The Horrid Tragedy of the Counts Berok: A Comedy Fantasy

by Galen Wolf

  "Alright then, Dr Molester. No 'ffence." William's sense of humour sometimes got the better of him and this was one of those times. It was all he could do to stop laughing out loud. He obviously thought that this joke was a world beater.

  Dr Brown, on the other hand did not. He was a somewhat sensitive man and the word molester cut him to the quick. William leapt back in shock horror and amazement as a vase flew at his head. No one had thrown it. It had flown from the table of its own accord. Realising it was due to his host's magical powers, William vowed never again to use that nickname in front of Dr Brown.

  It was at that moment that Dr Brown noticed Turgid for the first time. He eyed him with interest. Turgid, noticing the good doctor's stare, glanced away, embarrassed.

  "And who is this fair fellow?" asked Dr Brown.

  Zventibold's lightning mind saw at once that he now had the edge in any bargaining. He knew that men like Dr Brown existed. He had once found a scroll in Turvius Sullius's library entitled Pirakteshi Beefcake. He had not understood the story then, but now it all became clear. In a flash a plan formed in his head: Zventibold would use Dr Brown's lusts for the boy to gain aid from him.

  "Well, he's not…"

  Dr Brown did not let him finish however. "No, I'm sure he's not." Dr Brown went to take Turgid by the arm.

  "Dr Brown, Turgid is my friend not yours. But we could settle all of this if you could see your way to aiding me in my quest."

  Brown looked worried but then his academic principles crumbled before the onslaught of his vile lusts as Zventibold had suspected they would. It seemed that Turvius's scroll had given an accurate description of the morals of these beefcake hunters, as it had called them in its own florid way.

  "Alright then. But…" Brown held Turgid more tightly and even though Turgid had not read the scroll he had a fair idea of the nature of the good doctor's cravings. He began to laugh nervously as Zventibold pulled him away.

  "We'll discuss this later," said Zventibold. "You name the place and time."

  "I'll meet you in the Purple Whoopsie Club at eight o'clock," said Brown. "And please bring this young god. Please!"

  Zventibold decided that he would bring Turgid and although he didn't like the sound of the Purple Whoopsie Club he agreed to meet there at eight. They went back to Cora's after that and said they'd see Turgid there. Zventibold decided that he and William would spend another night in the Cathouse. And after booking that with the receptionist and washing all their sweaty bits, they were ready for the Purple Whoopsie.

  The Purple Whoopsie Club was something outside both Zventibold and William's experience. It seemed very exclusive and they only got in by mentioning Dr Brown's name. It was full, and all around men with jewellery and lipstick pranced drinking pink and pale yellow drinks out of long glasses. They eyed the two as they entered. They saw Dr Brown in the corner. He was wearing a lovely outfit bedecked in sequins. Turgid was already sitting with Brown, though he seemed nervous and kept his distance from the academic. William and Zventibold sat down and refused a drink from the waiter, a pretty little thing with auburn hair who went away looking hurt.

  "Now Brown," began Zventibold. "Have you thought of a way I could avenge my father's death and make myself god-emperor of Piraktesh?"

  Brown smiled as his long fingers searched for Turgid's thigh. "And what do I get?" he said.

  "We both know what you want."

  "Yes."

  "Well, it's yours if you aid me."

  Brown smiled and Zventibold finally guessed why they called him 'brown'.

  "There is a way," began Brown, "but it'll be dangerous."

  "Danger has never frightened myself nor my trusty manservant." Zventibold gestured to William who sat there rather nervous of the admiring stares he was receiving from the barman.

  "All right; over the Mountains of Doom, there lies the cursed realm of Wormoria and it is there that the evil mage Tyros Blut. He built it there years ago deep underground and he terrorises the area with his army of beastmen. There are no people but there are some squirrels who could be pushed into rebellion; though it is said that the squirrels fear him greatly."

  "But how can this help me?" asked Zventibold, enthralled by the doctor's tale.

  "Blut has a magical gem with which he forces the beastmen to do his bidding. It is called the Crystal of Radiance and if you were to get it, then you could conquer Piraktesh - yea, even the world!"

  Zventibold was puzzled. "But if the gem has such power, why is Blut content to fester in a hole in the freezing realm of Wormoria?"

  Brown frowned. "It seems he has an extremely sensitive stomach and he cannot bear foreign food. The only thing he eats is squirrel meat. But I hear he has a chef who has many recipes for it, including fricassee - which you don't see too much of these days, though it was popular when I was young."

  "Oh, I see," said Zventibold, seeing.

  Brown eyed Turgid hungrily. "Do I get him?" he asked.

  "Yes," said Zventibold and, unable to stomach his ready betrayal of the lad Turgid, got up to leave. William followed him and as they went out there were tears in his eyes as he thought of the life in store for poor, innocent Turgid; he would probably be in the Whoopsie Club every night.

  24. Through the Mountains of Doom

  After they had bought provisions and loaded up their horses, William and Zventibold left Kharkesh. They trotted out of the mage ridden gates without a word and soon their horses were climbing the rocky paths up into the heart of the Mountains of Doom. They had to cross these by way of the Gymbol Pass if they were to have any chance of finding the hidey hole of the evil, infamous Tyros Blut. The hills around them were still covered at this low level by thick seas of ferns. In corners between the mountains' spurs lay thick woods. Here and there the path crossed the slow, rocky bed of a stream. Above them the weather held good.

  Before long they had climbed quite far and a look behind them revealed Kharkesh small and model like. They were glad to be away from its aura of decadence that had almost suffocated them. As they rested and took their lunch - ham sandwiches for them and oats in a bucket they had bought especially for the occasion for the horses. They saw a black speck below them on the path. As they watched, it came towards them and gradually assumed a frightening familiarity. It seemed to be a youth mounted on a donkey. It was in fact Turgid; he had followed them. They quickly mounted and began to ride hard up the mountain in the other direction. As they rode, unbelievably the donkey seemed to be gaining on them. They could hear a faint shouting, "It's me - Turgid. Ha ha ha ha!" as he laughed nervously.

  Zventibold decided he could not take the risk that it was indeed Turgid so he chose to ride madly on - seeking the path to freedom through the high mountains.

  "Why be we running so?" asked William, prompting Peter to gallop by the pokes of his knobbly knees.

  "He is a harmless sort, but his silly nervous laughter shreds my nerves. It is for peace alone that I flee him."

  "Ar," said William, keeping his counsel.

  Eventually, at the beginning of the high Grymbol Pass, Turgid caught up with them. Both Zventibold's and William's horses (Peter and Simon) were lathered in sweat. The two beasts were at the end of their strength, but still the old donkey came on. On its back the wide eyed Turgid waved at them. "Can I come with you? Ha ha ha."

  Zventibold knew that whatever he said, Turgid would follow them anyway; that was his nature.

  They travelled long through the barren wild uplands and the weather grew worse with every day's journey. The sky was ragged and grey and soon the heavy flowers of rain fell all around them. By the time they had reached the end of the pass, it had begun to snow. They pulled their cloaks tighter and guided their mounts down from the high mountains, through the banks and drifts of snow until they had reached the barren, bleak hill-cursed land of Wormoria.

  25.

  26. The Realms of Wormoria

  The three men stood tightly wrapped in their cloaks. All around palls of mis
t drifted slowly. Strange howling sounds were audible in the distance. They were in the cursed, winter-haunted realm of Wormoria. That much was obvious. The three seemed to be of different natures. The one on the left was tall, thin and stooped. Under his heavy furred coat he seemed to be wearing a yellow jacket. By his side hung a cavalry sabre. The man in the middle was smaller and seemed to have a prominent hunch on his back. The one on his right seemed thin and stringy; he shifted nervously from foot to foot.

  William (for it was he) spoke first. "Be this it, Mas'er Zventibold?"

  "Aye, I believe that this is the home of the hell rat, Tyros - call me 'Horror-Bringer'- Blut."

  Turgid spoke next. "Do you mean that hole thing with all the fire coming out?" He pointed with his engloved hand. "Is that it though?" Turgid's confidence had increased in leaps and bounds during his time of journeying with the intrepid Zventibold and iron-willed William. And this even though they had tried to leave him during the last three blizzards. However, he laughed his way to them. It seemed to Zventibold that his nervous laughter worked as a kind of echo-location.

  Looking at the burning chasm and regarding Turgid coldly, Zventibold said, "Yes, that's it."

  "Mmm. Are we going into it now?" It was Turgid again.

  "Yes," answered Zventibold, still not moving.

  "Ar mas'er - it be knobblin' out 'ere. Can we go and warm our 'ands by its 'ellfire 'eat?" William moved uneasily, fingering the hilt of his sword, Deathbringer.

  "There is death in that hole. Ha ha ha!" laughed Turgid nervously. They all knew they would have to enter it. They would freeze in the cold wind otherwise. Then, suddenly, unexpectedly, Zventibold took command. He brushed back the hair that had fallen in his eyes and went to the hole's entrance. It as the entrance to a tunnel of some sort - that much was obvious. It was rudely hewn out of the ground and down it, but far away down its wormhole blackness, they saw the flickering glow of fire and with it the acrid smell of brimstone. The air was warmed by the fire and William's nose began to glow faintly from its heat. Zventibold was totally in control. "Turgid," he said, "prepare a spell of illusion. And William, with thy trusty blade, wouldst lead the way?"

  William did not know what he meant, but he went in on point in any case. Crudely, he brandished Deathbringer and as he went on he thought that he felt the blade's wild desire and also a memory of many, many guts. Soon they were inside a narrow passageway. The only light came from ahead as a huge stone seemed to have silently blocked the passage exit behind them. The only way now was onwards.

  As they walked, half stooped, in the dark, dank passage; they heard distant rumblings and boomings - coming it seemed from the abyss below. Oft they stepped in piles of slime of one sort or another. In the darkness they were loath to reach out and find out what the slime piles were with their hands, so they walked, fumbling, on. This was a mistake as these slime creatures were Blut's early warning system. That much should have been obvious.

  William reached behind and touched his master's nose to get his attention. He whispered in low tones, "Mas'er, are you sure this be the right place?"

  "Have patience, William. Have patience," said his master and in the darkness, each of them was truly in his own thoughts.

  It was Turgid who broke the silence after a few paces. "I've got a really good illusion here Zventibold - really I have. It's one of my best. It'd really fool anyone."

  For once it seemed that Turgid was going to be useful. Zventibold smiled for he had felt awful inside himself at leaving Turgid, poor fool that he was, to the wicked designs of the gay sorcerer Maccabeus Brown. Now he was keen to give a word of commendation to the bedazzled youth. "Yes, Turgid. That's excellent. What exactly is it?" he said.

  "Ha ha ha," laughed Turgid, but a little less nervously this time. "It's a tree illusion. It'll turn us into perfect replicas of tall oaks or birches. Probably birches here as it's a land of perpetual winter."

  Zventibold was not long in discovering the flaw in Turgid's plan. As he looked round at the damp, dark, rocky walls that contained them in the bosom of the earth. "Do you think you could make it into a lichen disguise?" he said, one of his eyebrows raised in remonstration.

  "Well, I spent so long on the tree one." Then Turgid took in his surroundings. "Oh, I see what you mean."

  "Draw your sword then," said Zventibold and turned to move further on into this dark womb of darkness. Turgid was suitably cowed. "Mmm, all right," he said and drew his six inch butter knife, named 'Spreader' by the ancient smiths of Boloriand. Turgid was a deadly killer it seemed after all.

  There was a low rustle as William returned from his scouting ahead. "It smells somethin' awful up there." He gestured with Deathbringer in the direction from whence he'd come. "I baint goin' down there. Leastways, not if you don't insist." He smiled, his old wrinkled face crackling hideously.

  "I do insist William. My revenge lies thither. So close. Then I will be God-emperor. I'll make you butler I swear it. Imagine being butler of the whole Imperial Palace."

  William still looked uneasy. "But mas'er - you baint smelled it. It's awful. It be like somethin' curdled."

  They advanced cautiously, Zventibold taking the lead. Soon they came across a small object on the floor, which in the darkness they could not properly make out. This object seemed to be the source of the overpowering smell.

  "Right now, check for traps! Check the walls, the floor!" He was the only one of them with any experience in dungeon delving and even his in truth was slight. Still he knew to look for traps. "But this…" he said pointing his boot towards the object." This is 'orrible." He took off his boot and threw it at the silent thing. It landed on top of it with a soft squelch.

  "It's a kipper!" exclaimed Turgid, hopping with excitement. He turned out to be quite correct - it was a kipper.

  "Well, that proves someone's been this way," said Zventibold.

  "Yes," said Turgid,"but how long since?"

  The three stood, united in bafflement, as the huge engines - if that is what they were, rumbled and boomed away in the depths. William was the first to notice a new development. The old soldier had not been fooled by the clanging down of a metal portcullis behind them - thus blocking their escape: he knew it was a trap. Quickly, he searched around them and found, to his amazement, a huge gaping hole in the floor in front.

  "That 'uge, gapin' 'ole seems to be the only path we can follow," he said. "Perhaps it be a secret entrance to the lower levels and the chambers of Tyros Blut?"

  "Perhaps it is indeed," said Zventibold. "I am beginning to suspect he knows that we are here. We must go into that hole, I think. It could be perilous, so you'd better go first, William."

  William was not too excited at the prospect of dropping himself into the depths of this dark and apparently slimy hole, but out of loyalty to the family Berok, that is exactly what he did.

  It was very dark down the hole - very, very dark in fact and also a bit damp. Deathbringer swished faintly through the air. The sword and his yellow Militia jacket gave him some small measure of comfort. Movements of air in the hole told him it formed part of a tunnelway. Here the rumbling was muted and the darkness dim as the inside of a cow's belly. William wished that someone had brought a lamp. He was about to proceed in what his nose told him was a southerly direction, when he realised that neither Turgid nor Zventibold had followed him down the hole. In a way he was glad to be rid of Turgid's inane chatter, but he hoped that the lad had not had too serious an accident. He shouted up, "Mas'er why be you not followin'?"

  The only answer he got was a low groan, then Turgid's voice spoke. "Hmmm - it's alright; he's just collapsed. Oh, he's mumbling something about murdering someone. It's probably the smell of the kipper that's doing it. He says something about a moonlit night, a garden and a poisoned pyjama cord. Aren't kippers strange William?"

  William was lost in doubt. Could these terrible thoughts he had been thinking have any truth in them?

  "Do you know once when I had a bad back, I put a k
ipper poultice on it and it was all right in a month. Kippers really are the cure of all evil, William. Oh, he's coming round. You needn't get out of the hole - I'll push him down now."

  There was a rough thud as Zventibold's body hit the tunnel floor. Turgid was very apologetic. "Oh, I didn't realise how deep it was. Ha ha ha," he laughed nervously. Then William heard a clattering sound. Zventibold had obviously risen to his feet and banged his head. Both he and Turgid came forward, Zventibold rubbing a bump on his head. Then with William in the lead, they made their way down the passage.

  All the time the tunnel narrowed and the ceiling came closer to the floor. William found the stooping easy, as did Turgid, but for Zventibold with his hump, the projecting outcrops of rock caused great pain and distress.

  "Ye gods!" he exlaimed. "I cannot bear this anguish much longer."

  William suggested that he walk sideways but this only excited Zventibold's scorn. Soon they saw that the passageway ended and through a fissure in the rock, they could see the dancing red flame of a torch. Zventibold stealthily made his way towards it. Easing his head through the crack, he saw the guard who was posted by the flaming brand. The guard was dressed in ragged chainmail and his face was covered with warts and pustules. His subterranean life had obviously exacted this dowry of spots and skin trouble over many years until he had been reduced to this pitiable state. Zventibold saw that the guard held a vicious looking spear in his right hand. With three fingers of his left hand he deftly picked a number of spots simultaneously. Then the guard suddenly stopped, pus dribbling uselessly over his cheek. He seemed to sense Zventibold's presence. His long crooked arms pulled themselves to attention. His cheek twitched - perhaps the spots were somehow grateful to Zventibold for this lull in their torture? It was doubtful that they would aid the interloping sorcerer even so. Zventibold shivered lest the guard hurl his doughty spear. Then the man spoke. His words surprised Zventibold at first, for they were spoken in the barbarous dialect of the Pirakteshi Guild of Graverobbers, Zventibold's old associates from the time of the making new people escapade.