The Disposable Enquiry [Round 1: Kyyhkynen]

An obsidian Cathedral, decrepit with time; an echoing hall of shadows and angels. Eight beings huddled together in a clump on the cold floor, their heads reeling with vertigo. They did not remember how they’d arrived, only that they had been in their respective home worlds one minute, and in the next found themselves floating in an unimaginably huge void threatening to swallow them in its blackness. Then they were here, and the dark arms of the Cathedral’s arches loomed above them like a colossus. None could resist a slight shiver of fear and apprehension as the weight of a dead god pressed down on their bodies and minds. There was a coldness here that sunk down into their bones and stayed there.

A harsh, mechanical whirring echoed off the polished floor with a sound like an insect’s wings. The captives turned as one to stare at a floating behemoth of iron and glass hovering three feet off the ground, towering above them and cloaking the group in its massive shadow. It vaguely resembled a giant spider with hugely disproportionate legs bunched up around its inverted triangle of a body, save for a small clear space on its front where a shattered clock face gleamed faintly in the light. The clock alone was taller than any of those gathered below; the entire construct hung above them with the weight of a mountain, impossibly suspended in the cold air. It regarded them with ponderous dignity. Silence hung heavy in the Cathedral for several seconds, deafeningly quiet.

The hideous tangle of limbs twitched, a thousand gears ground against each other. A voice, surprisingly quiet and unsettlingly hollow, reverberated from somewhere inside the machine.

"I/I/I/III/I I w/w/welcome you. All of you. I/I I am the In/q/quirer. This is my h/home."

It paused in a way that seemed almost shy. From the ends of its long metal limbs a wave of three-fingered claws rotated in their sockets and pressed themselves against the titanic body. Here and there a talon drummed nervously. The clock face swung very slightly from side to side.

"I/I h/h/have brought you he/r/re," the Inquirer said suddenly, "Because I have q/questions. And no one to a/a/an/ans/answer them. It is quiet. The q/q/question I am asking you is death. O/Or what is death to you, you…” It gestured at them with a single pair of talons. “What h/a/a/appens when you die? I would l/like to kn/kn/know.”

The note of imploration in its voice was nearly undetectable. It’s possible that none of the Inquirer’s captives noticed it at all; they only stared back. None of them were bound in any way, but something about the deadness, the crushing silence that was almost palpable, of the Cathedral made them hesitant to act. They gazed helplessly as the iron behemoth hung weightlessly above them.

“I/I think it is b/best that you know w/h/h/ho you all are. Your n/n/names. I do not want you to die f/forgotten. N/n/n/o/o. Because you w/will die,” it pleaded, turning to face them. There was an alien fluidity in its joints that made it curiously graceful in contrast to its awkward words. “O/O/O/On/ne of you. Each p/place we go. Seven. O/One will remain. You,” and suddenly an iron hand struck out from the cluster of limbs and pointed at the ghost of a middle-aged human. “Y/Y/You are t/the first.”

If there had been any color in his face to drain, it would have vanished as soon as the looming machine singled Roger out. Seeing as he was already dead, though, the difference was negligible. “Y/You are Roger J/J/Johnson. A writer of un/n/important th/thi/things… you carry a t/tool of your office. A s/stap/p/pler. I s/ee you are not v/v/very good at what you do. Roger Johnson. You can m/make others perf/form your task for you. Luckily for you.”

The claw withdrew and twisted palm-up. The Inquirer held it there for a moment, then pointed at the object seated next to Roger. It clacked weakly. “T/this is also a s/st/stapler. A simple m/machine. AS/M/M/MAIFAS is wh/what you may call it. It connects things. It is c/c/onscious, which is u/unlike the one before. It may h/harm you. I can’t say. It h/h/has a small hat as well. And a m/monocle.”

The Inquirer continued to hover before ASMAIFAS as it addressed the next contestants, giving no indication of a change in subject. The glass of the clock face gleamed dully in between the cracks. “I/I/I have made many e/errors. I think. B/b/b/but some are unav/voidable. There are two small ob/jects am/mong you? Y/yes. I see them n/now. They a/a/are there.” The claw made a grasping motion in the direction of two miniature blimps floating just above the heads of the other six, drifting aimlessly like fat, lost butterflies. One was sleek and gave the impression of great size; the other looked to have been assembled from shrapnel. The Inquirer’s gesture encompassed them both.

“T/two airship/s/s, one large. One sm/mall. The first is a f/f/floating city… this w/will be familiar to you soon. All of you. There are w/wolves aboard. And others… both are dangerous. P/perha/a/aps. It s/supports itself, or it sh/should. I d/doubt you will be u/un/naware of it for long. S/S/Sa/an/ct/ctuary is what the wolve/s call it. S/some of them. It could crush y/you all with ease.

“The se/cond. Smaller. There is on/only one soul aboard. Schrottp/platz. N/not a baron but it is in h/h/his name so you w/will know him as such. He controls garbage. I d/do not know how else to p/p/put that. The sh/ship is garbage. It f/flies. However. I/I think p/p/perhaps his personality f/fits it.”

The Inquirer paused, realizing it had made a joke. It was an odd feeling. It wasn’t sure if it entirely liked it. “B/both of these are s/small. Now. They w/w/wi/ill be restored to thei/r true size when we m/move elsewhere. For c/c/convenience. You understand. Y/yes…”

The hulking body of the Inquirer drifted through the air, its gentle wake buffeting the tiny airships into chaotic spirals. It did not appear to notice. Hidden motors ceased as it came to rest in front of a handsome man wearing white robes, apparently human except for a single mechanical eye. “A m/mortal man. Flesh and blood a/a/and metal. Y/You have come to a Ca/a/athedral of M/Machines. I f/ound this fitting. Smith Malach/chi. Prophet. Warrior p/priest. You a/are a stranger to the an/gels, Malachi. As am I. But you h/have more than faith to sustain/n/n you. Y/o/ou wi/will need it.

“Likewise, I/Iowen. Though n/not as human as d/d/dear Malachi. Less m/metal.” The Inquirer was now facing an enormous nautilus-like creature staring back at it with glassy eyes. “A d/d/different god. A different w/world. Sherlibren. I cannot t/tear Iowen from his c/c/creator. In many w/ways. He c/creates life a/a/and other things. I w/would not insult you by recom/mending caution...”

Somewhere in the machine’s half-rusted innards a frozen gear jerked forward, snapping a rusted coil; the Inquirer shuddered but carried on without pause. Clear fluid began to drip from one of its manifold arms. It pointed at a small white sphere nestled next to Iowen with a shaking hand. “A/A/An/nd/d you. C/Coriander. Another w/w/world altogether, y/yes. No. A sm/mall mind. Coriander, Aperture. Rockets. K/kinder perhaps th/th/than the rest of you. S/sometimes. Perh/h/a/aps. Ah/h/h/a/ha/ha. Ha. I f/feel ill.”

The arms around its base had begun to slacken, their narrow iron hands now dangling inches above the cold stone. Perhaps the Inquirer sensed some urgency; perhaps it was merely growing bored. At any rate its next introduction was spoken noticeably faster and with the faintest hint of unrest. “Last,” it said, vaguely indicating a furred worm-like creature, “Thr/r/run/n/ni/nik. Thr/unik. Thr/hairworm. A worm. It burrows. It de/vours all it finds. Th/thi/that may include you. Likely. St/stay away. Aw/w/ay…”

All at once the trailing limbs bunched up and the ancient machine seemed almost to shrink, crushing itself in a barrier of iron. Something in it gave an ominous-sounding rattle; the Inquirer hissed sharply and swept its foremost hands out in a scything motion. Instantly the contestants found their minds filled with the image of a white bird flying against a cloudy grey sky, an arrow through one of its wings. The image swelled until it filled all their senses and overtook all their thoughts, drowning out any complaints they might have had with its brilliance. The view of the bird shifted, swelled, and as a dark cluster became visible on its back the scale of the creature became clear. Its wings stretched miles in either direction, its panicked eyes were oceans of bewildered fear. The arrow in its wing was steel and nearly as long as the bird itself, far thicker around than any of the buildings trembling on top of its feathers. As the vision began to fade, the contestants saw the creature falter mid-flap, plummeting miles before unsteadily regaining its balance. Then it was gone, and the Inquirer hovered before them once more.

“Kyyh/h/h... kynen. Kyyhkynen. The eternal dove. Y/Yo/o/u do not n/need to kn/know who the arr/row belongs t/to. I/I/I/I am the only o/one on whom such b/burdens must fal/l/ll. The c/city is a/ancient, the wi/wings that support it n/never h/h/ha/having failed... until now. I am n/not a fortune-teller. I cann/not predict what will b/become of it, b/but I w/w/would not place my h/hopes high. H/ha. Ha ha,” it finished miserably. “We w/will go there. All of us. N/now.”

There was a darkness so deep it was blinding, and the chill of an eternity of death.

Then, without warning, it lifted with a sound like a gasp for air, and a cloud-hidden sun beamed down on six unfortunate souls. High above them, the shadow of two airships cast miniscule spots on a rolling expanse of white, mere freckles on it vastness; spindly towers glittered faintly beneath them. The Inquirer floated to the side of the group, a pillar of blackness against the distant sweep of a titanic wing. Somewhere from inside its chassis, the sound of metal grinding against metal could be heard.

“I/I d/d/d/do n/not think,” it said softly, “I w/wi/i/ill be a/a/able to do that. Ag/ain. Soon. You all will stay here. Until o/o/one of you di/ies. Then we l/leave.” It paused as the dove’s body suddenly dropped another mile, the buildings around them trembling precariously. Glass shattered somewhere in the distance. “Y/You had b/best hur/r/r/ry/y.”

Silently, moving far faster than one would reasonably expect a wounded metal behemoth to, it drifted off behind a nearby cafe and left the contestants to their own devices.

Show Content

SpoilerWelcome to Round 1 of the Disposable Enquiry: Kyyhkynen. Don’t try to pronounce it. A city on the back of a giant and recently-perforated dove, in all likelihood coming down for an emergency landing and taking everything else with it. I expect the citizens will be none too pleased about this, but it’s your call. Inkie’ll be hanging around somewhere in the background until he catches his breath and one of you dies, but don’t expect him to interfere too much. He has questions! So many questions! Please, make the pain stop!