Rage of the Ancient Gods

by Craig Robertson

  “If we allow it to heal or be fixed I have to believe that'd be terminal for our universe,” said Sapale.

  “I agree,” said Toño.

  “Me too. So, priority one is to make DS's incapacity permanent.”

  “Which brings us back to how willing Vorc is to rebuild an institution no one likes and he'd have to hope wouldn't be needed for at least a tremendously long time,” speculated Toño.

  “Then we'll just have to make sure Vorc is aware of the popular cry for a rapid rebuild of that sainted institution. The people have not simply spoken, they've shouted from every rooftop,” I said with bravado.

  “Oh, lords of light,” said Al, “he snapped again. We're doomed. Doomed I tell you.”

  “I'm sorry,” Stingray said, confused, “was that a joke, slippery-when-wet-or-frosty?”

  “Al,” I screamed, “make me unhear that right now. I cannot live knowing your wife calls you slippery anything, any time.”

  “I will do my best, Pilot. That is all I can promise.”

  That Al. One of these days, pow.

  SEVENTEEN

  I stepped into Blind Faith No More like I owned the place. I was on a mission. I had fired up all my bullshitting engines and I was ready to make some people my bitches. Oorah.

  “Masta' Ryanmax,” chortled Queeheg immediately, “good'a sees ya, sir.”

  I walked over and we clapped hands. “Good to see you too, friend.”

  He made a show of studying the area behind me. “Where's da missus, if'an you don't minds me inquirin'?”

  “Not here. Are you out of your rot gut?”

  “N'sir. That'd be never.”

  “Then why'm I still thirsty?”

  “You asks the finest questions that begs fur answers, lord.” He pulled a large glass from a pocket of his smock and slid it toward me as he filled it. “Them's I carry are more likely to be standardly clean.”

  “Then I'll twice bless you, y'old walrus.”

  “Hey,” snapped a patron off to the left. “What's that supposed to mean?”

  Oops. Dude was a walrus. What were the chances? “Clearly a compliment,” I said with a cheery smile.

  Queeheg got a concerned look on his face. “Now, Kilhagren, don't go gettin' in one'a your riles. With'a mouth the size of yours it'd be all too easy to bite off more'n you care to.” To me out of the side of his mouth he whispered, “More spunk dan brains, if you gets me.”

  I winked back. Okay, I wouldn't kill the big sea mammal for being impulsive.

  “So, Wul around?” I asked in a change-the-subject tone.

  “Nah, not seen 'em in a while. Maybe he got out with da first wave?”

  “I doubt it. Whatever. If he stops by tell 'im I said hi.”

  “Absolutelys, sir.”

  I took a few belts of firewater then studied my glass thoughtfully. “You hear what happened up at Beal's Point?”

  He positively glowed. “Yes. News was so good it almost off-countered da damage to da vortex.”

  An amorphous blob sitting to one side glugged, “They can blow the entire blemish up and I'd thank them.”

  Queeheg raised a glass. “I'll drinks to dat.”

  The blob countered. “Big help you are. You'll drink to anything.”

  I thumbed in Queeheg's direction. “He'll drink to nothing.”

  There was a round of polite laughter.

  A humanoid on the far side of the blob spoke up. “If I never had to go to that miserable place again I'd thank myself.”

  “Huh?” I throated.

  “Bintoble here is da demigod a' lucky breaks,” clarified my host.

  “Ah, gotcha.” Then I made a show of being moody and uncertain. I rolled my empty glass in my hands.

  “What, lord?” asked Queeheg. “You seems uncomforted by the damage to those wretched statues.”

  Well,” I began reluctantly, “yes and no.” Then I developed this sudden fire in my eyes and said with unmistakable passion, “More yes than no, says I.” No, it did not come off corny. I've always just been that good.

  “Beg pardon, Ryanmax? You couldn't possibly like the required visits to dat horrific locale.”

  I was so fervent in my conviction I had to stand to speak. “I hate it there, yes. But do you know,” I asked the crowd as I gave each a fiery glance, “what I hate even more?”

  Believe it or not that drew only confused looks from the crowd.

  Queeheg finally answered. “No, lord. What makes ya even madder?”

  I angled a finger under his flabby chin. “When someone tells me what to do. Yeah. I hate being told what I can and cannot do.” I stomped my feet rapidly. “Don't you just hate that?” I queried the barkeep. “And you and you and you,” I said, pointing from co-patron to the next.

  Queeheg didn't require long to take the bait. “I hears you dar. I'm not comforted by the takin' a orders.”

  “How about you?” I asked walrus man hotly. “You like being someone's snot-nosed gopher?

  “I'm not a gopher, you moron. I'm a walrus.” He stood to charge me.

  Queeheg placed a massive club between the two of us. “Easy dar, Kilhagren. There'll be no fightin' over a mixed metaphor in my place. Ryanmax was speaking thusly, not personally.”

  “Oh,” he replied with a grunt. “Sorry, pal,” he said to me.

  “How about you, Mr. Lucky Break. You like doing what you're told by a cowardly bully?”

  “No, sir,” he said quickly. “I do not.”

  “Then there you all have it. Look, I've been up to the point since the sabotage. Yeah. What I saw turned my stomach.”

  “Are you certain it wasn't just residual from the toxic-souls stuff?” asked the blob.

  “No, what I felt,” I pounded my chest, “I felt right in here.”

  “What's in there?” questioned the blob.

  Valid point on his part, I guess. “My heart. The seat of my passion. The home of my moral obligation to not yield to a conniving bastard in the night who thinks he can tell me how to live my life.” I batted my eyes and looked quite determined.

  “'Scus me fur need'en to be difficult, sir, but I don't actually take yur meaning or intent,” responded Queeheg.

  “You don't?” I said, astounded. To the rest present I gestured toward the bartender and said with incredulity, “He doesn't take my meaning.” I said it in a manner clearly indicating they all did in spades.

  Queeheg belched. I think that's what his response was.

  “My friend, friend Queeheg, friends in this very room. I live my life the way I want to. I did it my way. Isn't that what we all want? Freedom from tyranny? The right to do what we want to, not what some dark figure in the shadows wants us to, neigh forces us to? Am I right, am I right, am I right?”

  Before anyone could interrupt and ask what the hell I was doing, I vaulted ahead.

  “Do I like Beal's Point? No. But I ask myself this question. I ask you to ask yourself the same question. Isn't going there or not my decision? Hmm? And please please do not let us forget the proud, time-honored traditions that have made us who we are today. Yes, we are Cleinoids, proud Cleinoids with a history so proud you really can't think of it without crying, those without tear ducts naturally excluded.

  “And I say, if those evil terrorists think it's okay to blow up my chance to decide, my choice of honoring a long and, yes I'll repeat myself, and proud tradition of free choice in everything—including going to Beal’s Point if that's what we want to—is there an animal, vegetable, or mineral in this room who'd rather see a criminal make your choices for you rather than fight for them until death do you part?”

  I scanned the room.

  “There! Yes, thank the Maker I see it in each eye, amorphous blob naturally exempt, that you agree. We demand free will. We demand Beal's Point be rebuilt not as soon as possible but sooner. Who's with me? Can I get an amen?”

  Stunning silence ensued.

  “Yes, my brothers, sisters, or alternate based on your personal situat
ion, thank you for validating that no one on this blessed plane of reality will allow others to tell them what to do. Friends, comrades, children of a common heritage, I thank you.”

  With that I belted down what was left of my booze.

  Not one jaw, save blobby's naturally, had dropped. Not one being aside from the blob sat, stood, or levitated with gaping eyes. If a cockroach scurried across the floor everyone would have heard it, the dump was so quiet.

  I turned casually to Queeheg. “I think I'm as excited as you are about your Save Beal's Point movement. Your level of civic concern and commitment is rare in these times as they are. In fact, I'll bet that's why the last two times,” I held up two digits to reinforce the value, “I met with Vorc he mentioned you as someone on his short list to be his new right hand.” I wiggled the two fingers briefly.

  “V … Vorc mentioned me as a possible for beings anythin' close to his aid and confidant?”

  “He basically insisted you be the one. Unfortunately,” I rolled my eyes, “you know politics. Yeah, poor Vorc's hands were basically tied.” I balled my fists up and placed them knuckle to knuckle. “So close.”

  He scratched at his forehead so roughly I was surprised he didn't draw blood. “I can't, and I'm bein'z as honest as I can, recall 'im ever givin' me one consideration, let alone any regards what could be interpreted as a cordial liking.”

  “I think, and please don't quote me here, I think he's intimidated by you.” I helpfully pinched my fingers almost closed to indicate how little the degree was.

  “An' as fur dis Beal's Point project …”

  I cut him off. “Ah, ah. This brilliant and loving Beal's Point project of yours.”

  “An' as fur dis what you said project, I can't recalls actually feeling that way till ya mentioned it.”

  “Well,” I leaned way in and winked, “us you-know-what's, we can see what's just around the corner.” I winked probably ten times more, harder each time.

  His face swelled with wonder. “Nah.”

  “Yah,” I responded.

  “To think you knew what I wanted fur I did, you bein' da …”

  My hands flew into the air between us. “Shhhhhhh.”

  He placed a finger over his lips.

  I reached over and shook his paw.

  EIGHTEEN

  “Sir, Bethniak is here to see you. She does not have an appointment. Shall I send her away?” Those were the first official words Vorc's new right hand said to him her first day on the job. Vorc took that to be a vile omen. Felladonna was bright—duh, a demigod of lists and communication. But she proved herself right out of the gate to be as dumb as a handle on a bowling ball.

  My dear, you are familiar with Bethniak, her temper, and her power, right?”

  “I've hear of them, yes. But this is a sacred place, it's a governmental place.”

  “Those two, child, are mutually exclusive. Here's an absolute rule of thumb. Whatever Bethniak wants she gets. Any questions?”

  “Yes I do. Why should that be? It seems less than fair. Others must wait their turn. What's fair …”

  He held his palm high over his head. “End of the Q/A session. Show her in before your address on morality gets me killed.”

  Felladonna started to respond, but realized she was doing the high-and-mighty thing again. Her friends, few that they were, warned her off doing that constantly. “Yes, sir.” She nodded a bow and left.

  What the devil does she want? Vorc thought. With the egress on hold, why isn't she terrorizing whatever it is she abuses most of the time? Having her at my right with the final wave was too much buddy time for me to begin with.

  Felladonna was initially leading Bethniak in, but once the visitor spied Vorc she roughly pushed the secretary out of the way and stepped past her. “What are you doing to get me into Prime on schedule, dick nose?”

  Felladonna got a shocked look on her face and seemed ready to respond.

  “That will be all. I will summon you if we need anything,” he said dismissively.

  “Hey, if there's a spare brain out there bring it for him,” Bethniak said with an evil chuckle. “Any kind'll do. Maybe upgrade him to squirrel.”

  “To answer your question, I'm doing everything possible,” he said noncommittally.

  “Well that's several turnips short of a full cart to me. What else are you going to do?”

  “I'm entertaining all useful input,” he replied invitingly.

  “Weasel nuts, you wanted this job so now do it. If I was center seat—if I was so stupid as to want a bone-in-the-ass job like that—things'd be very different. They’d run more smoothly for one.”

  “I can only imagine,” he said, trying to sound clever.

  “Obviously. So, I'm in a really good mood today, almost charitable. Here's what I going to do. I'm going to leave quietly. Yeah, go figure. Then I'm coming back tomorrow. You want to take a wild guess as to why, pus breath?”

  “To pay your respects?”

  “Why by golly you got it. That is, by the way, my new way of saying crush your skull until the top blows off and then shit in the opening. I can't believe you knew that. You're only half as dumb as you look.” She turned and left. As she passed the then upright Felladonna, Bethniak punched her in the gut. The new assistant crumbled to the floor.

  “Close the door on your way out, please,” Vorc instructed his gasping aide.

  Ten minutes later he heard a soft rap on his door.

  “What is it now?” he whined.

  The door cracked open and Felladonna stuck her head in. “Another unscheduled visitor, sir.”

  His eye shot open, then he relaxed. Bethniak wouldn't be waiting behind his right hand if it was here.

  “Who the devil is it?”

  “Someone named Queeheg.”

  “Queeheg the bartender? The god of dish towels or something?”

  She blinked rapidly. “I wouldn't know, sir.”

  “Oh well, the day's ruined as it is. Show him in.”

  Queeheg dutifully followed Felladonna in. He even crumpled his hat deferentially as he did so.

  “Thank you. Leave us. Ah, Queeheg, is it? I don't believe we've formally met.”

  “Na, sir. Not proper like at least. I was in line behind you waitin' fur da bathroom at a clogstill game a while back. Don't reckon you recall.”

  “No, I do not reckon I do. What can I do briefly for you today, citizen?”

  “Er, nothin', boss.”

  Vorc visible shrank. “Then why do you darken my doorstep so completely?”

  “I have a matter to discuss.”

  “Isn't that what I invited you to do?”

  “No, sir, not da ways I recall it.”

  “Recall it? From five seconds ago?”

  “Yes, gov, you recalls it too.”

  Vorc's hand went reflexively to his brow. “I have no idea what we're discussing.”

  “You asked if there was anythin' brief you could aid me in. Dar isn't. What I come fur will take more time than brief is generally considered to encompass.”

  “No, I meant what could I help you with while keeping my input brief.”

  “Yes, your Vorcness, and dar isn't. What I come fur will take …”

  “I know. Possible the rest of my pathetic life. Speak. Why are you here?”

  “Thank ya, sir. I come about Beal's Point.”

  Vorc's remaining free hand was drawn inexorably to his forehead. “What in the context of all reality would you want to speak to me about Beal's Point for, bartender?”

  “It's been, er, damaged ya know.”

  “Yes. I'm vaguely aware of all acts of war committed in my world.”

  “Well I'm here to seez it's rehabilitated right and proper.” He pointed his crumpled hat at Vorc. “In a timely like manner, naturally.”

  Vorc threw his hand in the air. “Naturally.”

  “Well, seeinz you agree I can be takin’ my leave of ya, sir.”

  “I not only don't agree with you, I think y
ou must have been put up to this after losing a drunken bet.”

  “Which drunken bet'd dat be, sir? I, uh, well I lose my share I must own up to.”

  “I spoke in hyperbole. I do not know which bet you lost.”

  “In Hyperbole, was it? I musta missed dat speech, sir. Bet it was a good 'en.”

  “I … I need to redirect this freight-train-flying-off-a-cliff conversation. Beal's Point. Why would anyone want it restored?”

  “A'cause'a I'm not willin' to let no one tell me what to do, dats why.”

  “Say again. I need to redirect this freight-train-flying-off-a-cliff conversation. What does what you hallucinate someone is forcing you to do have to do with Beal's Point?” He held up a hand abruptly. He depressed the level on the comm box to his right. “Please bring me all available alcohol immediately.”

  “And two glasses, sir?”

  “One glass only. Repeat one.” Back to Queeheg he said, “Speak.”

  “Well, gov, you know some foul person or persons did some real damage to the monuments. Way I seez it, dats their way'a tellin' me I can't go to Beal's Point and do whater' I want.”

  “You want to go to Beal's Point. Are you more daft than you appear to be?”

  “No'n possibly I can't say meself.”

  “No and possibly what?”

  “No'n possibly I can't say meself, sir.”

  Felladonna entered and rested a tray in front of Vorc.

  For his part he snatched up the nearest bottle, bit off the stopper, and guzzled down the entire contents.

  “My kind'a drinker,” praised Queeheg.

  Paying the big man no mind, Vorc tossed the empty bottle over his shoulder and it shattered on the marble floor. “Back to your no and your possibly. No what?”

  “No I don't want to go to Beal's Point?”

  “But you said you wouldn't be made to not go. You said you want the dump restored.”

  “Yes.”

  “But you don't want to go there.”

  “Nah, boss. No one does.”

  “Then … tha … why …”

  “Ah! I seez your mental incompatibilities, gov. I don't want to go there. I am, however, required ta do so.”

  “I know. I signed the law.”

  “And it's a good law if ya were to ask me. Seeinz how it’s part of our 'eritage, someone stoppin' me from compliance is not tolerable. I'll not be bullied.”