Debris & Detritus

by Robin D. Owens

  “It’s fucked,” said Detritus. He was resolved. “Look, ’Bris, we tried. We’re going to have to face facts; we can’t pull this off. Everything we touch turns to shit.”

  Gary was torn between backing up Detritus’s unflinching honesty and softening the blow to prevent Debris from breaking out into uncontrollable sobs. It had happened before. Despite the massive time sink that they had been for the past six weeks, he was starting to root for them. Then he spied something laying askew on the ugly coffee table. He walked over and plucked it off.

  A heavy ink fountain pen, the kind with a nib on the end. He uncapped it to verify that it was all in place. “Where did you get this?”

  Detritus looked up, distracted by Debris’ pre-hysterical warm-up. “Huh? Oh, that. Someone left it behind at an estate sale.”

  “How do you know that?” Gary asked.

  Detritus shrugged. “If it’s left behind, thrown away, or forgotten, I know about it and can access it. It’s my thing.”

  “Do you know what this is?” Gary asked. They shook their heads. “It’s a Parker Duofold fountain pen from 1923. It’s highly collectible. I’ll give you a hundred dollars for it.”

  “We’ll take it,” said Debris.

  “Wait, how much is it really worth?” asked Detritus.

  “And how do you know that?” asked Debris.

  Gary started to speak, and then hesitated. It was a fraction of a second, but it was enough. “Aha!” Detritus said, shaking his finger at him. “You’re trying to fuck us.”

  “Okay, okay, it’s worth about a thousand dollars. But you’d have to sell it for that, retail, and I’m not paying you that much money for something you just found in your fucking pocket.” He grabbed his wallet and shook out a handful of twenty dollar bills. “Here. Two hundred. Take it.”

  Debris and Detritus did not move. They stared at one another, and for the first time in a long time, they were both smiling. “What?” asked Gary.

  “You wouldn’t pay a thousand dollars for it,” said Detritus.

  “But somebody will pay a thousand dollars for it,” finished Debris.

  Gary realized what they are getting at, and he started smiling, too. “Or more.”

  “Or more,” said Debris and Detritus together.

  Gary set them up. Well, he and Parker both did. They structured it as a business loan, since Debris and Detritus had used up all of their favors with their fellow Olympians. Parker found them some retail space, a thousand square feet in the middle of the Tenderloin. It made more sense to put a resale shop there, anyway. Gary made them lists of things to look for—high end antiques, collectible glassware, designer label fashions, and so forth. For the first few months, he would bring a separate set of friends to Shabby Chic, their store, and all of Gary’s friends would gladly empty their wallets and leave, loading with kitsch or cool, depending on their tastes.

  The pair paid Gary and Parker back their original stake in two years and moved the shop to the edge of the Tenderloin, where more tourists could get to it. By then, Shabby Chic had a reputation as the place to go for that thing you were looking for—but be prepared to pay a handsome price for it.

  They had been at their new location five years when Gary walked in one day and found a woman behind the counter.

  “Gary!” she said. “It’s been forever!” she wore a rumpled blue work shirt and paint spattered jeans. She slipped around the counter and hugged him. Only when she got to arm’s length did he realize who she was.

  “Debris?” he asked.

  She beamed. “It’s Bree, now. It happened! Just like Parker said! It just—happened.”

  “Well, great,” he replied. It suits you, I think.”

  “I know, right?!”

  The curtain to the back room parted and Detritus came out.

  “Trite, look who’s here.”

  “Hey, Gary,” said Trite. He wore a vintage linen shirt, badly in need of an iron, and an old silk tie, currently askew. He shook Gary’s hand, smiling. He was still sloppy, but he no longer looked homeless. “What? Do I have something on my shirt?”

  Gary smiled and shook his hand. “No, nothing like that. But Bree here, she got her . . . ”

  Trite smiled back. “Yeah, I know. We’re not sure why I haven’t . . . or if I’m even going to, at this point. I’m kinda hoping it doesn’t happen, now. The business is doing great, you know?” He chuckled, clearing the throat of the conversation, and made his face bright. “What brings you out?”

  “Not that you need a reason to pop in,” Bree said.

  “Well, this is something of a long shot, but . . . a friend of mine has gone missing.”

  Trite cocked his head. “Your friend?

  “It’s Dawn.”

  “Oh, wow.” Bree leaned against the counter. She was a much better looking woman than man. “Heavy.”

  “What you’re asking . . . ” Trite said. “I don’t think I can find her.”

  “Maybe all you need to do is find what she’s thrown away.”

  Trite nodded, lost in thought. “I’ll give it a try.”

  “Thanks.”

  Trite walked back into the office and emerged a minute later with his old trenchcoat on. He put his hands into his pockets and came up with a couple of handfuls of paper and spilled them on the counter. He and Gary looked through them—receipts, half-started Dear John letters, notes, and doodles of curved penises. Trite finally fished a scrap of paper out and handed it to Gary.

  “Selene,” said Gary. “Duh. I should have guessed.” He pocketed the paper. “Thanks, Trite. I owe you, big time.”

  “Forget it,” said Trite. “We’re square.”

  “Listen, I’ve got to run,” he said. “Someone needs this info. But I’ll swing by when I’m not so busy, okay?”

  “It was great to see you,” Bree said.

  “You too. And hey, congrats on your do-over.” He flashed them a grin, the kind of smile only an Olympian can deliver, and then he was gone.

  Trite came over to Bree and his arms encircled her waist. “You didn’t tell him?” he asked.

  “He’ll find out about it soon enough.” Bree put her hands over Trite’s, and then she moved them to her stomach. “We’ll ask him to be the godfather later. There’s plenty of time.”

  Trite kissed Bree on the cheek. “I’ve been thinking about names.”

  “Yeah?” she said. “What do you have for me?”

  “How about . . . Diana.”

  Bree smiled. “I like it. It’s a good family name.”

  They separated and went back to their respective duties. Trite pulled objects out of his trench coat for resale, typing each thing into his computer to check its rarity and value.

  Bree went back to re-arranging things on the upper shelves and tried to quiet the voice she now regularly heard coming from inside her.

  Mother, I don’t like that name.

  Hush, child, Bree said, touching her stomach. You don’t get to pick your name.

  But when I’m born, you’re going to die.

  Maybe not. That’s not for any of us to decide.

  No, Mother, I’ve seen it. It’s about the act of Creation.

  Bree frowned. How did you get so smart?

  Everyone knows you can’t have Creation without Destruction. That’s how you get Debris and Detritus.

  Bree let her unborn daughter prattle and tried dusting the glass countertops. No matter how hard they tried, the place never really looked clean.

  About the Story

  * * *

  I’ve been playing fast and loose with Greek gods for a while, now, in my urban fantasy stories. The city of San Cibola as a setting is a perfect urban fantasy environment because magic is alive and well but carefully hidden from the mundane world. As such, it makes relatively easy to set magical and mythical beings into the real world, and the gods are the perfect funhouse mirrors of us: loud, proud, and locked into behavior that’s not always healthy. In my story, I saw an opportunity to
put these second-stringers to work, literally gluing together some things from my previous stories set in San Cibola. I like them so much, I’m trying to find a way to use them again.

  * * *

  Mark Finn

  11

  The Bovines of Bybanos

  MJ Butler

  Viewed in one direction, the Celestial Hall was everything Zeus desired.

  Three ivory thrones decorated in gold rested between hand-carved columns atop the polished marble floor.

  The problems started when he turned around: three additional thrones fought for space as the walls converged into an open doorway barely large enough to squeeze through.

  Less a grand hall and more a twelve-foot-long triangle. And while the ceiling displayed an exquisite mural depicting their victory over the Titans, it hung so low that Zeus’s head was inches away from his painted one.

  He began to doubt his decision to have the Cyclopes build the Hall, given their lack of depth perception.

  “A toast . . . ” Zeus raised his cup to his brothers and sisters. Poseidon sat nearest him, while Demeter, Hestia, and Hades sat bunched together on the opposite end, shifting positions when their legs bumped together. “. . . to our new home. Mount Smolikas.”

  “My brother, this is Olympus,” Hades said.

  “Oh, I thought . . . ” Zeus’s voice trailed off as he looked at Hera’s empty throne.

  Crap. He had told her it was Smolikas.

  He imagined her standing on a mountainside in a Celestial Hall consisting only of scattered rocks. While it would be far less cramped, she wasn’t going to return happy.

  “Yes, of course. Mount Olympus.” Zeus waited for everyone to raise their cups then took a drink of nectar. “Also, Hera won’t be making it. She had a thing.”

  Poseidon leaned forward. “Now down to business. Deciding who will be god of what.”

  “Yes . . .” Zeus said. “You, Hestia, are the eldest. You should be the goddess of the hearth, representing family and the home.”

  Hestia considered this for a moment then smiled.

  Zeus turned to Demeter. “You should be goddess of the harvest. Each season’s crops will succeed or fail based on your favor.”

  Demeter nodded. Zeus decided this was going well.

  “Hades, you should leave our heavenly palaces to be god of the Underworld, a dark, desolate realm devoid of joy and hope, where you will remain for all eternity, accompanied only by the miserable souls of the dead.”

  Hades looked up from admiring the gold trimming on his armrest. “Um, wait . . . what?”

  “Poseidon, you struck at our father with your trident. It’s only fitting you be god of the sea.”

  “Can we get back to my thing for a second?” Hades asked.

  “As for myself?”

  Zeus paused to savor the moment.

  “I will be god of all gods, ruling over each of you with Hera as my wife. Okay, good meeting, everyone.”

  Zeus smiled at his new subjects. They stared back at him, speechless, no doubt because they were impressed by his wise decisions. He stood to leave.

  “Just hang on a moment,” Poseidon said.

  Zeus sat back down. “What is it?”

  “It just seems like . . . we’re getting the lesser of the deal here.”

  “Yes, why are you deciding all of this, anyway?” Demeter asked.

  Zeus frowned, confused. “Well, I’m god of the gods. Why wouldn’t I decide?”

  “But you’re the one who made yourself that.”

  “Also, as your sister, Hera might object to marrying you,” Hestia said.

  “Well, she should have bothered to show up, then.”

  At the front of the Hall, two servants struggled to bring a statue Zeus had commissioned of himself through the too-small opening.

  “All of ours have something to do with who we are,” Hestia continued.

  “Mine doesn’t,” Demeter said. “What the Hades do I know about crops?”

  “Really? ‘What the Hades?’” Hades turned to Zeus, frowning. “Well, that certainly didn’t take long.”

  Hestia pointed to Zeus’s nectar. “You are fond of fine cups! You should be . . . the god of ceramics!”

  Zeus glanced down at his cup for a moment then back to the group. “No, I’m pretty sure I’m good with being god of the gods. But thanks.”

  Demeter turned to Hestia. “What of his glorious tunic? Surely, he should be the god of wool and/or linen!”

  Zeus was starting to think this wasn’t going well after all.

  “No, that doesn’t scream ‘me.’ I’m going to stick with the god of gods. That’s me. God of the gods here.”

  “While I used my trident, you struck down Cronus with a thunderbolt. What if you were . . . the god of sky and thunder?”

  Now this was worthy of consideration.

  “Yes . . . yes, I like that.”

  Zeus grabbed the metal thunderbolt he had resting against his throne, stood, and held it above his head. “I shall be . . . the god of sky and thunder!”

  His brothers and sisters also stood, applauding.

  “And the king of the gods!”

  Poseidon slumped back into his throne. “Oh, so now he’s two unrelated things. Great.”

  “Is that possible?” Demeter asked. “Can I get a second thing?”

  Hades raised his hand. “Can I just trade mine out for the god of ceramics?”

  King Leotis stood on the rocky promontory, examining the scroll detailing all of the gods and their domains. When he was a young king, he could hold the unraveled scroll himself. In the decades since, the number of gods flourished due to a breathtaking amount of incest and occasional bestiality. Now the papyrus stretched out ten feet, requiring four servants to hold it. There had been only two last year, but a strong wind transformed the scroll into a sail and blew the servants far into the Aegean Sea.

  As ruler of Bybanos, it was vital he knew each god and their domain. This was a lesson he learned when his father, the former king, was murdered by an angry Philophrosyne for not remembering she was the goddess of friendliness and kindness.

  He turned to his entourage standing next to the statues of the two most important gods to Bybanos. As a fishing port, Bybanos depended on the good will of Poseidon for its economy, and as a sister city of Athens, Athena was its protector.

  It was the new statue of Athena that brought them there. The old statue had fallen into disrepair from the ravages of time and weather. Leotis searched all of Greece to find an artist who could sculpt a new statue that would please Athena. The sculptor now stood proudly next to his creation.

  He nodded to the sculptor, who then covered the statue. “Surprise” was something that pleased the goddess. He knew because it was written on the scroll.

  Leotis raised his hands heavenward. “Blissful and merciful Athena, come, for you are revered gloriously.”

  “Who summons me?” a voice boomed from the sea. It sounded both male and female at once, a voice born of thunder.

  “It is King Leotis. Great Athena, the city of Bybanos wishes to honor you with a new tribute to your likeness.”

  “It looks like Poseidon.”

  The king turned to the two statues, the still-covered Athena resting next to the Poseidon. “No, I meant the—”

  “What do you mean ‘no’? It’s clearly Poseidon, right down to the trident.”

  “If you would allow—”

  “Cut off the sculptor’s hands and have him fix it.”

  Leotis walked to the covered statue and removed the cloak. “Behold . . . ”

  “Ah, yes, I see. That’s much better.”

  Leotis turned back to the ocean. “Then you are pleased?”

  “Yes. Now cut off the sculptor’s hands.”

  The king looked to the sculptor, whose smile had dropped. “But . . . I thought you were pleased.”

  “I am,” came the reply from the ocean. “But I’m also infallible, even when I’m wrong. So I can’
t rescind any of my commands. Cut off his hands and have him make the Poseidon one look like me.”

  “Does . . . it have to be in that order? It would be difficult for him to change the statue once—”

  “You’re questioning my infallibility? You must now also reaffirm your allegiance to me by having all men in the city change their name to ‘Athena’ in my honor.”

  “Wouldn’t it be more fitting for the women to—”

  “I’ll check back on the statue in a month.”

  Everyone stood to receive Athena in the same spot one month later. The Athena statue remained as it had been, but the Poseidon had been crudely changed, with the amputated artist standing next to it. It didn’t resemble Athena as much as it did an unfinished version of the statue that did. Helpfully, a sign reading “Athena” rested at its base.

  The king raised his hands heavenward far less confidently than he had in the previous month. “Blissful and . . . mostly merciful Athena, come, for you are revered gloriously.”

  The booming voice returned from the distance. “Who seeks council with the gods?”

  “It is I, King Athena, formerly King Leotis, ruler of Bybanos. We wish your approval of our new statue.”

  “This is Poseidon, not Athena. Do I sound like Athena?”

  The voice sounded exactly like Athena.

  The king shook his head. “Um . . . no.”

  “What have you done to my statue?”

  “Athena . . . she asked us to alter it.”

  “That accursed woman. Defiling my statue is an act of war! I will wipe your town into the ocean unless a sacrifice is made.”

  “What shall we do, great Poseidon?”

  “Wait, did you say your name was Athena?”

  “Yes.” The king motioned to the other men in his entourage. “She also had the men in our town change their name to hers in a show of allegiance.”

  “Everyone named Athena is to march into the ocean.”

  King Athena looked to Athena, worried. All of the Athenas look concerned. Particularly Athena.