Joker’s Wild
The ghostly human smiled to himself, head down at the surface of his desk propped up on one hand, lazily perusing the small booklet before him. He let out an astonished blurt or a little chuckle from time to time, taking in every written word carefully and forming the sentences in his mind as if they were being spoken to him by a deep, calm, but witty voice. He reread many over, loving the simple yet deliberate ways in which the grammar was laid out and the particular words chosen, often with several layers of meaning and barrels of foreshadowing. Long minutes passed before his faded green finger turned the next page of the phantom novel, revealing one delight after another with each engaging paragraph. When a form appeared in the threshold of his study, he did not look up, instead fully absorbed in the narrative playing out in his mind.
“Greetings, Misnu,” the other ghost said.
Misnu gave a short hum, finishing the last sentence with leisure, and finally raised his pale eyes. “Yes, hello brother.”
The spirit in the doorway smiled back, but it was a different kind of smile, one which is given to a cute pet. “I see you enjoy your reading,” it said in placating tones.
Misnu smiled toothily, and placed a bone sliver in the binding to mark his place. “I do. It’s wonderfully constructed, full of heroes and villains, great deeds and dastardly schemes, all flowing steadily toward the grand climax,” he looked back at the pages for a moment, excited as he spoke, “although I’m not there yet. I know the hero will prevail, that each little setback is merely plot device, like a puzzle piece, another means through which the author is setting up some brilliant way for the protagonist to overcome the odds. I keep reading to find out what ingenious way he’ll concoct to get out of the mess.”
The ghost in the doorway was a dhampyl, but robed as Misnu in the garb of the Kamhun. He shook his head dotingly and said, “Then it is a Comedy you now indulge.”
Misnu’s bushy brow came together, and he closed the book with its mark still in place. “Of course. That’s all I’ll ever read.” He turned his head to the wall, “It’s the only real entertainment worth these eyes. If I ever want for a Tragedy, all I need do is look out my window.”
The dhampyl waved his hand openly and acquiesced to the eccentric soul. “As you say. But, may I disturb you for a moment? You have a visitor.”
Misnu straightened and pulled the collar up on his phantom robes, “Me?”
“Yes, brother. Your expertise is required for a sending.” The dhampyl spirit looked over his own shoulder back into the library hall.
“Me, really? That’s unexpected.” Misnu’s features were curious and a little worried in the feathered ghostlight. His fingers twiddled together on his desk. He raised his chin and drooped his eyes, like a dog reprimanded. “Who is the inquisitor?”
“Lord Muwth”
“The name is familiar,” Misnu’s eyes trailed off to his shelves.
“The Lord Muwth,” the ghost repeated, “Formerly General Muwth.”
Misnu’s spectral eyes widened, “From the Ebunad Hell-Tongue Battle?”
“The one and only.”
Misnu froze with his mouth open, his fingers clutching at Shadowrealm air.
“Come.”
*****
The table before Lord Muwth was decorated with an assortment of parchments and books. He sat patiently while his aid, Rhl’Akuir, stood by his side drumming his spectral fingers on his crossed arms. Across the table sat two other spirits, green translucent forms that were once dhampyl but now had the mollified ghastly features of the long-dead, pouring over the material scriptures brought before them.
Muwth had waited while the scholars examined the articles, never once moving in his chair, while they audibly analyzed and scrutinized the evidence for over two hours.
When he first arrived they treated him with utmost respect, offering him their finest lobby and even some food and drink magically imported from the Prime. He took none. They had confidently taken the works he had brought and flipped through them knowingly, but whenever they came back to the original question, they lapsed into uncomfortable silence. They offered suggestions to one another only briefly, muttering snap rebuttals back and forth just as quick, aware that their inability to find a concrete connection must upset their guest. For his grandiose station, Muwth sat and endured their indecision surprisingly well.
He had brought them the items that had been disturbed from his library on the night of his daughter Kaliyl’s murder and obliteration, and asked the simple question, “What did the intruder want?” For all their great knowledge, the Scholars of Kamhun were stumped.
It was a disarrayed collection of pages. There were maps, arcane legends, and historical texts among the pile. Also on the table was a phantom-wooden game board with pieces set about it, which the Scholars occasionally puttered with, moving, removing, and replacing figurines upon it. Obviously, the intruder (who had been identified as a necromancer) was interested in lore concerning the southern forests of Edin.
One book which intrigued them all the most, with a page torn out, was a common tome published some forty years ago by a poet of moderate fame. Many noble houses had the same tome, but the one Muwth had brought was different. It had scribbling between the margins and random notes jotted amongst the printed words, and they had deciphered that these were the mad ramblings of Kinis the Babbler. Kinis was a cyclomancer known to be completely insane; Muwth had not known the volume he purchased long ago once belonged to this peculiar mage, and having no real love for poetry, had never opened the book to realize its contents were vandalized. Still, according to the Kamhun, it had a value in its own right. The inexplicable part was the page that was torn out and now missing. The Scholars assumed Kaliyl’s assailant was interested in the notations Kinis had placed there, but could not fathom what those bizarre notes may have been. It was the lynchpin to their augury.
The door to the lobby was filled now by another dhampyl spirit, younger dead, and he had with him a bashful ghost that was obviously once human. “I’ve brought Misnu,” it said.
Rhl’Akuir turned and scoffed, “What is this?”
The dhampyl apparition in the door bowed low, “Forgive my insolence, great one, but the question posed to us is not an ordinary one. It involves delving into the depths of a depraved mind. This here, our brother Misnu, is one of our finest riddlers. He may be able to predict through inspiration what Kinis had written on the vacant page, and thus enlighten us all.”
Muwth glowered in his seat. “I have been generous so far,” he breathed heavily, “if you cannot answer my question, I can find other minds.”
One of the two ghosts at the table looked up. “No, my Lord, this is no jest. If there is a mind here who can see the ways of the mad and the fools, it is Misnu.”
The human ghost in the door gave a weak grin at the approval. He offered, “I know things.”
Rhl’Akuir turned to his patron. “Well, sir, they are the Scholars of Kamhun.”
Lord Muwth said nothing, only leveled his stare on the elder spirits across the table.