A Sketchy Plan for Diversion

It only stands to reason that I should write up each of those six options I came up with yesterday. Surely that’s how the pros might do it? Right?

1) Therefore she determines to break into the pumping station to rig the timers, but she needs a magician who can hack the timers.

“I need a hack or a tweak or whatever you call them.”

“It won’t work, Woo.” Cursnahmola, the old spell-spinner, perched on a worn felt rail near his lamp. He’d folded his book closed but kept a long finger in the fold. He no longer shaved his head in the manner of a spinner, but he kept it close. The black had lost its youthful gleam and was well salted even into the brindle of stripes cascading down his thighs [into his stocking].

“I haven’t even told you what I want.”

“You want a chron. You want a chron so you can adjust the sluice timers at the pumping station. Woo, you’re not even the first person today asking for one.” He licked his top lip like he was about to return to his book and turn a page, but set it aside on the table instead.

Woo took his concession of reading as an invitation to outline her plan.

“That’s more subtle than what the others had in mind. Still won’t work.”

“What aren’t you telling me, Nahmi?”

“He can’t spin a chron without first reading the timer. Someone would have to go with you,” a voice from the kitchen interupted. Woo hadn’t seen Mohnil, Cursnahmola’s apprentice, when she entered the dimly lit suite. He’d sat quietly at the table as she outlined her criminal scheme.

Turning to Cursnahmola, Woo threw out her hands at the realization she’d not been speaking as privately as she’d thought.

“I’m too old to keep secrets from him,” Cursnahmola said, and then continued, “Not someone. Not you. Me.”

[initially I was thinking Mohnil would approach Woo after this meeting (and maybe he still can), but now I’m thinking that Nahmi will tell her no then do it himself alone.]

349 words on day 949


Fleh! I haven’t written since Thursday. Let’s call it a mixture of good reasons, laziness, and spoiled opportunities. I did fiddle with the Hartwhile piece, made a spreadsheet of some threads I might devote my final hundred days to, and joined a genealogy site to help organize the Bringer family tree. So, there’s that.

Narkkid put two fingers in her mouth and whistled. The girl stopped abruptedly and turned. Narkkid waggled the [something characteristic] cylinder in her hand. Even at this distance, she could see the girl’s lips tighten into a pissed sneer. The she scanned up, looking to the sky over the Hartwhile shop.

“Incoming,” Tjon said. When the three looked back to the girl, she was gone.

“Hide it.” Narrkid handed the cylinder to Tjon. “Uma, get up out of there and get back to work on that Shortle’s. He wants it before noon.”

Narrkid was scooping coffee grounds when the police landed.


Tjon closed the bug scanner and dropped it into his apron pocket. “Nothing here. It will take me longer to do the perimeter. If you even want me to?”

Narkkid stepped back from the huddle and walked over to the still open front bay threshhold. Honey Farm Circle wasn’t the quietest part of [town], but it wasn’t the most raucous. Red Rodney’s, the…[some description I don’t feel like doing right now]. “No. Don’t bother. We don’t want to look more suspicious by being more thorough. Something tells me our little friend won’t have much trouble staying unfound. Uma, the Shortle’s?”

“Done, boss. Want me to put a bow on it?”

“You hear his message?”

“No, then?”

“No, but bring it over front. I don’t feel like two trips up my butt today.” Uma and Tjon laughed; Narkkid went on, “Tjon, you’ve got twenty minutes to scan that tube—nothing harsh—then I need you back on that new Bainbridge.”

Neither Uma nor Tjon moved right away. Narkkid sensed they wanted to talk about the girl since they hadn’t done that amongst themselves—only to the police—but she wanted to think about it to herself for the same reason. “Nineteen…”

352 words on day 903

A Cool Blue Mage’s Cassock

This follows the Crainstock, LTD. stuff you’ll find somewhere else on 1000 Days

The extended warmth of the traverse and the uncanny sensation of being piped like frosting onto a cake told Kera she’d stepped through a portal and not just a door. There was a déjà vu hiccup mid-trip she wondered about, but soon forgot as she was deposited onto the black sand of a broad flat beach. The sunglasses in Donna’s pocket made sense now.

Twenty-five mages circled a great metal band and hummed a low continuous monotone. Kera had expected a torus instead of a band. The band was…

Donna roughly twisted Kera around, placed her free hand in the center of Kera’s back and guided her without apology to a white tent. Kera got her hands up in time to part the flap as Donna pushed her through. Magic cooled the air inside and flattened and packed the sand to a black gloss. At the back—in a ring of padded folding chairs—Mr. Balasubramanyan sprawled across a pair of them with his head in his knees; he didn’t look up. Donna pushed Kera behind a tri-fold. “Get undressed. All the way. Earrings, contacts, patches. I’ll get you a cassock.”

Kera heeled off her sandles, shuffled out of her Levi’s, and quickly unbuttoned her blouse. She hesitated a moment before unclasping her favorite flower bra, but then continued and stacked that neatly on her growing pile of clothes. Donna returned and tossed a blue mage’s cassock over the top of the tri-fold.

“Tattoos too?”

“Don’t be flip, Miss Woods. All. All your ink was natural or you wouldn’t be in our employ in the first place.”

Donna’s repeated word struck just as Kera slid her panties past her knees; shame…

xxx words on day 879