Six Faces: English Edition

By Esteban Bogasi

Six Faces is a cubic world, like a gigantic die floating in space. On such a strange planet, strange things are bound to happen.
Calamity Rainbow is a thief expelled from his Guild for chronic incompetence. Just when everything seems to be going wrong, he finds a medallion in an old shed that he's "visiting". So begins a frantic race across the continent to the origins of the Magia, the true magic.
Along for the ride is a cowardly Professor of Cypresstechnology®, a quarterback forced into early retirement, and a beautiful and equally mysterious sorceress.
But what is an adventure without a few enemies in hot pursuit? Vindictive thieves, assassins, a scary but harmless cult, and above all, magicians of varying levels of friendliness.
Dive into Six Faces and discover a world of fantasy and zany humour.
An epic saga that combines magic, action, humour, and parody.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Esteban Bogasi
• Release date: Dec 16, 2013
• ISBN: 9782954394930

Esteban Bogasi

Esteban Bogasi is a publishing professional. He's a fan of Fantasy universe and epic stories.

Book preview

Six Faces

Esteban Bogasi

Translated from the French by Madeline Coxwell

Copyright 2013 by Esteban Bogasi

Published by The Cube at Smashwords Edition

A special thank you to Emma Griffiths, who introduced the author and translator to each other and made all of this possible. The this is of course the book you're about to read. She found the best translator the author could have imagined and she found a novel that was a lot of fun for the translator.

Of course, we could also blame her for all the extra work we've had to do, but we're much too happy that it's complete!

So Emma, again, thank you so much!

~Madeline & Esteban

Chapter I

Calamity. Calamity Rainbow. His father had saddled him with the name, because, it just sounded so pretty, an explanation that never failed to make Calamity groan internally and think, you've got to be kidding! Admittedly, it was a particularly fitting name albeit a hapless one. And, since he couldn't be bothered to find himself an alternative, he was stuck with the jinxed name and all the bad luck that came with it. He belonged to the race of qrevets, vaguely humanoid beings related to crustaceans whose bodies were covered with a fine, pale pink carapace. Unfortunately, Calamity's was rather red and, as if that wasn't enough, he was small for his species. I'm sure they did it on purpose, making me so red, he often complained, quite certain that everything had somehow been engineered to make his life a living hell, including his conception.

His parents had, nevertheless, loved each other very much, and wanted nothing more than to have a son. His father hadn't hesitated for a moment when it came to the perfect name. Oh, he was a proud father, and a happy one--ecstatic even. This was possible because he was completely oblivious at the time of the particular destiny reserved for his son who was to become the worst thief in the entire region of Déosan. It was pretty much the least desirable position. The father's honour remained intact only because he died prematurely and didn't live to see his son's downfall. The same couldn't have been said of brave Calamity who, between petty crimes and endless mistakes, wasn't really living his life so much as barely surviving it. With every passing day on the Cube, he wondered when the sky was going to fall on his head, be it literally or figuratively. Though in his sorry case, the probability of the two happening simultaneously was discouragingly high. That's how it was for Calamity--he simply had no luck.

That evening was like all the others, and the night was dark and frozen like the vanilla-tomato cones at old Somy's. God, was that ice cream good. Good but expensive, really. And too expensive for poor Calamity to try it first hand. He had to be satisfied with living vicariously off of the descriptions of the customers who could afford to taste the blissful dessert. In any case, that night Calamity had set his heart on something else: an old building in the North District of the rich city of Prias, capital of Sammanland. A city that was filled with a scent of power that poor Calamity could only sniff, without ever being able to breathe in deeply to let it fill his lungs. But, olfactory dreams aside, he still had to make a living. And who knows? Perhaps this place was finally the one that held the treasure he had been seeking for so long.

The old wooden door gave way easily at the request of Calamity's lucky penknife, which hardly made up for the notorious inefficiency of the blade, but did allow him to slip discretely inside. Here, unlike outside, there were no stars to dispute the reign of the shadows.

Oh shit, he muttered under his breath. The wooden door he had been closing so delicately had left him with a vicious splinter as a souvenir. Off to a great start. What was I thinking? I should have stayed in bed.

His negative thoughts gained momentum as he laboured to remove the sliver. When he finally managed to get it out, he was left with a big purple mark on one of the three fingers on his right hand. It matched perfectly with the copper red of his skin.

It's a good colour on me, he sighed in a desperate attempt to find something positive amidst the setbacks.

He struck a match and lit an old, ragged torch. It caught fire without needing to be asked twice, and allowed him to inspect the room more easily. It was a mess. Evidently, the rich couldn't be bothered to tidy their junk, a fact which, in any case, wasn't going to discourage Calamity, who advanced slowly towards the first pile. He began to sort through it: nothing but worthless books, remains of furniture, and, Argh! A rat, a horrible rat. Calamity hated rats, even though, incidentally, they made even him look good. Thankfully, this one was alone and took off fairly quickly.

At least I didn't get bitten...for once, he thought, relieved. He picked up a large piece of wood and used it to poke through the other piles. This is bizarre. Why do I have the feeling that I'm going to spend the night here and only have a couple of cheap, bronze candlesticks to show for it?

His bad luck had already caught up with him, he thought dismally, and his depression settled in once again. And yet, he was running away as fast as he could. He'd even tried to cross all of Sammanland, perched on the back of the fastest charger he could find, in his efforts to outrun it. It was no good. The jinx was always on his tail. What choice did he have but to be resigned to his fate? The flickering light of the torch seemed to catch and gleam off of a small... something beneath the rubbish. As he began to clear the junk away, his reticence and discouragement cleared a bit of room for his curiosity. It was a medallion. Enormous, shining, magnificent. Expensive? Perhaps. He'd know soon enough. He grabbed the object and shoved it under his tunic and left as fast as he had come, taking care this time around to avoid injuring himself on the edges of the damned door.

At present, Calamity was living in a small apartment in the Western District of Prias. He had to move often on account of troubles with some of his colleagues. To say he was not on good terms with the Associated Guild of Thieves of Prias was an understatement. Out of favour with the AGTP, he was dismissed on grounds of notorious incompetence, which was not only chronic but possibly contagious. A little harsh, in Calamity's opinion, but you didn't question the Guild. He'd been kicked out of the Guild of Thieves, but he kept on being a thief anyway. After all, he didn't know how to do anything else. As a result, he'd taken to the habit of regularly changing his residence in order to evade the men of the Guild who would have preferred he leave the city. Actually, he had a talent for this life as a fugitive. Five years had passed and they still hadn't caught him. Calamity: an expert on running away. He knew how to make himself small and invisible; and from a tender age, he'd learned how to navigate the maze of the city. His had actually been a pretty happy childhood. There were even a few friends, though they disappeared quickly when he grew up. Friends were replaced with contacts, some well placed connections who could lend him a hand from time to time when he was dogged by bad luck.

After all those years, he'd gotten used to this life, and waited patiently for his moment of glory when he would finally find the mother-load and step out of the shadows-- rich beyond his wildest dreams. His defeatist attitude had not stifled his vague desire to get revenge on life and turn things around. Was this exquisite medallion his chance at ultimate happiness? He decided to sleep on it. He needed a bit of rest after using up the remainder of his meagre strength rummaging in the lining of his coat for his house keys and damning the hole in his pocket.

The ringing chirp of a little bird sounded in the studio apartment. It belonged to a rare but incredibly useful creature purchased from Théodhoruman, the owner of Achoo Animal Boutique in the small district of Baquat in the south part of the city. Théo, as everyone called him, was allergic to pretty much every animal he sold. His vendor's stall shook incessantly with his tempestuous sneezes. This bird was an alarm clock that could wake you up from the deepest sleep. It was a little pink ball with a brown back and a little, funny head, a species found only on Dos, the face of the Cube constantly exposed to the sun. You just had to tell it what time you wanted to wake up, and the little bird would begin to sing at the precise time. Unless you were awake and you told it to stop, it would continue to sing, at regular intervals, generally every five minutes, which was really useful when you slept like a log. The initial cost may be a bit high, but afterwards, a few breadcrumbs will be enough to keep it going. Calamity's was two years old and still had a few years left in it. Its name was Antisomme. Calamity had only to snap with the three fingers on his left hand for the little bird to stop immediately. Then he would sleep soundly again. An alarm clock is good, but when you want to sleep in, you've got to remember to shut it off.

The thudding vibration of the apartment door took over where the little bird had left off. Clearly, the qrevet wasn't going to get any sleep this morning. He got up wearily, pulled on an old pair of pants and headed towards the door. He opened it slowly only to immediately close it again. Oh, shit! Ramsam! They've found me. The hunt of The Guild of Thieves had come to an end, and soon, so would Calamity's freedom.

He grabbed his shirt, his boots and his old coat, whistled to Antisomme and dashed towards the fourth story window. Damned innkeeper who had sold him on the great view of his apartment. Bastard. I'll come back and show you the view you can enjoy jumping from—the fourth floor. He had stepped through the window and was standing, weak-kneed, on the thin ledge. He was starting to go slowly along the wall when he heard the door to his apartment get pulverized by two imposing thugs with axes. Their muscles rippled under the brown leather of their clothes. Long, chestnut hair framed their massive faces where black, bulging eyes flashed aggressively. Calamity, despite numerous warnings from the Guild, continued to profit from the charms of the city. Now, Ramsam and Paco, two brutal, bloodthirsty thieves generally charged with butchering black sheep, had come to settle his accounts.

He progressed painstakingly along the ledge of the Green Paradise Hotel, which lead him a few meters from the sign: a huge leather panel ornamented with fine gold, as the innkeeper repeated ad nauseam, and decorated with beautiful lettering. It hung over the street, suspended from a solid steel rod about two meters long. Calamity had an idea. He admitted to himself in a whisper that it was simultaneously brilliant, idiotic and dangerous, but he had nothing left to lose: the two butchers had already stepped out of the window and were slowly but surely making their way towards him. The sinister sharpness of their blades echoed their evil grins.

The alley below was four meters wide, more or less, and separated him from the two storey shop of a tailor, behind which stretched the city's rooftops and their promise of an escape. The innkeeper hadn't been wrong, in any case. The view was beautiful. In the forefront, the western districts with their shops and side streets, their hot girls and their bars. Farther in the background, the eastern suburbs of Prias, corrupted by the inevitable poverty of all big cities. It wasn't a good idea to venture out there after dark; nor in the day, come to think of it. The southern districts rose up on the right: tall, multi-storied buildings, mostly immense hotels devoted to tourism, apartments and exhibition buildings for the trade shows of the commerce guilds, as well as the universities. All the minds of Prias who wanted to exhaust themselves stayed on that side. To the left, the superb northern districts, the hub of luxury and opulence for the well-off in Prias. Immense, magnificent residences lined with gold and marble, and many monuments as well, each more majestic than the last. The privileged place of employment for Calamity and his colleagues of the Guild of Thieves. Finally, in the centre of it all, rose the palace of the governor, the administrative heart of the city. The place where everything was decided. This monumental, immaculate building, flanked by four towers that surrounded its large courtyard, inspired peace and harmony in comical contrast to the schemes hatched within it and the corruption that ruled there. A fine piece of work, in any case.

The whistle of an axe, followed by the zhonnng that rang out as it embedded itself into the wall a few inches above Calamity's head broke his architectural reverie. To his left, Ramsam brandished his weapon again, and the sadistic flame dancing in his eyes made it clear he had no intention of missing again. Calamity thought quickly, and so, rather poorly: cried out a cliched, Geronimo! then leapt and found himself straddling the pole of the sign. In the place where his delicate face had been just a few seconds earlier, was a 10 centimetre deep gash, scarring the front of the building. Calamity swallowed with difficulty and began to crawl awkwardly to the edge of the pole. Behind him, Ramsam, like a professional tight-rope walker, began to cross the pole towards Calamity; while behind him, Paco was patiently waiting for his turn, standing on the ledge. Ramsam had already crossed a good fifty centimetres and Calamity would soon be within reach of his axe.

Suddenly, a bird landed on the head of the thief. Antisomme! The brave little bird had been following the action and waiting to intervene. He began to peck at the head of the giant, who struggled violently, shaking his head vehemently in an effort to dislodge the alarm clock. Then Antisomme flew off rapidly, executed a spin followed by a loop, and dove, full-force at Ramsam. The thug dodged the attack with the grace of a dancer and fell, his body smashing with a thud on the ground below. According to onlookers, who by virtue of his death were granted the status of witnesses, he didn't suffer much, except when it came to his teeth, his ribs, and his liver.

Paco stayed as if paralysed on the ledge, but his axe still threatened Calamity, who straightened up carefully and focused on the one escape route he had left. With a graceful leap—as far as graceful could apply to a qrevet pretending to be a cricket- he threw himself towards the roof of the tailor's shop. He landed hard but alive. Clambering up, he sent a faint salute, a mixture of fear and defiance, in Paco's direction, then dove through a broken window. He ran downstairs at top speed and bolted through the alleyway. He'd crossed half the city before he dared to look back. He couldn't stay here much longer anyway. Judging by the state in which he'd left Ramsam, there was no doubt that the Guild would tighten its relentless grip until his delicate purplish exoskeleton was pulverized. Calamity paused a little, he was particularly fond of ornate colour descriptions. Purplish was way better than dirty pink.

Oh shit! The medallion! What the hell did I do with it?

He searched feverishly through his coat until he felt something in his right pocket. He let out a sigh of relief. Finally, a little luck. He hadn't hidden the relic with his other loot the way he normally did, in a little wooden chest under his bed, which Paco had probably found by now. In any case, there wasn't anything important in it, he thought. He had to leave as soon as possible: his old friend Kerouak would doubtless be able to help him get out of the city safely and without being noticed.

The Southern Districts-- everything came in this way and everything went out this way too. All of the city's stagecoach companies were here. As well as the branches of the commerce guilds, the warehouses, the hideouts of the smugglers, and the Prias Office of Tourism. In short, it was the crossroads of the city and kingdom of the pickpockets. The kind of place where it was good to have connections. That was the case with Kerouak, a customs officer by trade, who Calamity had met at a bar a few years back. It was the kind of encounter that didn't happen at high-society cocktail parties, to which our hero would never have been invited anyway. It was a series of unfortunate and humiliating circumstances that would make even the most scalded crustacean blush if I related it here. Their encounter had created a bond between the two. Kerouak was also a qrevet, very tall and very strong, with salmon-coloured flesh and a shell of such delicate, pale pink that it was almost white. He was very impressive and well-suited to the nature of his job: intimidation.

Calamity burst into his office in the late afternoon, wearing an ample monk's robe he'd picked up while passing a little chapel downtown.

Ah! Calamity...What do you need today?

Well, let's just say I want to leave the city, answered Calamity in a confessional tone that matched his ill-gotten, monastic attire.

You've got problems?

To tell you the truth, they've found me.

They who?

You know, 'They',insisted Calamity impatiently.

Oh, I see. So now they are going to follow you everywhere.

Especially since I've killed one of them, unfortunately, Calamity added miserably.

Kerouak seemed lost in thought. He took a few steps and said, I suppose you want to leave tonight?

Yes, I'd prefer it, if possible. The quavering groan that escaped his throat betrayed his anxiety.

Fine. I'll see what I can do. Stay here.

Where else would I go? thought Calamity.

By now, the Guild would have called the assassins to come settle his account. A shiver ran down his shell. It had been a rough day. Thankfully he still had his prized medallion. He slipped his hand under the robe, rummaged through his coat and pulled out his precious find. It was engraved with a magnificent golden dragon whose arms, strangely enough, seemed made of wood. Kerouak's voice pulled him out of his thoughts and he quickly tucked his treasure away.

It's all good. You're leaving on the next stagecoach.

Thanks a million my friend, I don't know how I'll ever repay you.

Well, let's say we're even.

Euh... hum. Alright. Thanks again, Kerouak. Thanks.

Get going now, Calamity. See you soon, brother.

He put his hand on Calamity's shoulder, and for just an instant, they exchanged a knowing look, tinged with resignation.

See you soon, friend, Calamity said and quickly slipped out.

Kerouak sat down in his thick wooden armchair. He sighed and looked out the window. Calamity was running, as if untroubled, towards the stagecoach.

Be careful, murmured Kerouak, worrying about the poor langoustinoide who was throwing himself into the unknown of the vast, cubic world.

Chapter II

The next day, Bastan was in sight. The large, magnificent student city of Déosan. The largest in all of Sammanland, in all of Uno, and indeed, on the entire Cube. Here, according to urban legend, there were more universities than houses. This wasn't far from the truth-- university buildings covered more than a third of the city. There were more than a thousand faculties, and out of some 70 000 inhabitants of Bastan, more than half were students. Consequently, the city was very young and dynamic. A little too young and dynamic for some people who, at their age, would have liked to sleep a little more often and also a little longer. Here, Thursday nights were legendary, and the entire city was rocked by parties and student nights out. When you added the number of students to the impressive number of professors and administrative personnel, more than three-quarters of the city were directly connected to the university.

Bastan was impressive when you were coming from Prias. The route lead down a small hill which offered a unobstructed view of the city, a few kilometres from the gates of Bastan. Let us look more closely at those city gates. Two beautiful, massive oak doors, engraved with the names of all those who had made Bastan: the heroes, the great explorers, the exceptional students, the renowned professors, and all of the city's governors. On each side, above the outer wall of the old city, which nowadays was only about an eighth of Bastan but was nevertheless the official entrance, one could admire the statues of the two city founders. Many centuries ago, Mierre and Parie Curry, two scientist-adventurers, erected the colony of Bastan, which eventually became this great city.

Beyond the old city rose the tall towers of the largest universities. The beautiful stone buildings belonged to the Jean Pennac Faculty of Arts and Humanities. The tall, red brick tower to the Pelo Neco Faculty of Modern Physics. And the wood and steel dome belonged to the Christophus Darcelus Faculty of Organic Chemistry. There was also the impressive pyramid of the Nicolaïus Boudeelus Faculty of History. Boudeelus was the greatest living explorer of Sammanland. He was a true fount of knowledge and the Pyramid, as it was called, had taken on his name about ten years ago. However, the most stunning of all was without a doubt, the ebony and silver palace of the famous Jhu'liet Ghot'hyer Faculty of Macromolecular Chemistry Complex.

Calamity awoke softly from an uncomfortable sleep on the short, narrow coach bench. His finances had not permitted him to travel inside the coach itself. He swore. He would have preferred to wake up peacefully in his cozy bed at the Blue Paradise Hotel to the sweet sound of...

Oh god! Antisomme! I forgot about Antisomme!

Don't get so riled up my friend, said the driver calmly. If you've forgotten something in Prias, it's too late to turn around now." And he began to laugh.

"Not something, someone. I forgot my alarm clock."

What's an alarm clock?

It's a... no, never mind.

That's what it meant to be on the cutting edge of progress-- no one understood what the hell you were talking about. Poor Antisomme, all alone and abandoned in Prias. Well...the driver was right, it was too late now. He had to resign himself to that fact. He told himself that it would be hard to find an alarm clock; especially one capable of saving your life. Brave Antisomme. A small tear appeared on Calamity's cheek. He wiped it away forcefully with the sleeve of his old coat. Damn sand! he said. The driver smiled and mechanically flicked the reins of his tired horses. They would soon arrive at the city gates.

***

A beautiful Wednesday morning was dawning as the coach crossed the threshold of the gates of the old city. Calamity watched the big, animated streets of Bastan with interest. All of his memories came flooding back. He was a student here, some Closeroses¹ ago. He'd been here just enough time to get a BA from the Faculty of Law but never went on to complete his Masters. This diploma was Calamity's last before he quit school to go roam the streets and run from the law instead of studying it. That always made him laugh at least. Money problems got in the way of his university career. Who knows, maybe he could have been a lawyer or a judge by now?

Sitting on the coach bench and rethinking those moments made him laugh to himself. But it was just a way to avoid thinking about his nostalgia. The memory of all those wonderful years, all his friends, though they'd forgotten him pretty quickly afterwards, and finally, all of his, well some of his, girlfriends. Those unforgettable student evenings, when alcohol was so sweet and so cheap. In short, those millions of things that make life beautiful-- beautiful and carefree. All that was long gone now: he was an adult, and a thief. Of course this wasn't how he'd imagined his life, but you can't rewrite history. At least good memories never go away.

The stagecoach stopped. The trip was over. A voice pulled Calamity out of his daydreams.

You can come down now, Sir, said the driver.

Huh? Oh yes, sorry, mumbled Calamity.

He jumped down. Little clouds of dust scattered around his boots. Calamity was back.

***

After visiting all his favourite drinking spots and bar hopping for a while, Calamity set out on a quest to find a place to sleep. He easily found a room at the Voyagers of Happiness Hotel, which was a fitting name, in his opinion. It was already late and he decided to get some sleep. He heard a metallic noise when he threw his coat over an armchair in the room. He rummaged through his pockets.

Good god, the Medallion. I forgot all about it.

He threw himself on the bed and began examining his treasure attentively, something he hadn't really had a chance to do until now.

This thing must be worth it's weight in gold. A real little fortune.

The more he looked at it, the more fascinated he became with the wooden arms of the dragon. They reminded him of something.

Wooden arms, wooden arms, he repeated to himself. He frowned, then opened his eyes wide, Yes of course, Cypresstechnology®.

Cypresstechnology® was a modern science invented by a sallin² named Fargo, one of Sammanland's greatest scientists. The technology consisted of replacing limbs or even some organs, with a prosthetic device made of wood or vegetable fibre, in order to improve the physical capabilities of the patient. The species of tree used was the cypress, which gave its name to the new science. The implants, which is what the replacement organs or limbs were called, were very expensive and difficult to find, though the task was easier on the black market. For these reasons, only the rich and the powerful criminals were capable of getting Cypresstechnology®. So, basically, only the rich.

However, even for the well-to-do, the use of these implants was pretty rare. Firstly because this science, even if it had existed for tens of years, was still in its early stages and the side-effects were largely unknown. Secondly, resorting to these practices was looked down upon in bourgeois and aristocratic circles, due to their paradoxical views on the spiritual nature of the body. Any addition made to the body, no matter its nature, risked touching the soul too, even the very essence of being. In short, Cypresstechnology® was in total opposition with the religious views of the time. Criminals and thieves, who didn't bother with religious considerations, nevertheless had practical concerns about the implants. It was true that they significantly improved physical ability, but, their extreme cost outweighed their benefits. Why spend all your money only to have to earn it back again? It didn't seem logical, except maybe to those who had turned to a life of crime purely for the joy of it. But that's another story.

To conclude, the three disadvantages of Cypresstechnology® were its doubtful viability, its moral questionability, and its exorbitant price. But besides all that, this science was a gem in and of itself. With a Cypressarm you became the epitome of strength. You could lift a horse, provided the arm stayed properly attached to your shoulder. You could shoot an arrow for many hundreds of meters even without a bow. And your uppercuts would be fatal. Cypresslegs gave you the speed of a gookar³ , allowed you to jump from the fourth floor to the ground and back up again. In two words: infinite agility. But that wasn't all. With Cypressnerves, you would be faster than the wind, with the reflexes of a monkey and perfect precision. The abilities of a living watch that was always on time. There are many more examples, but let's stop here. Endless lists have a way of becoming boring very quickly. The important question for Calamity was why the dragon on the Medallion would be shown with Cypressarms? What a crazy idea. The Medallion was definitely impressive, but a delightful naked princess would have been nicer on the eyes, and for the imagination. Having said this, Calamity wondered what the real significance of the dragon was. Did it mean anything at all? The best solution would be to go and ask a medallion specialist, he said to himself. No, that's not such a smart idea. It would be better to see a specialist in Cypresstech®. Well done.

Self-congratulation was rare in Calamity's experience, so it's worth noting here. It wasn't that anything in particular was stopping him. Perhaps he was just a particularly modest qrevet. But perhaps it had nothing to do with modesty at all. Well, let's leave it alone and get back to the story. Calamity decided to go and find a professional professor of Cypresstechnology®. But first, a good night's sleep. He turned to the bedside table to pick up the alarm clock.

Right, I forgot. Poor Antisomme. I'm going to have to accept that he's gone.

He blew out the candle, though it took a few tries, and fell fast asleep.

***

Calamity woke up late; the morning was already well underway. He felt good. At least well enough to take on what he needed to do today. He dressed quickly and went down to see the innkeeper. He began, Excuse me, friend. Where can I find a Cypresstech® expert?

Ah well, you certainly don't waste time in the morning do you? answered the innkeeper in a deep voice. I'm not sure, why not try a carpenter at the Branks workshop?

I guess I'm not the only one who doesn't waste time in the morning. I bet your comic genius really kills at all the hotel parties.

Hey, now, friend. Change your tone or you'll see who really doesn't waste time.

He slammed his fist into his left hand and cracked his knuckles. For someone in the hotel industry, he didn't seem very accommodating. Calamity took a step back.

Come on, I was just kidding. Listen, thanks for your help, Mr. Innkeeper, see you soon. Calamity hurried towards the exit.

That's it. Go for a walk, traveller, he murmured into his beard. Poor guy, so nervous.

Calamity walked down Pracson Street which ran the length of the Lars Arsel Faculty of Mechanical Physics as well as the Némio Sadan Faculty of Mineral Chemistry. This was the beginning of the great science campus of Bastan. Even though the universities weren't necessarily grouped by subject, immense campuses were organized around the greater themes: the sciences, the arts, or law. Calamity new the latter especially well, but he was also very familiar with the park at the Faculty of Science where he had some friends, but above all, some girlfriends. Now, as he walked across the green carpet of shimmering grass in Columbus Garden, he remembered all of those girls.

Calamity wasn't what you'd call a ladies man, but his girlfriends had been very pretty. And, even though his conquests couldn't compare to those of Casanova, he had nevertheless dated more girls than he could count on his fingers. He remembered each one of them as if it was yesterday. The sense of freedom filled his soul and he felt as if he had gone back in time. Ten years back to an era that was free of worry and guilt. He could have drawn the face of each girl with the tip of his finger. They were engraved in that little space that we all have, lost somewhere in the depths of our hearts, but which some of us cover up with ridiculous and tasteless memories, like the final game of the Super Bowl or a night of monumental drunkenness.

There was Mariah, the first, Fanya, the craziest, Enitsyrk, totally indecisive, Sofya, he never really knew what to do with her, Delphyane and her blistering glare, Sélianne, who wanted to marry him, Audrïane, who was just passing through, Syrène and her eyes of silver and emerald, Tyanya and her crazy stories, Ylagam and her nasty character, Meryalin, a brilliant girl, Ambre, a rare pearl, but above all, above all, there was Juliet. Yes, Juliet.

For Juliet was the most beautiful girl in the entire city, in all of Déosan, in all of Sammanland. Some said that no one could equal her beauty on the entire surface of the Cube, and even on the inside of it. And if other worlds existed in other galaxies, no other person, regardless of their species, could possibly be more beautiful than she. In fact, Juliet was the way the stars could show everyone the true definition of the word radiance, splendour, charm, grace, seduction, passion, gentleness, and harmony. In a word, she was perfection.

But perfection has a price, and Calamity wasn't rich enough, and someone else stole his beautiful Juliet away. His name was Sebb, and he would never be forgiven. It took Calamity years to piece his broken heart back together. Years before he had any desire to hunt, that is, to seduce and to love. Juliet was his last love, his last girlfriend, the thirteenth.

Definitely a sign, he concluded.

He had stopped walking. He was standing in the middle of the park. His eyes lingered on each tree, each bench, each blade of grass. He owed so many of his joyful memories to this place. But now, the future was waiting, its arms filled with gold. There was so much of it that he even saw some coins overflowing and falling down. They rang so sweetly when they hit the ground that he was lost in their melody. He shook his head and spotted the Gruid Smon Faculty of Biology building on the horizon. He would surely find what he was looking for there. That's where his beautiful future would begin.

***

The Great Hall of the university was mostly...strange. Calamity had never really liked biology. Tinkering with the body was messed up. It was all like some kind of magic, not very natural. You ought to work with the body and soul you were given. All those experiments seemed more like the work of a sorcerer's apprentice than a controlled science. To tell the truth, he found even that rather sick. On the other hand, it could make him rich, so he decided to be more open-minded. He wasn't going to be difficult about it. Nevertheless, all of those bones on the walls, the paintings of entrails and organs that decorated the place. Combined with the strange smell of ether, everything was a little unpleasant. Oh well, he was just passing through.

He approached the information board which was hanging on an impressive marble pillar in the centre of the hall. Cypresstech®, Cypresstech®... Calamity muttered, following along the list with his finger as he searched. Ah, there it is! The Institute of Cypresstechnology, fourth floor, room 4, Professor Eineg Ruejam Cal. Another sallin.

He went quickly up to the fourth floor. The building was still deserted at this time. It must have been about noon. Calamity came out onto the fourth floor and found himself in a large hallway with white walls lined with pictures of all the species who had received a Cypresstech® prosthesis. Impressive gallery of nut jobs, he muttered to himself. On each side of the hallway were massive, wooden doors, (definitely cypress) which gave the whole thing an oppressive look. Calamity approached the door with a lovely silver plaque inscribed with fine writing in wood that read:

Professor Eineg Ruejam Cal

Specialist in Biology and Genetics

Director of the Bastan Institute of Cypresstechnology®

Please Knock

Calamity knocked softly.

Yes, whistled a small voice on the other side of the door. Come in.

Calamity did, after some difficulty pushing the heavy planks.

Ah yes, the doors are a little...thick here. They're made of massive cypress you know, said a little being who was now in front of him.

I am Eineg Ruejam Cal, but you can call me Ruejam, he continued while Calamity finished wrestling with the door.

Pleasure to meet you. Calamity Rainbow, answered the qrevet, extending a hand.

Please, have a seat, said Ruejam, pointing to an enormous armchair made of leather and wood.

Calamity crossed the gigantic office to go and sit in the excessively large chair. He wasn't very big as it was, but in this chair, he was practically microscopic.

So, to what do I owe the honour of your visit, Mr. Rainbow? asked Ruejam in a professorial tone.

Well, I'm looking for a Cypresstechnology® specialist, and...

"I think you have found him, Mr. Rainbow. I wood certainly the most brilliant mind on the subject in this town, if I do say so myself," he said with a little smile.

Sure... replied Calamity wondering what on earth he had gotten himself into.

So, what can I do for you Mr. Rainbow?

Well, I have a few questions for you.

I am all ears, Mr. Rainbow.

Ruejam threw himself back in his chair and crossed his arms over his stomach. With a gentle movement of his pelvis, he made his chair sway back and forth a little. A movement which was accompanied each time by a metallic squeak. It was exactly the kind of noise that would quickly become unbearably annoying.

Well, I wanted to know what creatures were used in Cypresstechnology® experiments?

First off, we do not really do experiments, as you call them, but rather surgical operations, that is, medical ones. Also, I do not really care for the term 'creature', -- I'd rather use 'species.' We are not, after all, mere beasts. Other than that, to answer your question, the implants are given to consenting participants -- guinea pigs, in a way, who have accepted to take part in our work. Cypresstechnology® is a limited consumer good that must be made under medical and scientific control. For now, the only cities where one may, let us say, 'buy' implants, are Bastan-- where I am in charge, Prias, Learmont, and of course Owslew-- home of the renowned Institute of Professor Fargo, the inventor of Cypresstechnology®. Does that answer your question?

Well, actually. What I wanted to know was whether you had done any experi...I mean, operations, on um... Calamity paused, dragons?

Dragons! My goodness, what an idea! No, I don't think so. And I would know. Where on Cube did you get such crazy idea?

The sallin was beginning to get on Calamity's nerves. But he was going to have to keep his composure if he wanted to get anything useful out of the vain and exhausting little peanut. It's probably best to explain here that the sallins did look quite a bit like peanuts. They were sometimes--that is quite often, made fun of for this reason.

You see...

Calamity stopped to think. Would he have to show this guy the Medallion? Wouldn't it be better to keep it to himself, especially since he had stolen it? On top of it all, this odd professor didn't exactly inspire him with confidence. He could always say he had heard a story about a dragon with wooden arms. Yep. That was it, a good idea, some urban legend.

Um, pardon me, Mr. Rainbow. Is there a problem? Ruejam interrupted.

Huh? Oh, no. I was just thinking. Well, actually picturing the, that is, remembering a story.

Ruejam pursed his lips. Insofar as he could, what with the huge, wild eyes and thin lips. He looked sceptical. What do you mean, Mr. Rainbow? Please explain, he said finally.

You see, I've heard this urban legend yesterday in a bar. About dragons. Dragons with arms made of wood. He spoke in a solemn tone as if sharing a big secret.

That's very interesting, Mr. Rainbow, Ruejam replied in a condescending tone. And as a result you came here to talk to me.

Well, yeah. I was intrigued.

And do you always go and see someone to follow up on stories you overhear in taverns? continued Ruejam, still condescending but now with a hint of paternalism too.

No, no. But this story really caught my attention, answered Calamity trying not to make things worse but at the same time realizing that he did sound a little ridiculous.

Yes, but what is it that you expect me to tell you? The people you overheard were most likely drunk. That is not surprising in such places. Ruejam’s tone had gone from mocking to outright nasty.

Listen, they weren't drunk, they seemed to be sound of mind and besides, they were talking quite seriously and... Calamity stopped himself. He sighed helplessly and said, Fine. I saw a dragon like that on a medallion.

Ah, there we are, Mr. Rainbow. That wasn't so hard, was it? And do you have the medallion?

Calamity didn't like this peanut. He talked to him like he was a student who had come to get extra marks on his exam-- something that Calamity had never done, unlike some of his friends who made a habit of it. He didn't like the smug and pompous tone. And on top of it all, this was the saltiest smelling sallin he had ever met. Alright, maybe that last part wasn't true, but it did make him feel better.

Yes, yes, I've got it on me.

Well, show me then.

Calamity rummaged through his pockets and pulled out a bit of fabric. He unwrapped it and took out the Medallion. He held it out to the sallin.

Be careful with it, okay? he said.

Don't worry, I'm a professor and...

Oh, how could I forget, murmured Calamity.

Pardon me, Mr. Rainbow?

Oh it's nothing, he coughed a little.

and you can trust me, Ruejam finished.

Go to hell, Rainbow muttered.

Did you say something?

Oh no, I've got a frog in my throat, he coughed a little more.

Ah, alright, Ruejam looked at the qrevet with interest. He held the Medallion in front of his big eyes.

This Medallion is magnificent, Mr. Rainbow. Yes, truly superb. He looked a little more closely