The Wraith Of God [FICTOID]

The exorcist made her way up the battlements to where the ghost awaited her.

“They tell me you kidnapped the duke,” she said.

“Aye.”

“Care to tell me why?”

“Nay.”

“May I at least know the category of your reason?” she asked.  “Revenge?  Justice?  Third party curse?”

“’Tis a holy mission,” said the ghost.

The exorcist pursed her mouth, pondering her next move.  “Typically when someone is kidnapped, the kidnapper wants something in exchange for the victim.  Do you want something in exchange for the duke?”

“Aye.”

Several moments passed, the wind whistling through the semi-translucent apparition hovering before her.

“It would help if you told me so I can see what can be done to get it for you.”

“Kites,” said the ghost.

The exorcist blinked.  In all her years in her profession, this was a first.

“Kites?” she said.

“Kites.”

“Not the bird, correct?  The toy?  Paper stretched on a light wooden frame, a tail of rags, held by a strong?  That sort of kite?”

“Aye.”

“Why do you -- no, never mind, I’m sure you have your reasons.  Any special kind of kite?  Made of silk?  Gold leaf lettering?  Dipped in sheep’s blood?  Anything like that?”

“Nay.”

“Just plain, garden variety kites, the type children buy on market day?”

“Aye.”

The exorcist sighed.  She could easily banish he ghost to the realms beyond beyond, but she needed to recover the duke first.  “You say kites plural.  How many?”

“Four and twenty...”

“Two dozen?”

“Nay.  Four and twenty…thousand.”

“Are you procreating kidding me?” the exorcist asked.  “You want twenty-four thousand kites?”

“Aye.”

“I presume the whole thing, correct?  Not just the kite itself but the tail, the string, right?”

“Aye.”

The exorcist sighed, mentally calculating how big a pile twenty-four thousand kites would make.  “It will take some time,” she said.  “I doubt if more than a hundred kites are sold even on a major festival day, and the merchants who sell them usually start making them weeks before the festival itself.”

“Not my problem.”

“I beg to differ!  This is very much your problem!  You are the one who kidnapped the duke, you are the one demanding a ridiculous ransom.  If you really wanted twenty-four thousand kites you should have anticipated this and planned for it.”

“No kites, no duke.”

The exorcist frowned.  “It will take time to assemble that many kites.  We need to know the duke is safe.”

“The duke is safe.”

“Where is he?”

“Someplace between this world and the next.”

“Has he food? Water?”

The exorcist sensed the ghost’s hesitancy.  “If he dies, you get no kites,” she said.  “I need to verify he’s still alive before telling the duchess to order twenty-four thousand kites.”

Another long pause then the ghost said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

The ghost vanished from view.  The exorcist rolled her eyes, not knowing how long it would take for the spirit to return.

. . .

The answer was three hours, forty-five minutes, and seventeen seconds.  The ghost reappeared before her, an ectoplasm drenched figure hovering beside it.

“Here,” the ghost said.  “Talk to him.  Feed him, give him drink.  Then I will take him back while you assemble he four and -- “

That’s as far as the ghost got before the exorcist made a mystical gesture and shouted the mystical command:  “Am-scray ost-ghay!”

She thought she heard the ghost start to scream in spectral agony but then it swirled up like water running down a drain and disappeared.

The ectoplasm drenched figure fell to the rough stone battlement, shivering uncontrollably as the supernatural goo evaporated off him. 

The exorcist knelt to help him up.  “My lord, you have been gone many days without food and water,” said the exorcist.  “Do you need drink or sustenance?”

“I need to go to the bathroom,” the duke said.

© Buzz Dixon