I have been driving long enough now to know better than to look directly at the fellow who suddenly appeared in the seat next to me, but I still had to fight the instinctual swerve away I did with the steering wheel in lieu of my entire body teleporting. Or whatever unreasonable if possibly rational instinct the brain has upon such situations.

(There’s a little digression here about how a little of the cyberpunk I’ve read disappoints me on this note, especially compared to the juncture of man and machine in real life. The brain doesn’t come with instincts about “driving,” or “riding,” which is why practice is what lays down the pattern in our heads. Too much of the cybernetic stories seem to be about adjusting to what’s already there, just now made of a different matrix. Our body knows how to use legs and arms. I like the weird stuff, which in this case is to say how man (or woman – I’m using it in the “mankind” sense) adjusts to wings, or tails, or rototiller tailbone attachments, or whatever the new black is in the cyberverse.)

Which is to say, I knew a little of how a blink dog felt, I think. Phase spider? Whatever unlikely dimensionally dooring…yeah, there it is again. I would still refute being obsessed with portals. It’s becoming a weaker and weaker defense, though, lately. And I think Fourth Edition AD&D introduced a race of ‘porters. (Well, I don’t know if it made away with encumbrance…nevermind. My Dungeon Master views anything past First Edition with a great deal of suspicion, but we’ve been playing a homebrew hybrid for years anyway. This is a gamer geek flag wave. See my flag? It is waving.)

The reason such creatures came to mind is that from the corner of my eye, the fellow on the seat looked kind of like the kobold out of the Monster Manual. A little doggish, although not quite as pronounced a jaw, but something in my glance immediately brought that label to mind.

“Would you mind buckling your seat belt?” I finally managed. It wasn’t quite as eloquent as the shout, scream, or grunt of surprise I may have made during the wrangling of the car from where it attempted to escape its lane, but it sounded pretty cool to me. “Cool,” in this case meaning non-plussed, as if I was gifted with the particular traits of inability to be surprised by anything, able to roll with the flow, like dice off a duck’s back. No, wait, that wasn’t quite right… Unfazeable. That’s the word.

The little man (really, he was no taller than a six-year old) fastened the seat belt. He pointed to the warning on the sunshade that suggested children stay in the back because of attendant air bag risks. “Kelpies doona come with air bags,” he said.

A bit heavy on the accent, but I got it. “Not even rigged out of those weird seaweed with the air bladders?”

“Nay,” he replied.

“Neigh,” I agreed with what I hoped was a subtle flaring of the nostrils. I don’t think he got it. So, kobolds weren’t really Celtic, which is the best I pegged his accent, and stated as such I risked the wrath of many linguicians. They had, wossname, spriggans. I tried to remember what spriggans looked like, but besides the really obnoxious nymphlets with a taste for bear sidekicks in the latest Elder Scrolls games, I couldn’t really bring an image to mind.

“An ya mixed up with witch business?” he asked. At least, I think it was a question and not just a sigh and a shake of his head to mean that I was a silly one or however he called it.

“Witches kiss almost as good as crazy girls,” I said, keeping my focus on the road ahead.

“Aye!” the creature chuckled. “An less likely to put you inna doghouse save literally.” He seemed pleased with himself, almost as much as I was with my “Neigh” response. (I was just being a good Neighbor. Nevermind.)

“Hounded as we all are from women,” I agreed. “But besides sharing our comparisons of the gentler gender, what are you doing in my car, and who are you. In whatever order.”

“An we were jus’ doin’ so fine, sharin’,” he complained. “This car belongs to me, an’ I’m its master.”

“Your name is Rent-a-wreck?” I surmised sarcastically.

“Nay.  I be usin’ it temporarily as my vehicle.  You’re involved in small stuff, are ye na?”

The first part almost made sense.  The question, though, didn’t make any sense until I capitalized one of the words.  The Small Kingdoms.  Oh dear.  “Perhaps incidentally. I’ve a… friend who introduced us.”

“Aye. A Thomas.”  It seemed to matter to him.

“Would a Jack have been better?” Hey, I read.

“Power of names, but we be foolin’.  Ye’ve no idea wherefore the King be playin’ games with a wee bit of wizard like ya?”

“Never met the fellow.  And to sound kind of mercenary about it, he hasn’t given me any reason to help out except for sending a troll to my doorstep.”  I belatedly remembered the rock, but, well, except for some cleavage jokes it was just a token of good faith, not payment, right?

“Sir Darius is na only a knight of the Small Ways.  He wears a mark such as ye, na that of a Shadow King’s, but puissant enow.  He’s known seven kingdoms and heralded for most.  Powerful friends ye must hae.”

“I think I followed what you said but it still didn’t make any sense to me.  Yeah, I know I’m marked.  Got that part.   And yeah, that was his name.  I’d forgotten, although it’s not like I’m spoilt for choice when it comes to trolls.  I’ve only really met the one.”  I was nearing my exit, and it was taking some concentration.  Rent-a-wreck was playing with the switch for the glove compartment with his foot.  I tried ignoring it.

“Less’n your marked by Dragons, we suppose.”  The little man sighed.  “The courts are curious and ye might do well to stay home to the solstice, stay to places that are loved by their keepers, na such as this where any man can take control.  I’m a beastie that loves iron, so no comfort for ye there, ye being a reader an all.”

“What about fibreglass?” I caught myself asking.

“Gremlin poop,” he retorted.  His accent was completely gone for a moment.

I grinned.

“An were you told of another messenger?”  Accent returned.

“Uh, yeah.”

“He speaks partial sooth.  There be three in total.  Must be.  An your witches, they will na protect you.”  The little man laughed, a whistling sound.  “Do na fail to notice the small things.”

“I’ll sweat them, don’t worry.  Hey, what’s with the accent?”

“Tradition, wizard.  An it’ll hide me from your enemies by being so daft.”  He disappeared, then, but I knew he would.  The seatbelt retracted and I never even swerved an inch.