The Smoke Clears

Previously, on the Chronicles of Coralende, Jessica Banks starred creepily at Peter Pidgeons while he showered… Only joking.

Previously, on the Chronicles of Coralende, an assassination attempt cut a close to mr. martin’s first meeting with the enigmatic magistrate. Before he could even be surprised at still being alive, jacob was floored, literally, to see the magistrate conjuring a dark web to shield them from the explosion that had demolished the other half of the mansion. And as if these events hadn’t already quiet completely blown his mind, the magistrate flew, but actually flew, like a model-rocket, up into the air towards a woods where the assassin presumably was.

An avalanche of adrenaline and other neurotransmitters fireworked off and jacob’s entire experience was heightened and on edge. It had to be, instincts. Ten deep breaths were not going to cut it. jacob didn’t even know where to begin: someone had just tried to kill them and the magistrate could fly like a comic-strip hero! How could that be possible? Was it even possible? But he had seen it, was still seeing it as a black dot hovered above the woods. What else could the magistrate do? Did landers know? This was an entirely different ball game now. For the first time in a long time, mr. martin felt his feet slipping. He was back on his feet but he was developing a slouch.

And who was trying to kill them? Was it both of them or just the magistrate? Who would want to kill… well, he could think of a few. And how could they, he or she have followed the magistrate (that had to be the real target) this far? It had taken all his tricks for jacob to get so far. Who else was out there that could do that?

“Who?”

The magistrate’s return was abrupt as he landed on jacob’s back sending him crashing to the floor. He must have snuck around when jacob was thinking.

“I wish I knew,” jacob finally managed after collecting his knocked out breath.

“True. I would have known if you had been stupid enough to try something.” jacob took that as permission to push himself to his feet again. His entire rib cage would be purple the next day. He risked a glance over at the magistrate, who was staring at nothing in particular. “landers.” Then the magistrate spoke stretching out each syllable in a very low pitch that seemed to vibrato in and out of hearing.

Then next hour passed in silence. Had it been another person in jacob’s situation, it would have been intensely awkward. The need to release the traumatic experience compounded by the itch of the uncertainty of the upcoming events wouldn’t be dammed easily. But maybe mr. martin had a touch of undiagnosed aspergers; sharing intense emotional experiences never seemed part of his coping mechanisms. Thinking was his coping mechanism. Once in kindergarten two kids knocked down an elaborate block castle that he had been building for an hour. Much to the teacher’s surprise, instead of throwing a fit or trying to pummel the two other boys the 6-year-old jacob just stared at the pile of blocks. However, jacob’s thinking was not professorial thinking that rarely results in direct change of action. jacob martin’s thinking concluded with new action. A week after the castle incident, one of the boy’s birthday present race car was found, by jacob, smashed up in the trash and the other boy’s new fall jacket got cut up with scissors. So they sat there in silence quite content just thinking their thoughts until landers car pulled up.

The magistrate’s earlier vocal display must have been some sort of the magical communication to landers. Did the magistrate not have a cell phone? More than likely he was going for effect and landers was more than affected. Hesitation and hint of fear had breached landers’ personality. He got out of the car with his shoulders down glancing back and forth searching for something to keep from looking up to the magistrate. And when he finally approached the magistrate, the later prolonged the tension by waiting for landers to speak first.

“huh…” side glance to what used to be front porch of the mansion. “what, happened?”

“Someone knew we were here. That’s what happened.” In a blink of the eye, the magistrate was only centimeters away from landers’ face and what he said was far too soft for anyone but landers to hear. Only landers excuses coupled with apologies indicated the direction of the conversation.

“No, I reassure you, no one else was on the road. They had to be in the woods. I’m sor”

“That would have been almost inconceivable. Watching that would just risk more exposure. It won’t happen”

“No, I haven’t heard of anything. None of the players have even a suspicion. You’ve seen my reports. It almost has to be someone outside. I will look into it right a”

“Yes, your magistrate. Yes. Of course.”

The magistrate turned to address jacob. “landers will take you back now, mr. martin. You will hear from me soon.”

jacob walked to the passenger side but stopped before he got in. “Ah, excuse me, but if you want, I still have an in on nilbmah’s underground currents. I could look into possible leads for this assassin if you’d like.” landers lips must have pursed but jacob wouldn’t have caught it because the magistrate’s long stare occupied his eyes.

“ok”

The magistrate turned and walked away and jacob got in the car.

Another silent hour carried jacob home. When he got inside and saw landers drive off, he realized how professional athletes could make such foolish victory displays. He was overcome with joy and energy. That was the most fun he had had in years, in decades.