The Fountain of Eden: A Myth of Birth, Death, and Beer
Page 27
Chapter 27
Thonick Hardpees
Sir Arthur's house was looking very lived-in recently. Nobody had bothered to wash the dishes lurking in the sink and piled precariously upon every raised surface, but someone had gone out and acquired a sleeve of Styrofoam cups, as well as paper plates and plastic utensils. These items now littered the tables and floor, along with empty soda cans and beer bottles, greasy pizza boxes, discarded snack wrappers, and loose tobacco. The overflowing ashtrays looked like small gray mountains dotted with cylindrical tan and white peaks. And Joe, Ben, and Huck had been staying there, without showering, for the last few days. The place reeked of moldy socks and food gone bad.
Captain Promo was out visiting local restaurants and bars in a “random fire-hazard check.” He would inquire of scared managers if their business had received a shipment from the Olde Eden brewery in the last two weeks, even going so far as to examine all recent invoices. All Olde Eden kegs had been confiscated as “fire hazards.” Sir Arthur hadn't bothered to ask how this worked without protest from the businesses; fire-bringer mind tricks, perhaps.
The rest of Team Real had been raiding local stores, buying or stealing every twelve-pack and keg of Olde Eden brew, regardless of flavor. Most had been harmless Olde Eden beers, but some of the bottles with later “born-on” dates had been Hoppy Heaven Ale labeled something else!
“I reckon I'm gonna head over to Bill n' Gary one more time,” said Huck. “I'm gonna take another look in the dorms and academic buildings.” The campus had for the most part been clean, the frat houses the only areas abounding with Hoppy Heaven Ale.
Sir Arthur stared at a detailed map of Eden tacked to a living room wall, then at a smaller map of the campus taped to another. He waved a hand in the air. “Go ahead if you wish, but we've covered the length and breadth of the campus five times and found nothing.”
Huck shook his head. “I know. We been over every square inch of this dern town. Where could those Tricksters be hiding themselves and the rest of that hop-juice?” He sucked in a quick breath. “Howzabout about in Jimstown? You think they stashed the beer over thataway?”
Sir Arthur shook his head. “It's been thoroughly scoured by friends of mine who live in the area. There's no Hoppy Heaven Ale in Jimstown.”
“What about that lil' airport? D'you think they transported the beer outta here by plane?”
“My friend Bill Icarus works part-time as a flight instructor at the Eden/Jimstown Airport. Every plane that has landed or taken off from there in the past several days has been inspected—surreptitiously, but thoroughly—and everything has come up clean.”
Walkie-talkies crackled to life. “Promo to Lock, Promo to Lock! We have action at the Fountain! I stopped by here to check on things and harpies started flying out of the Water! Styx, there's a lot of them! Promo out.”
Sir Arthur grabbed his walkie. “Promo, get the hells out of there. Who knows how many of those rancorous things will be coming through that sipapuni? I will contact you shortly. Lock out.”
“Affirmative, Lock. Retreating as we speak. Will wait with bated breath—mainly because these things stink like high hell—for your call. Promo out.”
A grim smile creased Sir Arthur's lips. “Harpies, the foul beasts—and worse than that soon to come, I'm sure.” He peered at Huck. “Be prepared, Huckleberry, for I believe we shall forthwith have more than a handful of chthonic deities on our hands.”
“What the heck does thonick mean, Mister Holmes?” asked Huck with pursed lips. “Now, I reckon Tom Sawyer might know that word. Smart guy, Tom, with a real analyzing head on his shoulders. He fancies hisself somewhat of a detective too.”
“Chthonic means of and relating to the Underworld, especially the Greek Underworld.” Sir Arthur's eyes went cold. “We must put all our efforts into repelling this invasion. If the Unseen One takes control of Eden, he can distribute his Hoppy Heaven Ale at will.”
His tone sent shivers up Huck's spine, but the boy put on a brave face. “Well, whatever comes outta that waterhole, we can take care of it if we all work together.”
“You are correct, of course,” said Sir Arthur. “But we shall need all the help we can get. Run over to New Shaolin Monastery and tell Master Mirbodi what has happened. We shall have to call off the search for the Hoppy Heaven Ale—only temporarily, I hope. Meet me in front of Pasture and Gout's Apothecary in half an hour. I will let the others know of this rendezvous.” He fluttered string-bean fingers in the air. “Now go, Huckleberry Finn! Run like the wind!”
Huck followed the beekeeper's advice and ran out the door at a sprint, wondering just what kind of monster a “hardpee” was.
Tom Sawyer would know.