Two Days Left

Also, a poll about signed first editions

So there are two days left to retro-back the bindery by purchasing the Special Editions of Homer. The level of additional support has been great, and we will be able to obtain the most important machine thanks to it. However, this won’t be the final opportunity to help us acquire the machines we need, since on Thursday we will be announcing somewhere between one and three Signed First Editions that will be available for no more than one month.

All three books are already finished and are more or less ready for printing. The first book, the title of which will be announced by the author on Arkhaven Nights later this week, is by The Legend Chuck Dixon. It’s a really good novel and one that is going to be of significant interest to both his fans and fans of classic science fiction alike.

The second and third book are by Vox Day. Castalia House will be publishing conventional hardcovers, but since we’re less certain about the level of interest in them, we thought we’d simply ask the various subscribers if they would like to see them offered as part of our Signed First Editions or not.

The first book is DEATH AND THE DEVIL, which started as an experiment in recreating a certain late author’s literary style, but grew into an anthology of stories about the cosmic constant known as Death. It consists of 150 pages divided into 11 stories, an excerpt of one of which can be read below.

The other book is OUT OF THE SHADOWS, which is a precursor to the MIDNIGHT’S WAR comic. This is a 220-page book that explains how and why the vampires chose to come out of the shadows in order to establish the Midnight World. The serialization has been running at AI Central, so you can read the nine sections there to get a feel for the story if you’re curious about it.

Please note that these books will be expensive, at $250 apiece, and we do not anticipate making them available again. The print runs are expected to be minimal, although that will entirely depend upon the level of interest. And please not that we are not asking you what books you are willing to buy, or intend to buy, just if you would like to see us making them available to everyone over the next month or not. You’ll have the chance to read them in ebook or traditional hardcover regardless, this is simply about the level of interest in Signed First Editions ala Franklin Library.

Just to be clear about the following poll, the options for DEATH AND THE DEVIL and OUT OF THE SHADOWS both include the Dixon book. Regardless of the poll results, we will definitely be offering the Dixon book as the inaugural Signed First Edition from Castalia Library.

UPDATE: All right, looks like we’ll offer all three. At the request of one subscriber, we’ll make a few extras of each and make them available to subscribers only sometime in the future.

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DEATH AND THE CAT WITH EIGHT LIVES

Death was having what might be described as an administrative day. Not that Death ever truly took time off—mortality being the persistent business that it was—but occasionally the anthropomorphic personification of the ultimate end found himself dealing with matters of cosmic bureaucracy rather than his usual soul-collecting duties.

It was during one such administrative interlude that Death noticed something peculiar in his otherwise immaculate office—a small black shape had materialized on his desk, directly atop the ledger he'd been reviewing.

The shape was, upon closer inspection, a cat. Not a living cat, but a skeletal feline figure draped in a miniature black robe that seemed to absorb light in much the same way Death's own garments did. Twin yellow glows emanated from otherwise empty eye sockets, and the creature was carrying what appeared to be a diminutive scythe that was somehow suited for paws rather than hands.

AH, said Death, recognizing his visitor. MORTIFELIS. TO WHAT DO I OWE THE PLEASURE?

Cat Death tilted its skeletal head and opened its jaw in what would have been a meow, had it possessed vocal cords. Since it didn't, the gesture was accompanied by a sound that resembled the whisper of dead autumn leaves skittering across a long-forgotten gravestone in a pet cemetery.

I SEE, Death replied, as if the silent communication had been perfectly intelligible. A DISPUTE REGARDING FELINE MORTALITY? I SUPPOSE THAT IS TECHNICALLY WITHIN MY JURISDICTION.

Cat Death's tail swished in what might have been either agreement or irritation—the nuances of skeletal cat body language being somewhat difficult to interpret, even for Death.

A LIVING CAT? HERE? Death asked, his tone suggesting this was most unusual. I DO NOT ENTERTAIN THE LIVING HERE, AS A GENERAL RULE.

Another sound, like the softest exhalation of a distant winter wind, emerged from Cat Death.

VERY WELL. AS I HAVE BEEN ASKED TO ADJUDICATE, LET US HEAR THE APPELLANT.

Cat Death's paw made a small, elegant gesture in the air, and suddenly there was a third presence in Death's office. A very solid, very alive, and very indignant marmalade cat appeared on the obsidian floor. Its orange fur was almost offensively vibrant in Death's ebon office, its eyes were bright and green, and it had a crooked tail that suggested a previous encounter with something large and possibly vehicular.

The marmalade cat took one look at Death, arched its back, and let out a noise that was very much an actual, audible "MEOW!" The sound seemed to hang in the air of Death's office a moment too long, as if the metaphysical space wasn't entirely sure how to process something so clearly and fundamentally alive.

I UNDERSTAND YOUR CONCERNS, MORTIFELIS, Death said, addressing his feline counterpart. BUT I ASSURE YOU, I WILL BE OBJECTIVE. I HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO DOG IN THIS HUNT.

Cat Death's jaw opened again in silent communication.

MY APOLOGIES, Death conceded. YOU ARE CORRECT. THAT WAS AN INAPPOPRIATE METAPHOR.

Death's attention shifted to the marmalade cat, who was now sitting on its haunches, staring up at him with an expression that somehow managed to convey both fear and outrage—a combination Death had observed countless times in mortal creatures, though rarely with quite so much whisker-twitching.

GOOD AFTERNOON, said Death to the living cat. I UNDERSTAND YOU HAVE A COMPLAINT REGARDING THE PROPER ALLOCATION OF YOUR LIVES?

The marmalade cat meowed loudly, its tail swishing with evident agitation.

YES, I AM AWARE OF THE TRADITIONAL ARRANGEMENT, Death responded. NINE LIVES PER FELINE SOUL. IT HAS BEEN THE STANDARD SINCE THE ACCOMMODATION WAS FIRST ARRANGED WITH THE ANCIENT EGYPTIANS. A RATHER GENEROUS PACKAGE, IF I MIGHT SAY SO. MOST SPECIES RECEIVE ONLY ONE.

The cat released a series of rapid-fire meows, occasionally punctuated by a hiss.

I SEE. YOU BELIEVE YOU HAVE BEEN SHORTCHANGED. YOU CLAIM TO HAVE LOST EIGHT LIVES ALREADY, BUT INSIST YOU HAVE ONLY HAD SEVEN LEGITIMATE DEATHS. THAT IS INDEED A SERIOUS ALLEGATION.

Cat Death's skeletal paw reached out to touch the ledger that had been beneath it, a gesture that Death clearly interpreted as meaningful.

YES, THANK YOU, MORTIFELIS. WE SHOULD CONSULT THE OFFICIAL RECORD.

Death's bony fingers opened the black leather-bound ledger to a page that appeared to be filled with tiny paw prints rather than any recognizable script. He studied it with the careful attention of a cosmic accountant performing an audit.

SO, ACCORDING TO THE OFFICIAL FELINE MORTALITY REGISTER, YOU ARE... Death paused, eye sockets fixing on the marmalade cat. MARMALADIUS MAXIMUS THE SLAYER, COLLOQUIALLY KNOWN TO YOUR HUMAN COMPANIONS AS "MR. WHISKERS." IS THAT CORRECT?

The orange cat gave a single, dignified meow of confirmation.