Strange Aeons [Book 1]

23. The Mousetrap [part III]

«We will set a trap. We will direct a massive amount of Dispel energy, well amplified, right on Staccato. And the best way to do something like that is to plant devices, artifacts, whatever we'll come up with, all around the place and activate them at the same time just on him.» Garaham pointed at some sheets completely covered in his mid-1800s handwriting.

«To be sure that our traps would be set right and without suspicions, I need someone trustworthy to supervision the decorations where we will hide everything, and, Banshee, you are just the right person. So, start getting ideas: I have organized for you to have a team of young volunteers to help with your any need and free requests to our decoration warehouse.» Garaham pointed a hand towards her.

«Nay nay nay! Wait there! Ye mean that while you all prepare the traps and fun part and I'm stuck with decorating the fucking place? Do I have to let ye hear from me Union rep for this clear act of sexism?» she stood up in a jump.

«Mages don't have a Union representative. We don't have a Union, full stop,» he replied. «And it's not a sexist decision, but a mere good micromanaging of resources. You're, by far, the more artistic mind of this particular group.»

«I can play the violin and suddenly I'm Martha fucking Stewart?» she protested quite vibrantly.

«No, but I can think of no better person to whom give such a task as decorating for what's, indeed, a party. Chop chop, time's-a ticking.» and with those last strangely kind words he moved the hand in the air for a final time, and Banshee found herself instantly teleported in a giant empty concert room with what looked like a class of teenagers overly excited for their nightly job at her disposal.

Back at Casa Pollos, however, the work was just beginning.

They needed a contained blast of magic because they didn't want to dispel anyone in the audience, but they had no idea about the actual power they were going to dispel from the coat.

«We will need a terrible amount of magical energy. You should reconsider letting Banshee helping us instead of sending her in the rear.» Chico observed.

«We need her to effectively unmask him once we neutralize the artifact. Plus, the only way to channel enough dispel energy is by a ritual, and we can't all disappear from the room, don't you reckon?» Garaham said, nervously fidgeting with his own finger points.

«How we do ritual in room full of mages with no one seeing?» Vopros pointed out.

The concert hall map was quite simple. There were a hundred rows of ten chairs climbing up as a parterre and a balcony with as many places. There were two orders of boxes on both sides and a central Royal Box for Councilmen and their families. The stage was quite huge, it could host a big orchestra with ease, and had all the trappings and machines of an advanced theatre stage.

There was a lot of upstage and backstage space, accessible from the stage and from two backdoors, opening one on the road beside the concert hall and one on the artists' changing rooms. It was a pretty big ground to cover, but a great place to hide traps.

«To be able to focus the most of our energies we will have to be as close as we could possibly can to Staccato. Which means that our best options are the upper stage walkways. They run over the whole stage, and they are completely covered by the curtain's harlequin, so nobody would see us.»

«Yeah, I can get that Jefe but... you are the only one who could use Dispel magic here. How would we ever be of assistance?»

Garaham looked at them intensely, and in sudden perfect silence. He had thought long and hard about what he was about to do. On one hand, it was the perfect conclusion of ten chaotic years spent with, namely, one of the strangest Covens of the Order. The classic "going out with a bang". On the other hand, he had spent years gathering what he was about to show them, and even if, in his new Logistics office, he would have probably never had to use Dispel magic at all again, he was quite reluctant to part from everything.