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July 16, 2015

Issue #1: Black Canary

Title: Black Canary #1

Writer: Brenden Fletcher

Artist: Annie Wu

The Buzz: This one seemed to come out of nowhere, its greatest buzz being the amazing screech-rock cover art which sold the concept good and loud: Black Canary as a rock singer. Annie Wu has a lot of cred riding high from her run on Hawkeye, and Brenden Fletcher is the writer behind Gotham Academy, the recent breakout teen comic for DC, as well as the writer of the new, indie-vibe Batgirl of Burnside. So it all looked promising…

All You Need To Know: Literally nothing. I mean, it probably helps if you know or like Black Canary as a character. She’s playing the mystery woman, a lead singer in a rock band because she needs the money after her life was destroyed. But the mystery of the comic isn’t actually about Dinah (or rather: DD) at all, it’s about one of her bandmates and the weird monsters that are following them. This is a version of Black Canary I’ve never seen before, but it reminds me of some of my favourite versions of the character. She’s angry, she’s violent, and she doesn’t run a flower shop.

One point that might need elaborating on – the Dinah/Black Canary of the New 52 and the current DC universe is Dinah Drake (also known sometimes by her married name Dinah Lance), not her daughter Dinah Laurel Lance (it’s like a Mary Wollstonecraft/Mary Shelley kind of thing), which I presume is what the DD stands for. I’ve struggled with this a lot in recent years, because while I love both Black Canaries, I’m highly invested in the pre-New 52 Dinah Lance’s relationships and friendships and found it really jarring to shift into this new/old version of the character.

Story: Black Canary is a band, not a person – an up and coming grrl rock band, featuring angry lyrics and an even angrier lead singer. DD, the anonymous blonde in the fishnets (finally, it’s a long time since they’ve given us a sensible context for the fishnets) has a tendency to pick fights with the audience, and her fellow bandmates are getting sick of it. The characters are all interesting, with plenty of tensions going on, and I want to know more. Like Hawkeye and Gotham Academy, this is a story about non-superheroes living in a world full of superheroes. Love the indie, down to earth vibe, and spiky Dinah. This also feels very much like *my* Black Canary, with so many of the things I like best about the characters distilled down: her snarky humour, her crankiness (she was soooo cranky in the late 80′s), and her intense martial arts ability.

Art: By far the best feature of this comic is the startling, arresting visuals from Annie Wu, who has brought her A-game to this reinvention of a classic (practically vintage) comic character. Her women, her men, and I believe at least one genderqueer character, come across as gorgeous, interesting people rather than comic book characters, and there’s a fierceness to the music scenes that matches the fight scenes for tone and style.

But What Did I Miss?: Apart from fleeting mentions to Dinah’s lost dojo and her former sensei, and a throwaway Justice League joke, there are no continuity references to get tangled up in. This is a new, cranky Black Canary, surrounded by an ensemble of brand new characters. Start here.

Would Read Issue 2?: Yep, absolutely.

Read it if you Like: Hawkeye, Gotham Academy, Batgirl

Previously reviewed:

Thor #1 (2014)

Spider-Woman #1 (2014)

All-New Captain America #1 (2014)

Captain America & the Mighty Avengers #1 (2014)

S.H.I.E.L.D. #1 (2014)

The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl #1 (2015)

Bitch Planet #1 (2014)

Secret Six #1 (2014)

Operation: S.I.N. #1

Spider-Gwen #1

Curb Stomp #1

Jem & the Holograms #1

Silk #1

Issue #1 – Convergence Special – Oracle, JLI, Batgirl

Issue #1 – Battleworld Special: Lady Kate, Ms America & Inferno

X-Men ’92 #1

Giant-Sized Little Marvels: AvX #1 (2015)

Runaways #1 (2015)

Loki, Agent of Asgard #1 (2014)

Fresh Romance #1

All-New Hawkeye #1

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Published on July 16, 2015 22:39

July 15, 2015

Issue #1: All-New Hawkeye

Title: All-New Hawkeye #1

Writer: Jeff Lemire

Artist: Ramon Perez

The Buzz: Pretty much the main buzz for this title was created by its predecessor. The Fraction-Aja-Wu Hawkeye broke and rebuilt the mould for superhero comics, and is widely held up as one of the biggest game-changers of the genre in the last few years. It was so beloved and critically acclaimed that even the slow, often-delayed release of the last few issues didn’t affect its reputation. Even when Issue #1 of the new series (AKA Hard Act To Follow) was released several months before the final issue of the Fraction series appeared. (Which happened today, woo!)

All You Need To Know: Hawkeye is Clint Barton, an orphaned former carnie with hearing problems, dodgy brother baggage and a terrible relationship history. He’s the dude who brings a paleolithic weapon to a gunfight. Oh and he’s an Avenger, which is so not relevant right now. Hawkeye is also Kate Bishop, privileged rich girl who took Clint’s bow while he was dead and refused to let go of it once he came back. She’s practically an Avenger. Together, they get into terrible trouble. But it’s so much worse when they’re apart…

Story: This one hits the ground running, giving us many of the crucial elements we need: Hawkeye and Hawkeye on a mission, banter, and Clint’s traumatic childhood backstory. Neither Barney Barton nor Lucky the dog appear in this issue which is fair enough since it wasn’t clear yet whether either of them had survived the previous series. I’m happy enough with the set up and the dialogue, and particularly with the relationship between the two protagonists, which is one of my favourite fictional friendships. The bit where they argue over who is whose protege made me grin a lot.

Art: Okay, it’s no David Aja, let’s get that out of the way straight off. But it’s no Annie Wu, either, whose spiky visuals came to define Kate just as much as Aja’s elegant lines. But the characters come across well, there’s some experimentation going on in the use of colour – a nod to Aja’s distinctive purple noir, only with a wider colour palette and a clever use of red that I like a lot – and I was particularly attracted to the water colour style art that distinguishes between Clint’s past and his present. The panel where the two stories bleed into each other is just plain gorgeous.

David Aja turned Hawkeye into a title where we expected cleverness, bleak realism in cartoon form, and audatious experimentation. Annie Wu expanded on that, following many of Aja’s conventions and adding many of her own, especially by adding visual humour to Kate’s all-deadpan style. I like very much that Perez has taken their work as permission to be as weird as he likes while the Hawkeyes are running for their lives.

But What Did I Miss?: Not much except for one of the most critically acclaimed comics series of the twenty first century, so if you like the characters in this issue, absolutely run back and read all 22 issues of Fraction’s Hawkeye. But it’s pretty clear that this, like Fraction’s series, is intended as an entry point, no homework required.

Would Read Issue 2?: Oh yes! It’s no Hawkeye, but it’s still Hawkeye. Luckily for my restraint, there are a few issues banked up I can catch up on now. But I’m eyeing the post Secret Wars solicits with concern and suspicion, because while they all seem super enamoured of 1603 Lady Kate, there’s no mention yet of actual Kate Bishop in the All New Marvel Universe, which scares me a little.

Read it if you Like: Hawkeye, Young Avengers.

Previously reviewed:

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Published on July 15, 2015 22:22

July 14, 2015

Musketeer Space Part 60: Judge, Jury and Executioner

THANK YOU FOR READING AND SUPPORTING MUSKETEER SPACE!

It’s Musketeer Day! This is I think the longest chapter of the longest novel I have ever written. In my defence, I still have fewer chapters than Dumas did. Slightly. Thanks so much to my weekly readers, it’s been lovely to know this hasn’t just been spinning out into a void.

Still two chapters to go after this but… they are quite small. This is the big one.

MUCH LOVE, MUSKETOONS.

Start reading Musketeer Space from Part 1

Missed the last installment? Track back to Part 59

Read a festive Musketeer Space prequel, “Seven Days of Joyeux.”

Main Page & Table of Contents

PREVIOUSLY ON MUSKETEER SPACE:

Stuff happened.

NOW READ ON:

Chapter 60 – Judge, Jury and Executioner

Athos had taken part in countless duels over the years – against Hammers and Sabres, against New Aristocrats drunk and sober, against his fellow Musketeers. He had never fought a duel against himself.

But Milord was not Athos, despite wearing a semblance of his face and body. Milord’s fencing style – which had developed significantly since their days of casual sparring – was formal and vicious, Valour from hilt to tip. He had obviously not conducted much of a study of drunken Parisian back alley brawls in between all the marriages, political machinations and espionage.

His loss.

Athos pressed his advantage, taking a fierce joy in being the Comte in this moment, and not the Musketeer. His honour belonged to himself right now and not to the Crown, and if that meant he felt justified in using his free hand to seize anything within reach – a book, a cup, a vase he had always especially hated – and hurl it at his opponent, then so be it.

“Get out of my house,” he growled.

Milord – still wearing Athos’ face – raised his eyebrows in a parody of sarcasm. “Get out of my house,” he replied sweetly.

Athos batted the other man’s blade out of his way and stepped in, too close for comfort. “This isn’t a game.”

“On the contrary, sweetness,” breathed his husband. “This is the best game we’ve ever played.”

Athos punched him in the face with a bloodstained fist.

Of all the ways that Dana had imagined she might die, it was not at the hands of kitchen implements, apparently ordered to kill her by her best friend.

She didn’t even know what half these things did, but they were metal and plastic and whirring, and she was pretty sure that House was going to use them in all kinds of ways that would make a genuine chef blanch.

Dana backed up as far into the corner of the kitchen as she could. The red mother was speaking, her voice soothing and reassuring as she told the House that the order must have been mistaken, that the real Comte de La Fere would not want his friend dead.

House was obviously struggling against his programming. “The Comte has two voices,” he conceded.

“One of those voices is false,” the red mother assured him. “Mr Auden is your master’s enemy. He has stolen his Grace’s voice to trick you.”

“Does not – that is not logical,” House said, sounding genuinely distressed. “Mr Auden is family by marriage. I am to treat him as – I am to protect him as closely as I protect his Grace.”

A buzzing, rotating knife blade twitched in the direction of Dana’s throat. “His Grace has a new family now,” she blurted out, then looked at the red mother, worried she had said something wrong.

The priest merely nodded, and smiled. “His Grace is now Athos the Musketeer,” she said. “He told you that these are his friends. His personal guests. One does not murder personal guests, House.”

Dana heard a crash and a yell from further into the house. “He’s in trouble, House!” she said desperately. “Please, let me go help him. You can kill me later if you’re really sure that’s what he wants, but let me save him first.”

House hesitated, and the buzzing kitchen implements hung in the air, considering.

Dana didn’t wait. She flew out to the main foyer, where she found Porthos and Aramis battling with the staircase. Porthos was several steps up, and Aramis only a couple behind her, but they were both stuck.

“This damned House keeps changing its mind about letting us past the forcefields,” Porthos howled.

“It’s confused,” said Dana. She hesitated, then ran up the stairs and past them both. “It’s especially confused about me.”

She kept running until she found the third floor, following the sound of a fight. She had no idea which room was the iris library, but she didn’t have to find it, because Athos himself staggered out of a nearby door. He had blood smeared on his white shirt, and across his battered face, but otherwise seemed undamaged.

His Grace has been injured.

“Dana,” Athos said, his hand tightening on the blade of what looked like a genuine antique sword, and not his usual pilot’s slice. “We have to get out of here, now, before he…”

Dana punched him in the face.

He went down with a roar, completely surprised by the force of her fist, and before he could get up again, she shot him with the bright gleam of her pearl stunner.

Porthos and Aramis, who had either won an argument with House or benefited from the red mother’s calm ability to talk sense into AI, came clattering up the last flight of stairs to join them.

“Dana, what did you do?” Porthos yelped.

Aramis, however, gave the fallen Athos a brief once-over and moved past him into the library. “Where’s the real one?”

The room, which must have been beautiful once, was a wreck. Silk wall hangings were torn and blood-stained. Pieces of broken vase littered the floor. Books were scattered everywhere. The window was broken.

Athos stood shakily in the middle of it, blood crusting over his hands and a ragged slash in his jacket sleeve showing a nasty cut. He only had eyes for Dana. “How did you know that wasn’t me?”

She shrugged uncomfortably. “You were wearing a different shirt, holding a different sword, and you didn’t call me D’Artagnan. So.”

“He also got your beard slightly wrong,” said Aramis, kissing him on the cheek which was not smeared with blood. “It’s a very distinctive beard.”

Porthos shrugged. “Don’t ask me. I would have totally fallen for it. Can we get out of here? No offence, Athos, but your House is moodier than you are.”

“Not quite yet,” said Athos, his bloody hands still grasping the hilt of his pilot’s slice. Slowly, he walked past them all to the corridor where the stunned Milord still lay.

He looked mostly like Athos, though his skin was a shade or two darker, now Dana came to compare them face to face. Athos with a mild sunburn.

The real Athos leaned down, allowing the tip of his pilot’s slice to scrape against the throat of the unconscious alien.

It was at that point Dana realised what he meant by ‘not quite yet.’

“Athos,” she said, barely able to find her words. “We need him alive.”

“I have to finish what I started,” her friend said, sounding colder than she had ever heard him. He looked broken.

“No, you don’t,” said Porthos, stepping forward. “You can’t go back to that, Athos. You’ve been blaming yourself for this death for too many years. The guilt was killing you even before he turned up like a bad credit. You don’t have to be judge, jury and executioner this time.”

“She’s right,” said Aramis, nudging Athos’ arm. “We’re going to give him back to his own people, let them take some responsibility for a change. And hey, we’ll stop a war at the same time. Everybody wins.”

They stood there for a few moments longer. Athos pressed the tip of his pilot’s slice a little more firmly into Milord’s flesh, near the collar bone. “What do you think, sweetness?”

Milord’s eyes flickered slightly, and opened. “I’d rather you killed me now than sent me home,” he said, his words still slurred from the stun.

Athos looked thoughtful. “One of us should get to go home,” he said after a long moment, and drew back his blade. “Why not you?”

A few hours later, a sombre party stepped out of the house of the d’Auteville family. Milord, his wrists and ankles hobbled by magnetic cuffs, had reverted to the face he knew best, the young man who had come here to be married so long ago.

Dana noticed that Athos looked at Milord as little as possible, busying himself with soothing House and making some changes to the AI’s menu of ‘trusted family members.’

Special Agent Rosnay Cho was waiting for them in the garden, surrounded by engies and darts. Athos had pulled down the security forcefield specifically to let them bring in the ships, and seemed remarkably unphased by the resulting destruction of various flower beds.

Ro was her usual snarky, businesslike self. She had changed into a violet flight suit, with matching boots. “They’re sending a royal transport to escort us all back to the Bastion,” she reported, her gaze skirting over each of them and lingering curiously for a moment on the red mother. “Finally the powers that be have stopped underestimating what Milord is capable of.”

Dana nodded. “Are you – all right?” Ro hadn’t exactly been in good shape last time she saw her.

Ro nodded stiffly. “Your Planchet hacked Winter out of my brain.”

Dana blinked at that. “She – I’m sorry, she what?”

Planchet bobbed up in their direction, pleased as punch. “It’s not just a drug, it involves a micro-stud that burrows into the brain stem, and once I figured that, it was easy enough to hack into the right frequency and deactivate the Winter program from having any control over or ability to communicate with its victims. I’ve sent the instructions to the Countess of Clarick, too, so they can free Marshal Felton. The cool thing is that the stud should keep a record of all activity under protected passwords, so it can serve as evidence in court.”

Dana stared at Planchet, impressed.

“Yeah, you’re really not paying her enough,” Ro said in a tone that made it clear she wanted to change the subject. “How are things here?”

“Emotionally devastating.”

“Sounds about right.”

Dana cleared her throat, feeling awkward. “Look, I’m really sorry that I – that I thought – I mean, that I assumed -”

“What, that I was on Milord’s side after the whole murder at the convent thing?” Ro said easily. “Don’t sweat it, buttercup. I’ve been underestimated by better people than you.”

“Thanks, I think.”

An unreadable expression crossed Ro’s face, and she punched Dana’s shoulder lightly. “Sorry about your boy.”

Dana swallowed, feeling sad all over again. “Yeah. Thanks.”

The ship that arrived to escort them back to Truth Space – and to the Sun-kissed delegation awaiting delivery of their prisoner – was an eagle-class venturer, The Stars Divine, which Aramis was pretty sure belonged to the Cardinal herself. It had a gold veneer with star field tattoos on the fin, and the interior was lushly designed with red and gold in every room.

It was beyond extravagant, but no one was complaining.

There was room in the hold for all of the darts, sabres and moths belonging to their group, and once the ships, prisoner and passengers were loaded on board, there was nothing for any of them to do.

Like any decent pilot, Aramis hated being a passenger. It sucked. Normally she might occupy herself with books and poetry, or finding a Fleetnet forum in which to spark off a theological debate or two. She was feeling especially uninspired right now, though, and besides, she had friends to keep an eye on.

There was a fully stocked bar on board The Stars Divine, in which Dana had taken up near-permanent residence, drinking steadily through her heartbreak. More often than not, it was Rosnay Cho keeping her company, though Aramis herself, Porthos and Athos all hovered around Dana as well, making sure there was always at least one of them nearby.

It occurred to Aramis that for all the watching of Dana that they were doing, they should be keeping a close eye on Athos too. He was working very hard to act as if nothing of any particular importance had occurred.

On the third day, not long before they were due to arrive at the Bastion, Aramis finally cornered Athos in the bar. He sat some distance from the others, who were having some sort of elaborate cocktail-naming contest.

“You’re sober,” Aramis noted. “Also you’re due for another haircut.”

“Maybe I’ll let it grow out again.”

“Liar.”

He gave a short huff of a laugh, but his eyes were distant as he glanced at Dana, then back to his own drink, a large mug of black coffee. “If I start drinking, I don’t think I’ll stop. Maybe when I’m not sharing a ship with him.”

Milord was locked in a cell in the heart of the ship, and guarded by a heavy rotation of Hammers, Sabres and Musketeers, but Aramis knew she wasn’t the only one who slipped down there occasionally to check he was still exactly where he should be.

“What do you think they’re going to do to him?” she asked. “His own people, I mean.”

“From what Treville told us, they consider him a traitor and a murderer,” Athos shrugged. “But they’re aliens. For all we know, their highest punishment is a cuddle and a slice of birthday cake.”

Aramis slid a look over at Dana, who was now leaning miserably into Porthos, trying not to make it obvious that she was crying. Rosnay Cho was pretending that she hadn’t noticed, ordering more drinks for them. “I want to tear the bastard limb from limb,” Aramis whispered.

Athos saluted her with his coffee cup. “Welcome to the club. But you and Porthos were right. I got to be judge, jury and executioner the last time around, and that was hell. Time to try something new.”

Aramis gave him a brief hug around the shoulders, then slipped behind the bar to pour herself a drink. Champagne, she thought. All the better to toast the downfall of their enemies. “When was the last time you were even sober in a bar?”

“Far beyond recorded memory,” Athos said solemnly. “Do they usually smell this bad?”

Aramis wrinkled her nose. “I think that’s the carpet. This ship must have been in mothballs for years.”

“It’s too fancy for everyday.”

Aramis poured herself a glass of bubbles from a suitably labelled flask, and clinked the glass against Athos’ cup. Time to change the subject so hard that there was no going back. “At least we get to skip the drunken confessions part of the evening. That was getting old.”

He gave her an odd look. “What exactly do you have to confess?”

“Not me, you.” And yes, she was evil, which was why she waited until he had a mouthful of coffee before explaining. “You know, the drunken conversation we keep having, where you beg my forgiveness for sleeping with Chevreuse two days after we broke up.”

To his credit, Athos did not spit out the coffee, but it obviously took quite the effort to swallow. “What the hell, Aramis?”

She laughed at him. “You are very cute when you’re guilt-ridden.”

“I – wasn’t aware that was a conversation I had allowed to exist outside my own head.”

“Six times, Athos,” she told him firmly. “Since Joyeux. And for what it’s worth, I forgave you five times out of the six.”

He nodded, and it was actually quite endearing that he looked as if a weight had been taken off his shoulders. “Good to know.”

She tapped him on the nose with the cool edge of her champagne glass. “Not everything has to be a melodrama or a tragedy.”

Athos had thought he was prepared for this. He had made so many sensible life choices this week. He had given House a more appropriate lockdown procedure when they all left Valour, and he fully intended to make proper arrangements for the estate. He had remained a sober companion for D’Artagnan as she worked through her grief and guilt about the boy that Auden had murdered in order to hurt her.

Athos had even composed a mostly sensible report for Amiral Treville, on the grounds that it was nearly her birthday, and he liked to surprise her now and then.

He had trusted his friends to regularly check on the prisoner so that he did not have to, because he was perfectly content never speaking another word to that man.

Really, Athos was proud of how well he was handling all of this.

They were twelve hours away from Truth Space and the Bastion, when the aliens arrived.

Athos was on the flight deck, because his friends were drunk and maudlin and he only got to be one of those things. He hated travelling through space as a passenger – all decent Musketeers felt the same way, he would have thought – but it was easier somehow when standing up here at the business end, watching the stars through the view screen.

The venturer flight crew were Sabres, and they were politely pretending he didn’t exist and that none of them had fought duels with him in the last six months; a comfortable falsehood.

“What the hell’s that?” said Captain Tybalt, a sentence no one ever wants to hear from their pilot.

Athos looked at the odd blaze of brightness that streaked across their view screen. “That’s… not good,” he managed, before the blaze became too fierce to look at directly. “Fuck. It’s the Sun-kissed.”

“They’re not shooting!” shouted Magellan, the co-pilot, but that wasn’t as comforting as it might have been.

“I don’t think they have to shoot at us to destroy this ship,” said Athos, and he was already running, slapping his comm stud as he went, opening a frequency that alerted everyone on the team from Valour – not just Aramis, Porthos and D’Artagnan, but Cho, L’Etoile and Ducasse too. “Get to the prisoner hold now. Ambush!”

When he reached the corridor outside the hold where Milord was imprisoned, he saw the first bodies – two unconscious Hammers, sprawled out by the door.

Aramis and Porthos, their eyes uncomfortably bright from the fast effect of Sobriety patches, reached him around the same time. Both drew their stunners, allowing Athos to take point.

Inside the hold, four more guards lay unconscious or dead on the ground – there was no time to check which. At the far end, Milord sat on a bench, electro-cuffed to the wall and surrounded by a forcefield, alert and awake. Still wearing the face and body and bright silver hair of young Auden d’Auteville.

The red mother, who had insisted on travelling with them for Milord’s trial, was on her feet, facing down six figures with bright red skin, and light pouring out of their eyes and mouths.

“This is our leader,” she said quickly. “Athos the Musketeer. He was one of the victims of the prisoner.”

The six Sun-kissed delegates turned their bright faces to Athos, and he did his best not to cower under their fierce intensity. He was also uncomfortable with having been promoted to leader of this mission, but he knew why she had done it.

“Friends,” he said in the calm, diplomatic tone he had learned from his father, long before he was old enough to use it. “Do we have a problem here?”

One of the six opened her mouth, and a garble of light and sound poured out. She stopped, tilted her head, and allowed another of her companions to step forward instead.

“Our lost child is to be collected,” that one said. “It was an agreement with your people.”

Special Agent Rosnay Cho shoved her way into the room with L’Etoile and Ducasse. She stood beside Athos with a look of grim determination on her face. “We are charged with delivering the criminal to the Cardinal and the Regent,” she said firmly. “They are the ones who made the agreement with you.”

All six Sun-kissed tilted their heads back and forth, as if trying to make sense of her words.

“The Cardinal is irrelevant,” said one.

“The Regent is irrelevant,” said another.

“Our lost child is to be collected,” said the original speaker.

“Will there be a trial?” put in a belligerent voice. D’Artagnan, of course. “Will he face judgement for his many crimes? Will he be punished?”

Milord began to laugh, a harsh and angry sound. “Oh, sweetness,” he said, pretending to wipe tears from his eyes. “You’re precious. Don’t ever change.”

“Our orders are clear,” said Special Agent Cho, holding firm.

“You are irrelevant,” said the main speaker. Light poured into the room, too intense for Athos to do anything but squeeze his eyes shut. When he opened them, Rosnay Cho, L’Etoile, Ducasse, Aramis and Porthos all lay unconscious on the floor.

D’Artagnan was leaning over Aramis to check her pulse. She nodded, her eyes wide and startled.

Not dead, then. Athos breathed out. “What do you want?” he asked, since it was obvious the aliens could do anything they damn well pleased.

“Our lost child is to be collected,” the Sun-kissed speaker said, unruffled as ever.

“Take him, then,” said Athos. “Be our guest. I can’t emphasise enough how little we care about his fate.”

D’Artagnan made a small noise of protest in her throat.

Athos rolled his eyes at her. “Do you imagine we have a choice here?”

The red mother cleared her throat, addressing the Sun-kissed delegation again. “As the prisoner’s religious adviser, I wish to accompany him to your world to ensure he is treated fairly.”

As one, the six Sun-kissed turned expressions on her that could only be described as intergalactic sarcasm. “Irrelevant,” said one, and the red mother dropped to the ground in a dead faint.

“Marvellous,” purred Milord. “My two greatest defenders are all that remain to protect me.”

“Burn in hell,” D’Artagnan shot at him.

“Meet me there,” Milord snapped back, but it was Athos he looked at, with a sad smile curving across his face. “No last words, sweetness?”

“Go in peace,” Athos breathed, and he meant it. He could not think about vengeance, not now.

The Sun-kissed turned their attention to the prisoner. A fierce bright light filled the room, dissolving the heavy cuffs on his wrists and ankles, and de-activating the forcefield. For the first time, Milord looked afraid, pressing himself back against the wall.

“I did my duty!” he said sharply. “I did exactly what you sent me here to do. I gathered intelligence, I insinuated myself into a position of value in their society. I came this close to bringing down their government. I never stopped working for you!”

The main speaker of the Sun-kissed delegates regarded Milord with extreme disinterest, as if he was so much dust beneath her foot. She reached out a crimson hand and touched his face.

Light blazed out from the delegation, and there were images and sounds captured in that intense, burning light. Athos saw a ship crash, saw the shapeless creatures that emerged, and saw one die at the hands of another. He saw Auden – his Auden, from long ago – return to a glowing beacon in the snow year after year, and he saw him broken and angry, destroying that beacon.

Was this a trial? Did this count as evidence? Or was it merely an interrogation?

Were those crimes enough, to make his whole race turn against Milord, to wage a war in order to take him back? Or had that always been an excuse: either an excuse to invade or an excuse to end the war?

The light burned harder, and Milord cried out in pain, in terror.

Athos had been willing to be the executioner this time as well as five years ago, if there was no other choice, or he had thought that he was willing. Now as he realised what was happening, his whole body reacted against it. Arms wrapped around his shoulders, hands pressed into his mouth, holding him back. In the brightness, he heard a howling cry of protest that, in retrospect, must have come from him.

D’Artagnan was the only one left, so it had to be her who tackled him to the floor, kept him from hurling himself into the light.

Milord Vaniel De Winter, also known as Sister Snow, and Linton Gray, and Slate, and Auden d’Auteville and a dozen other names, dissolved in a burning ball of light that hurt the eyes. The Sun-kissed delegation bowed their heads, made a chattering sound that Athos did not understand, and vanished one by one, leaving the two conscious humans and many unconscious humans alone in the hold.

Athos breathed in the scent of Dana’s uniform and skin because anything, any distraction was better than the fact that his dead husband had been burned alive before his eyes. He coughed, and D’Artagnan released him.

“Fucking aliens,” she said in a shaky not-quite laugh.

Laughing was as bad as drinking. Once he started, Athos was sure he would never stop. He bit the inside of his mouth, instead, and said: “It’s done. How does vengeance taste?”

D’Artagnan gave him a quick, worried look. “Unsatisfying,” she ventured.

“Sounds about right.” Athos looked around at their many unconscious colleagues. “We’re going to get the blame for this, aren’t we?”

“Oh, yeah. Big time.”

You have been reading Musketeer Space, by Tansy Rayner Roberts. Tune in next week for another chapter! Please comment, share and link. Musketeer Space is free to read, but if you’d like to support the project for as little as $1 per month, please visit my Patreon page. Pledges can earn rewards such as ebooks, extra content, dedications and the naming of spaceships. Milestones already unlocked include the Musketeer Media Monday posts, the Robotech Rewatch posts, and “Seven Days of Joyeux,” a special Christmas prequel novella which was released in December 2014.

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Published on July 14, 2015 15:00

July 12, 2015

Musketeers Brooding in Shirts (2015)

There are three essential aspects to a good Musketeer story: friendship, swordplay, and attractive men in diaphanous shirts. The new web series “The First Musketeer” hits all three notes, though it is a little heavy on the atmosphere (and light on humour) for my own personal tastes.

The first series is 6 episodes, each somewhere around 9-13 minutes long, and three quarters of each episode is Athos brooding in a diaphanous shirt, which… is not a poorly chosen aspect of the story to focus on.

Athos is the First Musketeer of the title, and this prequel to the classic story sets up an origin for how he came to Paris and became friends with Aramis and Porthos. But mostly Porthos and some other blokes.

The first few episodes are very heavy on the gothic shadows and Byronic mournfulness, but I quite like this version of Athos even if the show feels like the set up for a vampire romance rather than a cheerful tale of bros with swords. This is one of the most ambitious web series I’ve seen, with location filming, special effects and proper fencing choreography. Some of the acting is a little of the ‘slightly stilted, I went to stage school’ variety, and the pacing is slooooow at times, but the whole piece hangs together well.

Oh and the shadows are basically characters in their own right, which perhaps afforded me a little too much amusement considering the generally humourless tone of the show (apart from all scenes involving tiny dancing Porthos, who is adorable). I was definitely not a fan of the ‘let’s show how villainous the villain is by watching him abuse women’ trope which, frankly, I got enough of in Series 2 of the BBC Musketeers. Also very much not fun of the whole ‘Athos is abusive towards random women because of the one that haunts him’ aspect of the story which I felt was deeply unnecessary and took his casual snarky misogyny from the books way too far.

Milady appears in a series of traumatic dream sequences which set up Athos as the angstiest of them all, and gives us some focus for his general broodiness, especially when the only other woman in the story turns out to be a dead ringer for her. I’m sorry he didn’t turn out to be a vampire by Episode 6 but it’s a good attempt to fill one of the more interesting questions of the untold Musketeer story: how did the gang later known as the Inseparables first come together?

The answer to that question is, while brooding in shirts.

Don’t expect much Aramis, who only appears briefly, though tiny dancing Porthos is pretty great and his interactions with Athos and his two dads brooding father figures bring light to an otherwise grim tale.

After several episodes devoted mainly to set up, the story really kicks it up a gear in the second half with a political intrigue plot surrounding Bishop Richelieu (not yet a Cardinal!) and a sinister aristocrat known as the Red Lady who has potential as an interesting Chevreuse-style villain, but doesn’t have time to achieve great evil because she has to constantly deal with either Athos or a gross villain pawing at her, for the sake of their characterisation. SIGH.

The most important relationship in the story is not that of Athos with his future best friends, but a paternal mentor-student friendship he makes with the guardsman Lezarre, foreshadowing Athos’ own future relationship with D’Artagnan. After spending most of the story speaking very slowly and judging Athos for drinking too much, Lezarre supports Athos after he has a nervous breakdown and almost strangles their female suspect (oh dear, the poor man, no thought given to how she feels about that particular scene). Lezarre convinces Athos that he doesn’t have to be a good man, in light of his tragic backstory, he just has to do his job and protect the men who are goodn.

In case anyone was wondering, this is totally a story about men. The mysterious Queen Mother (ie Marie de Medici) at the heart of the plot never appears, nor proves to be as important or threatening as implied earlier on. SIGH.

At least there’s brooding men in shirts, or I wouldn’t have made it all the way through.

As a tiny Easter Egg of a treat, the casting of Richelieu as being unexpectedly hot, young and Scottish is a delight, especially as he seems to be playing the part exactly in the vein of Capaldi. Scottish Richelieu for the win! Sadly, he’s only in episodes 5 and 6, but we have to take what we can get.

The YouTube channel for The First Musketeer includes outtakes, fanvids and other bits and pieces from behind the scenes filming that gives some idea of the complexity of the project. I may not have loved every aspect of this, but I’m all for more Musketeer goodness and I’d be very interested to see if there’s a Season 2 in the offing. It’s surprising that no one has actually done an Athos-centric prequel before, as it does work rather well.

This Musketeer Media Monday post was brought to you by the paid sponsors of Musketeer Space, all 80+ of them. You guys rule! Previous posts in this series include:

Musketeers in an Exciting Adventure With Airships (2011)

Musketeers Are All For Love (1993)

Looks Good in Leather: BBC Musketeer Edition Part I (2014)

You Can Leave Your Hat On: BBC Musketeer Edition Part II (2014)

It’s Raining Musketeers: BBC Musketeer Edition Part III (2014)

Mickey Mouse the Musketeer (2004)

Musketeers Crack Me Up Seventies Style (1973)

Musketeer in Pink (2009)

Musketeers Break My Heart Seventies Style (1974)

Musketeers in Technicolor (1948)

Musketeer on Mars (2008, 2012)

Bat’Magnan and the Mean Musketeers (2001)

Russian Musketeers Own My Soul (1979)

All the Musketeer Ladies (2015)

K-Drama Musketeers Shoot Horses, Don’t They? (2014)

Dogtanian’s War on Moustaches (1981)

Listening To Random Musketeers (2002)

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Published on July 12, 2015 15:00

July 10, 2015

Robotech Rewatch 57: Aliens Cloned My Girlfriend

Original Recipe Marlene

Keep your scanner tuned to this station. Robotech is back!

Episode 70 – Enter Marlene

Finally after all that running around in circles (cough, padding, cough, dinosaurs), actual plot development!

The Invid Regent has finally realised that Scott and his team are a serious threat after that time they sort of accidentally blew up her Genesis Pit. So she’s going to get a secret agent to infiltrate their little bikie gang. Via glowing egg.

Scott leads his friends to a rally point set up previously by Admiral Hunter, where he expects to meet up with other REF (Robotech Expeditionary Force) units before heading to Reflex Point and kicking Invid butt. Instead, he finds a mecha graveyard of destroyed ships and corpses, and is absolutely devastated with grief and loss of hope.

Rook and Rand get impatient with Scott’s depression after about ten minutes, and go off to raid the damaged mecha for parts and weapons. In the rubble of a destroyed town, they find strange, glowing substance that burns Rook’s hand. (It’s also the same colour as the glowing egg we saw earlier.)

Rand is startled by the appearance of a glittery naked girl who talks a lot like Lisa Hayes (same voice artist). He panics and tries to shield Rook from the horror. Rook assumes that he stole the girl’s clothes which is… strange.

Rook covers the girl with her jacket, but she doesn’t seem to be able to talk to them except by copying what they say. Amnesia? Shock?

The Invid sneak after them, observing but not attacking. And that’s not suspicious at all.

Back at camp, Lancer and Lunk are delighted at all the firepower and new fighters they’ve found, but it doesn’t make a dent in Scott’s depression and he makes Annie cry.

“They’re awesome and as aliens come they’re probably the worst.”

Lancer to Scott, summing up the Invid in a nutshell.

Scott has lost all faith that humans can defeat the Invid. He stares sadly at Marlene’s holo image in his pendant, with her virtual response to his marriage proposal, and angsts tragically about it. He even has visions of Jonathan Wolff which shows how miserable he is.

Things are about to get complicated! Because the amnesiac woman that Rand and Rook bring to the camp looks (and sounds) exactly like Marlene, with red hair. (Actually she looks more like Jean Grey and/or Madeline Pryor, but OK) Just at the point where the team might start questioning their new “friend,” the Invid attack, which sends the girl into a screaming frenzy of fear.

Spurred on by his imagined memories of Marlene standing there screaming, Scott finally snaps back into his normal violent self, leaps into the alpha and shoots up the Invid, hero-style.

Lunk brings the new girl and Annie along in his jeep, where Annie makes a joke about hoping the new girl doesn’t like peppermint candies, otherwise the others would never tell them apart.

Well that solves the mystery of why Rand always calls Annie ‘Mint’ but… oh, Annie. The difference between you and this woman is that she is an adult. Annie’s inability to recognise that she is a child is starting to look weirdly pathological.

The stage is set for some actual interaction between the team and the Invid that doesn’t involve shooting at each other. Ooooh. It is, however, deeply concerning that Scott doesn’t think to mention that this new mysterious stranger looks and sounds exactly like his dead girlfriend. Surely that would be a suspicion trigger to at least one of them.

Then again – maybe she doesn’t look like Marlene at all? It’s hard to tell because so many of them basically have the same face, but now I come to look closely with the benefit of the internet, their eyes are drawn completely differently. Their hair is different too. I always thought back in the day she was supposed to be really similar, but it’s presented here like any similarities between them are his hallucination.

Maybe she doesn’t even sound like Marlene – it could be all in Scott’s head, or he assumes that it is? Maybe the original Marlene never existed either, and he constructed her based on his unrequited crush on Admiral Lisa Hayes-Hunter?

Oh, Scott. Things are going to get so much worse before they get better. I wish I had sympathy for you. But you’re still a tool.

This weekly rewatch of classic animated space opera Robotech is brought to you as bonus content for the Musketeer Space project.

Thanks to everyone who has linked, commented, or sponsored me.

You can support Musketeer Space at Patreon.

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Published on July 10, 2015 17:32

July 9, 2015

Issue #1: Fresh Romance

Title: Fresh Romance #1

Writers: Kate Leth, Sarah Vaughn, Sarah Kuhn

Artist: Arielle Jovellanos, Sarah Winifred Searle, Sally Jane Thompson (cover: Kevin Wada)

The Buzz: I supported this project on Kickstarter – it aims to bring back the tradition of Romance comics, with a 21st century sensibility. It’s pretty exciting to see so many women involved in creating, producing and publishing this title (so many female names in the credits!) and nice to see something a bit different.

All You Need To Know: Comics weren’t always about superheroes! Fresh Romance offers three ongoing serials hitting different romance genres: one contemporary YA, one Regency, and one paranormal comedy (or what we used to call chick lit with magic, I guess?).

Story: In School Spirit, two teen couples are pretending not to be dating (it’s not explicit yet but the surface implication is it’s because one pair are lesbians and the other are an interracial couple) and covering for each other at school via fake relationships. In Ruined, a very unhappy young Regency miss is being married to a very unhappy looking gentleman after some kind of scandal involving another man. In the Ruby Equation (my favourite of the three) a magical barista is on a matchmaking mission – she just has to bring one more cute couple together and she’ll be allowed to go home… right?

Art: I like all the different art styles, which match their various genres very effectively. The cover is completely gorgeous and I like the explanation in the notes about the thought process that went into the positioning of the figures… overall the whole production feels fresh and fun with a whole lot of thought and care behind it.

But What Did I Miss?: Not a thing.

Would Read Issue 2?: Yes I want to know what happens next in all three stories. I am not completely convinced that the 3 x serial format is something I can keep up with, as it might make the romances crawl veeeery slowly. I’ll be very interested to see if how they layout the trade when they get there.

Read it if you Like: YA fiction, Regency romance, quirky hipsters with baby dragons.

Previously reviewed:

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Published on July 09, 2015 18:19

July 8, 2015

Issue #1: Loki, Agent of Asgard (2014)

Title: Loki: Agent of Asgard #1 (2014)

Writer: Al Ewing

Artist: Lee Garbett, Jenny Frison (cover)

The Buzz: Some great covers, but I hadn’t heard much about this except that it follows teenage Loki after the Young Avengers series, and there’s a cool chick called Verity in it that the fanfic writers seem fond of. This was one of the first comics I tried out with my Marvel Unlimited subscription!

All You Need To Know: Loki is the god of mischief from Norse mythology, and has been a villain in the Marvel Universe for decades. Previously, Loki died, then came back as a kid, then another version of his kid self killed his kid self, then he joined the Young Avengers, aged up to late teens to get a handle on his magic, and learned to love bacon.

Story: I love the premise for this so much, I can’t even tell you. Loki is trying to control his destiny despite his long history as a villain, and is performing missions as an ‘Agent of Asgard’, working for the three goddesses currently ruling their world as the All Mother. His payment is that for every successful mission, they will destroy one of their cultures many stories about what a dick he used to be. This particular issue brings Loki back in conflict with his estranged brother Thor and the Avengers – and, for once, he’s not trying to be the bad guy. BUT THEY DON’T KNOW THAT. There’s also a gorgeous page of Hawkeye and Natasha hanging out which is one of my favourite sequences of them of all time (sometimes things just happen, Nat!)

Art: A great mix of traditional superhero style and modern characterisation – very dynamic, with great faces. I also really appreciate the nods to the non-straight-male gaze, with Loki being handsome in all kinds of different and varied ways. Including shower scenes, just saying.

But What Did I Miss?: The Young Loki run in Journey Into Mystery is critically acclaimed but I tried to get into it and just couldn’t. I loved his depiction in Kieron Gillen and Jamie McKelvie’s Young Avengers Vol. 2, which sets this series up nicely. But I think this also works as a good starting point, so don’t think you have to be all Loki’d up beforehand.

Would Read Issue 2?: YES, because I already did. That’s the speed dating issue where Verity is introduced, and she is amazing and I love her. Loki needs a friend, and a sarcastic indie girl who can’t be lied to is the perfect character to balance him out. Also future issues (I read a lot at once) bring us heists, Amora, and a version of Siegfried that is now my personal canon forever and always. I’ve already ordered two trades of this so as you can see, that whole money saving thing of Marvel Unlimited is working out GREAT.

Read it if you Like: Young Avengers, Norse myths, Leverage and Tom Hiddleston.

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Published on July 08, 2015 17:27

Issue #1: Runaways (2015)

Title: Runaways #1 (2015)

Writer: Noelle Stevenson

Artist: Sanford Greene

The Buzz: Noelle Stevenson is a rising It-person in comics, from her own webcomic/graphic novel Nimona and her creation of the Tumblr-based Hawkeye Initiative, to her writing work on the celebrated girl’s own adventure story Lumberjanes.

All You Need To Know: The best and brightest kids from the various baronies on Battleworld have all been clipped out of their zones and sent to the same boarding school, run by a mysterious super villain (probably), so they can be trained up to be effective battle teams. The characters and their places of origin are all introduced here, and while you might recognise many of them, you won’t have necessarily seen these versions in other Battleworld comics so far. Because, you know, they were at school.

Story: This Breakfast Club style tale of detention and rebellion has all of the indie teen sensibility of the original Runaways run, but none of the continuity. Molly Hayes (the only original Runaway featured in this title) is desperate to join Jubi’s angsty girl gang, but they dismiss her as being too young. Still, thanks to a smashing corridor fight, Molly manages to wind up in detention with Cloak and Dagger, Jubilee (the sulky goth vampire version), Pixie, Amadeus Cho, Skraar and a bunch of other Marvel teens. Bucky Barnes is the senior who glares at them all on behalf of the school administration. THIS IS NOT A DRILL, PEOPLE: teenage Winter Soldier as a tool of the school. The writing is fun, fresh and very modern. This was my 10 year old’s first introduction to Runaways and I totally just ordered Vol. 1 for her because she loves Molly so much.

Art: It always seems a bit strange to me to see Noelle Stevenson not illustrating her own work, but Greene’s art is a fantastic match for this story, with great urban fashions, teenage sulky faces and slightly anime style action scenes. Love, love, love this comic, and I hope it gets to keep going despite the Battleworld origins.

But What Did I Miss?: Original blend Runaways is a sometimes great, sometimes infuriating (no I haven’t forgiven them for killing that one character) comic series about the children of super villains, on the run. It tapped into the popularity of YA fiction and anime-style art, to the point of not really feeling like a Marvel comic at all, though it was later integrated more substantially into the main universe. The only character from the original run appearing here is Molly Hayes and she’s self explanatory in this context. If you love her here, by all means go back and read Runaways, but you don’t need any prep for this story. For teen Cloak and Dagger, check out the recent pre-Battleworld run of All New Ultimates. If you didn’t realise that Jubilee is a vampire now, well, this comic will make you feel better about that than just about anything else featuring her over the last decade.

Would Read Issue 2?: I can’t wait to see what happens next. CAN CLINT AND NATASHA BE SENIORS WITH BUCKY PLEASE? CAN WE HAVE THE INEVITABLE YOUNG AVENGERS CROSSOVER?

Read it if you Like: Runaways, Young Avengers, Lumberjanes, witty YA novels, Ultimate Spider-Man.

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Published on July 08, 2015 16:44

July 7, 2015

Musketeer Space Part 59: The House of Athos

It’s Musketeer Day!

This is the last Musketeer month, so of course it has 5 Wednesdays in it. It may also have more than one Musketeer Media Monday – I put up a new essay this week on the Big Finish Audio “The Church and the Crown,” AKA Listening To Random Musketeers (2002) (featuring a whole lot of Chevreuse but no actual Dumas Musketeers) but I still have some other media Musketeers I’ve been wanting to review, so you may get some bonus essays this month.

Remember that if you want to receive an ebook of the entire book (slightly revised), you will need to sign up to be a Patreon supporter before the end of this month. If you sign up at the $2 level you will also receive a collection of the essays and supporting material I’ve been working on while writing this, not all of which has appeared on the blog.

THANK YOU FOR READING AND SUPPORTING MUSKETEER SPACE!

Start reading Musketeer Space from Part 1

Missed the last installment? Track back to Part 58

Read a festive Musketeer Space prequel, “Seven Days of Joyeux.”

Main Page & Table of Contents

PREVIOUSLY ON MUSKETEER SPACE:

Milord has done a lot of bad things. Time for a reckoning.

NOW READ ON:

Chapter 59 – The House of Athos

The silence on the walk up the slope was comforting, though Athos knew his friends were burning with questions. It was remarkably restrained of them to hold back.

The red mother did not speak either, and that was a different kind of comfort. He remembered her as an acolyte, holding the cup and knife for the old red mother when he was a child. The acolyte was the one who had taught him the Elemental rituals that were expected of the eldest son of a great family, long before he became cynical about everything else that was expected of him.

The old red mother had passed into retirement or death since Athos had left Foilles. He did not ask any of the usual questions that might be expected of a local man, returned home. He did not care.

Finally, they reached the tall gates, marked with the sacred symbols of fire and water, earth and air. The red mother halted, her dark-painted mouth barely visible as the curl of a smile beneath her deep red hood.

Athos breathed on the lock and placed his palm there. He did not need to state his name. House recognised him, and let him through the security field.

“Welcome home, your grace,” House said in a clear voice that rang out from the gate-post, or perhaps the empty air.

“These are my guests,” said Athos, not wanting to address the title for now, though it made his skin crawl. “The red mother is to be awarded the same security privileges as her predecessor.”

“Understood, your grace,” said House smoothly. “Welcome to the Auteville estate, mother.”

The priest did not speak, but bowed her head in acknowledgement.

“House,” Athos went on. “Please recognise Porthos, Aramis and D’Artagnan. They are to be recognised as personal guests, and to have security privileges for the ground floor zone only.”

“Welcome, Porthos, Aramis, D’Artagnan,” said House, and there was a different note in his voice there, as if he was proud that Athos had returned with friends.

No, that was stupid. House felt nothing. Athos had always let his imagination run too wild about such things, and he needed to resist such childhood habits.

The red mother and the Musketeers stepped through the security field. The gate swung wide, letting them through. Athos led the way up the path again, not looking around to see their reaction as the house came into view. It was gratuitously large, he knew, and pretended he had not heard D’Artagnan sucking in her breath.

After years calling a space station home, it was embarrassing to realise quite how much space the d’Auteville family thought was reasonable for them to take up, especially now that there was really only him left.

“House,” he said to fill the silence. “Have we had any visitors since I left?”

House recited a litany of failed attempts by Athos’ distant relatives, lawyers and other officials to breach the security field over the last several years. If anyone should question whether it was possible for an AI to demonstrate smugness, here was the evidence.

His thoughts that others might have overrun the house by now were in vain, it seemed, because House had been taking his responsibilities seriously all along. Athos had forgotten how angry he had been, in the immediate days after Auden’s execution. He had been drunk, of course, for much of the time before he left, but he was certain he had left the door wide open, and that he had vocalised no orders to preserve the house for his return.

He had never planned to come back here.

Perhaps he had given House some security instructions, as part of a drunken rant. Perhaps House had simply and quietly tidied up after him, making an assumption on behalf of the Comte de la Fere when the man himself was unable to make the right call.

Either way, there was one person, he was certain, whose access had never been revoked, because he was dead and even Athos had not been that paranoid. Not then.

“House,” he interrupted, as he reached the door. “Have we had any visitors recently?”

“No visitors in the last 48 hours,” said House precisely. “A stranger tested our security twelve hours ago but failed the visual scan and fingerprint test, and went away.”

Athos swallowed, because the door was so damned big and heavy and he didn’t want to open it, not at all. “Is there anyone here besides myself and my guests, House?”

“Mr Auden is here, in the iris library,” said House. “He arrived ten hours and fourteen minutes ago.”

It took a feat of great strength for Athos to prevent himself from beating his head against the solid door. “That’s good,” he said with a very dry mouth. “Good house. You’ve done well.”

“He’s here,” D’Artagnan said quietly.

“Too much to hope that the iris library is on the ground floor zone?” Aramis said pointedly because she never missed much.

“Open,” said Athos, and stepped forward into a blinding pattern of black and white tiles that swept across the floor of the foyer. A huge staircase sprawled up one wall, leading to the upper floors. Even the goddamned pot plants were green and leafy as ever.

He had wanted to return to a ruin, to something dust-caked, looted and neglected that represented the conflicted feelings he had about his former home.

House, of course, had other ideas. He should have known.

His father would be ridiculously pleased that House had held up so well. He would not, likely, be pleased with Athos’ own failure to meet his responsibilities for the last five years.

Time to make up for that now by addressing the one responsibility he had most failed to follow through on, all those years ago. It was time to rid the Auteville estate of a monster.

Porthos moved first, getting up in Athos’ face. “The iris library,” she growled. “Where is it?”

“Third floor,” said Athos, and didn’t even smile.

“You’re not going up there alone.”

“You’re not,” D’Artagnan added. “I want him, Athos. You can’t keep me down here and out of the way. I don’t need to be protected.”

“Of course you do,” said Athos calmly. He glanced at Aramis, who was the only one not currently furious with him. On the contrary, she was calm and unsurprised. “I can handle this, D’Artagnan. Trust me.”

“You’re not trusting us,” she complained. “We’re a team now. You don’t have to run off playing lord and master and lone hero and all those stupid things from the holo-channels. You need backup.”

“I brought backup,” said Athos, and nodded briefly to the red mother. “I brought all of you. If he gets past me, and House, you’re here to stop him getting away.”

“That’s not comforting if he kills you, Athos!” D’Artagnan protested, her fists curled into tight balls.

He felt bad for a moment, but not as bad as he would if she was the one bleeding on the ground, because of course Auden – Milord would go for her first. D’Artagnan was the youngest and the least experienced, and Milord hated her.

“I’ll see you soon,” Athos said, and turned to make his way up the enormous staircase. As soon as he made it on to the lowest step, his friends were unable to reach him, or stop him.

Dana tried not to cry, but hot anger pricked at her eyes and that was so similar to crying anyway that she wasn’t sure why she held back.

“Tea,” said the red mother serenely, and led the way to a kitchen roughly the size of the Stellar Concourse.

“You speak,” said Aramis deferentially, as the Musketeers trooped in after her. “I wasn’t sure that you did.”

“There are times for sacred silence,” said the Elemental priest, slipping her hood from her shoulders and pushing her mask up to her hairline. She was young, barely forty if she was a day, and wore a streak of dark lipstick across her mouth. “And there are times when it is appropriate to speak. Tea is one of those times.”

“We should be with him,” Dana grumbled. “He’s going to get himself killed.”

Porthos gave her a reassuring thump of a hip against hers. “Chin up,” she said. “Athos has done a lot of things over the last five years that were practically guaranteed to get himself killed. If he had the knack, he’d have managed it by now.”

“Athos the Musketeer,” said the priest, trying out the name in her mouth. “Is that who our Olivier is now?”

“He’s good at it,” said Aramis. “We’re not leaving without him,” she added.

“Then we had better make sure that he does not lose his way while he is here,” said the priest with a smile. “House, we will have the chrysanthemum tea. If Mr Auden makes any violent move against his Grace the Comte, or if anyone is hurt, please allow Emergency Privilege 3 to apply to all of his guests.”

“Certainly, mother,” said the House. A fat teapot appeared in a nearby food hatch, steaming.

Dana stared at the priest. The others were staring at her too. She swished her red cloak a little as she crossed the kitchen, to collect the teapot. “I feel that his Grace the Comte rather underestimated the extent to which his father trusted my predecessor,” she explained.

And then she poured the tea into four tiny porcelain cups.

Going home after five years – the place should feel small to him. But after so many years living in a shoebox apartment in Paris, it was Athos who felt small amid all this grandeur.

Who needed all this? When it was over, he should give the house up for good. Donate it to the town, make them turn it into a museum or something practical like a school.

Or burn it to the ground. Either way.

There were three libraries on the third floor. This, Athos considered for the first time in his life, was probably excessive. There was the library of the elements, which housed his grandfather’s thorough collection of religious and theological texts pertinent not only to the local religion, but also to the history of the Church of All.

Now he came to think of it, he must never let Aramis know that the library of the elements existed, or they would never get her off this fucking planet.

The second library was more of a study, the proper place for the Comte de la Fere to deal with estate matters, paperwork and the like. It had been his father’s hideout for most of Athos’ childhood, an excuse for the man to smoke cigars away from his wife, and to meet with a parade of serious gentlemen over business decisions and port, not necessarily in that order.

The books that lined those walls were decorative rather than part of a specific collection. Once Athos had taken on the title, he attempted to work in here as his father had done, but found it oppressive and lonely. The library of the elements had a more comfortable couch, and a better view of the mountains.

At the far end of the sprawling central gallery on this floor was the iris library, which had been the domain of Athos’ mother. It held very few good memories. She was a cool, elegant woman who wore the title of Comtessa better than any other name, but had little time for children.

Athos remembered how she would sit him in a corner of that library, correcting his stance and posture and knowledge of the history of Valour with that critical tongue of hers.

When she was not critiquing him, she had very little to say.

He had always hated this room, and Auden knew that.

For the first year of Oliver and Auden’s marriage, the Comtessa de La Fere had remained in the house, as she had always done, sleeping in the same suite of rooms, inhabiting this library like a scathing ghost who had opinions about how everything was wrong. She demonstrated no approval nor disapproval over Auden, though Athos knew he had disappointed her in not choosing a wife (and it had to be a wife) from one of the few families on Valour she considered equal to the Autevilles or her own bloodline, the Demorrows.

On his first wedding anniversary, Athos awoke to discover that his mother, along with her retinue of three personal assistants and one live-in hairstylist, had moved out of the house and returned to the Demorrow family estate, along with her widowed sister the Marchioness de Lourde.

They did not write, though they had exchanged formal cards on the more significant religious holidays for a few years at least.

It had not occurred to him until now that she was probably still alive, and assumed him to be dead.

Auden knew how much Athos – Olivier – hated this library, and so he had taken it as his own space, after the Comtessa withdrew. He liked to hide here when they had an argument, knowing Athos would never follow him inside.

It was strangely wounding to have the man falling back on those same habits now, as if nothing had happened. As if the sword had never fallen on his neck, as if they were not two different people now: Athos the Musketeer, and Milord the murderer.

Taking a deep breath to fortify himself, Athos stepped inside. For a moment, he fancied that he could still smell his mother’s perfume.

Then all thoughts of her fell out of his head, because he was faced with his husband.

Milord sprawled elegantly on the antique couch, beneath a wall of watercolour irises and a window that looked out over the violet garden.

He had reverted to the version of himself that lived in Athos’ memory – all youth and cheekbones, his silver hair raggedly long beneath his ears and his feet wriggling bare against the embroidered cushions. A sword – a real sword, not a pilot’s slice, Athos recognised it as a family heirloom – lay across Milord’s lap as if he had forgotten about it.

“I see you’re not a nun anymore,” Athos drawled. “I’m surprised you gave up on the new look so quickly. Sister Snow sounded like a peach.”

Milord looked at him through his eyelashes. “Sometimes it’s best to stick to the classics.”

“Yes, and you got murder all over the hands of the last body you wore, so…” Athos gave him a flat smile. “I’m not going to insult you by asking how you survived your execution, in case you were wondering.”

“Wouldn’t tell you if you asked. I have to keep some secrets. Wouldn’t want you to get bored of me.” Even after everything, he was still flirting.

Athos shook his head in disbelief. “What is it you think is going to happen here? Do you imagine I will take pity on you because of what we once shared?”

Milord gave him a frosty look. “I know better than to expect pity of you, sweetness. No, I think you’re going to let me go – more than that, you are going to help me escape because everyone you love is under this roof.”

Athos laughed shortly. “Everyone I love? You mean the Musketeers who all have incentive to shoot you in the head and slice you into ribbons? Yes, I can see where that gives you an advantage.”

“We’re going to escape,” Milord repeated, calmly. “You’re going to call that engie of yours to bring your ship across to the edge of the security field, and you are going to walk me out of here, safely, and hand control of your ship over to me.”

“You want the Pistachio?” Athos said, not sure he had heard correctly.

“Oh, I want everything,” Milord said sweetly. “I learned a lesson with Sister Snow, you see. Creating a new identity from scratch is too hard, too fraught with extra stress I don’t need. But a body I know well – at least as well I knew Auden all those years – that could be useful.”

He began to change, silver hair melting into short blond stubble, his body broadening, even his clothes shifting into blue and white. “I’m going to be you, sweetness. That should be good enough to get me halfway across the solar system. You are going to let me do this, or I’m going to leave Porthos, Aramis and D’Artagnan in pieces.”

Athos could not look at him now – at this strange parody of himself. He turned his back on Milord and went to the window, to the view of the garden that his Maman had always been so proud of.

It was beginning to rain, because Valour. Grey streaked across the sky, matching his mood.

“You’re not going to get away with this,” he said, refusing to let anger take over. He pressed his fury into his hands, and pushed his hands against the cold glass.

Real glass, not plexi-glass. The Comtessa de La Fere had always prized authenticity over pragmatism.

“You didn’t think I came here only to mock you and our life, did you?” asked Milord.

“I have no idea why you do any of the things you have done,” Athos grated, still refusing to look. His hands flexed hard against the window, as if he could claw his own way out through the glass. “But you will not hurt my friends.”

“I won’t have to,” said Milord. “If they think I’m you, they will fall over themselves to help me on their way. And if I can’t fool them – well, House always was helpful when it came to family.”

The panes gave way under Athos’ palms, and the glass shattered out across the lawn below. Blood burst from his hands, from a dozen different cuts. As he turned to face his opponent, blood smeared across the bright white window ledge.

“No,” said the Comte de la Fere. “I think not.”

The lights flickered in the kitchen, alerting Dana and the others to the emergency.

“Mother,” said the House in that creepy formal tone it employed. “I have to inform you that his Grace has been injured.”

Aramis and Porthos leaped to their feet, teacups flying.

“So we can go upstairs?” Aramis demanded breathlessly.

“Yes – I am so instructed -” but House’s voice dissolved into static. “No,” it said when it spoke again. “His Grace has given the order that no one must interrupt them.”

“Them?” inquired the red mother, looking as unflappable as ever. “You mean his Grace, and Mr Auden.”

“No – I – his Grace has two voices,” House said plaintively. “They have given conflicting orders.”

“I’m going up anyway,” Porthos said, and made a run for the foyer.

Aramis chased after her. “Be careful! We don’t know how many more of those forcefields are set up.”

“I’m sick of seeing Athos go through hell for that asshole,” Porthos growled. “Let me at them both.”

“House,” the red mother said. “What was the last order that his Grace gave you?”

“It concerns the guest D’Artagnan,” said the House.

Dana, who had been about to follow the others out of the kitchen, hesitated at that. “What about me?”

“His Grace the Comte de La Fere has decreed that D’Artagnan must die,” said House.

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Published on July 07, 2015 15:00

July 6, 2015

Issue #1: Giant-Sized Little Marvels: AvX (2015)

Title: Giant-Sized Little Marvels: AvX #1 (2015)

Writer: Skottie Young

Artist: Skottie Young

The Buzz: the buzz for this has been three years in the making – for ages now, the wonderfully quirky kids comic artist Skottie Young has been providing baby-faced ‘Little Marvels’ variant covers for many of the publisher’s most popular books – more than 100 in all. There was a great one-shot last year, A-Babies vs X-Babies which was crazy adorable, and now thanks to the excuse of Secret Wars (not sure why they needed this excuse honestly) it’s a real series!

All You Need To Know: The X-Men and Avengers are basically reimagined as pre-schoolers: they all live on the same street, and they fight each other a LOT. The cute… it… kind of hurts… awwwwwww.

Story: The A-babies and X-babies compete over who can set up the best street food, and just about everything else. Spider-Gwen is new in town, just in time to point out the thing no one else ever has about Tony’s goatee (why does he have a goatee???). Magik is cranky, Steve means well, Cable and Bishop are from the future but those totally aren’t real guns, Hulk is hungry and ooooh new neighbours. There’s no story here, just cuteness and toddler wars. Little Marvel Hawkeye and Little Marvel Black Widow are my favourite and my best.

Art: It’s Skottie Young! The work in this issue doesn’t quite rise to the same glories as A-Babies vs X-Babies as far as clever visual jokes etc., but it’s gorgeous stuff on every page, and so much fun to watch his inimitable baby versions of classic characters. Finally, Marvel is providing some serious competition to Tiny Titans.

But What Did I Miss?: If you haven’t read A-Babies vs X-Babies (found in the trade: Little X-Men, Big Trouble) get on that, seriously, it’s marvellous, you will never look at Captain America or Wolverine quite the same again. But you definitely don’t need to have read anything to come to this one as a new series. Like the Peanuts comics, no explanation necessary.

Would Read Issue 2?: oh yes

Read it if you Like: adorableness, Muppet Babies, Tiny Titans, joy and pre-schoolers.

Previously reviewed:

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Published on July 06, 2015 15:00

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