booze. He thought he had raised him right; Quincy grew up in an atmosphere of pure and absolute piracy since baby-hood, yet still refused to partake of many things commonly associated with their barbaric order.
Another peculiarity was his obstinate insistence on remaining clean-cut and shaven; he claimed facial hair got in the way of his coffee and found it frankly itchy and uncomfortable. Quincy was quite the unconventional pirate, but a very good pirate nonetheless so his father tolerated his unusual whims.
“It’s about the booty,” Quincy said with a worried look as a henchman handed him a crudely crafted clay mug.
“Go on.” The well-weathered, yet husky old captain sat back down in his intimidating—and, according to Quincy, rather tacky—skeletal throne and gestured for his son to continue. He had an apprehensive look in his one good eye.
Quincy continued, “Don’t worry, it’s all accounted for and all.” He paused for a moment as if unsure or uneasy about how to continue. “However, there is more of it—I mean, more than there should be.”
“You’re saying we ‘ave more treasure’n what we robbed?” inquired the older buccaneer.
“Yes.”
“And this be a problem… how?” the Dread Captain asked with almost sarcastic inquisitiveness. “I ‘ave no qualm with treasure what be magically appearin’ in me hold! Perhaps Davy Jones be smiling up on us.” He said with a wink. “It’s a good omen, boy; what be ye worried over?” He bellowed a laugh.
The troubled look remained in Quincy’s eyes, even with his father’s jesting. “This unexplainable increase in inventory doesn’t worry you in the least?” he tried.
“Not in the least m’boy. It’s more loot; this should be seen as a good thing, not an’thing ta be troublin’ over,” replied the Captain. “Besides, t’ain’t it possible it was simply an overlooked piece?”
“It’s possible I suppose.” Quincy knew that it was exactly the opposite of possible; he was too careful and observant to miss anything like this. After all, it was a fairly large thing to miss when taking inventory.
“What exactly be our new acquisition, anyway?”
“A statue,” said Quincy quite plainly. “A very large statue.”
“A ‘ole bloody statue? Well then, this be quite extraordin’ry! What be it a statue of, prey tell?”
“It doesn’t seem to resemble anything in particular really—purely abstract. It’s a rather largish metal spire with a peculiar blue orb set in the base.”
“Is it… spiky?” the Captain asked with genuine concern.
“Spiky? Er, well I suppose you could say that…”
Quincy’s father interrupted him, “Perfect! I was lookin’ for something spiky and foreboding what ta set in the center of the courtyard! Your mysteriously appearing statue sounds rather perfect, and I be somewhat partial ta the color blue.”
“Very well then; I’ll have some hands move it from the air-ship’s hold to the courtyard.” Quincy decided not to expound any further on his apprehensions over the object. He did not mention the unnerving glow the blue orb maintained or how it had felt very warm to the touch when they moved it from the gunship to the air-ship the night before the attack. Rather, he mentioned his sudden necessity for more coffee, much more strongly brewed.
“Oh, and some for Wimbledon as well,” he added as he made his way out of the great hall.

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[1] It is notable that “reason” to a ninja is not what normal humans might typically see as reason. For instance, you or I might not see any reason in killing a man simply because he accidentally kicked a piece of gravel into our shin; in fact, we might not even notice it. However, a ninja, whose senses are all at least 36 times more acute than ours, would most likely perceive a piece of gravel striking their shin as early warning of an assassination attempt. This would probably result in a lethal roundhouse kick to the face of poor mister gravel kicker before he could even blink.
If you so much as look at a ninja the wrong way, be prepared, because the next thing you’ll be looking at is your body as your head flies away from it before your brain realizes that it’s been severed from your spinal cord and dies. It is very important, therefore, that you are always extremely courteous to everyone with whom you come in contact because ninjas frequently traverse our streets in disguise and you never know when you may be interacting with one. Also, always be wary of loose gravel underfoot.

[2] Kaze Norite is Japanese for “wind rider” or “wind passenger” and is pronounced Kah-zay No-ree-tay.

[3] Short, dagger-like sword.

[4] Small throwing knives or stars.

[5] Traditional Japanese long sword.

[6] The Pelagic Thresher is a species of Thresher shark common to tropical and sub-tropical Indo-Pacific waters, including Asia. It is known, as all threshers, for the extremely long upper fin of its tail.
Wimbledon was found as a pup playing in the reefs close to the shore of Foggy Island by a young Quincy Bloodfinch out for a stroll. Quincy, at his age of curiosity, spilled a sip of his coffee near the young shark to see if it would take to it. Wimbledon, having never tasted anything as lovely as espresso before, insisted on following Quincy wherever he could and they were friends and playmates from that day on.
Quincy taught Wimbledon many tricks, including leaping from the water to whip an oncoming tennis-ball with his long tail. Eventually, the shark could manage this feat with such speed and accuracy that it caused Quincy to stumble upon a suitable name for his finned companion.