Adan shuddered, took two deep breaths, then knocked.
She wasn’t sure what she’d expected to see when the door opened, but a red-faced gnome with a wreath of purple and pink flowers askew on his balding head, a half-empty mug of ale clenched in his stubby, puce-gloved fist, and a filmy white toga-looking garment haphazardly draped over his pudgy, short body, wasn’t it. Lizbeth stepped back behind Adan.
“What the chewed-on toenails of a troll trollop dancing third from the left in the chorus line of a Caberet are ya doing out there, lad? Get on in here.” He turned his head and yelled over his shoulder. “Laycee, Adan’s here with his lass.”
Leeky Shortz leaned in close to the couple. “Have ya ever had your thong ride up the crack of your hiney? Miserable, I tell ya, simply miserable.” He turned and tugged at something as he led the way inside.
Even though Adan gently pulled at her elbow, Lizbeth hesitated a moment longer before following him.
It might have been located in the very bowels of the Academy, but one thing about it, it was the most colorful apartment she had ever seen. The walls of the entry area were a creamy buttercup yellow splashed with lavender and orange speckles, while the red stone floor was scattered with multi-colored braided rugs. The overstuffed couch and chairs looked more like weird works of art than furniture, and even the lampshades, curtains, and tapestries on the walls were fashioned from the most unusual combinations of materials.
Green polka-dots and bright red flowers adorned the same pieces as blue stripes, yellow stars, and various animal prints. Not only were the patterns unique, but so were the fabrics themselves. Lace was mixed with velvet, and leather was right alongside cotton and silk. It was as if a child was let loose with all the discarded textile scraps in Albrath and told to sew them together. Lizbeth ran her hand along the arm of a chair, lost in its unique composition.
“It’s about time ya two showed up. O.T.T. should be here any time now.”
Lizbeth turned toward the sound of the familiar high-pitched voice of her dorm matron, and even though she’d already seen Leeky and expected Laycee to be attired much the same way, it was all she could do to hide her shock.
Naked! Well, not entirely naked, but as close to it and still technically covered as Lizbeth had ever seen the little gnome. Like Leeky, a wreath of flowers set atop the ill-fitting blonde wig on her head, but that was where the similarities ended. Laycee’s toga was almost as transparent as air. White gauzy material so thin, the gnome’s nipples could be seen bouncing up and down with every breath she took, no more than scant inches above her pudgy little belly button. The only thing that concealed anything of consequence at all was a pair of bright purple granny-style panties matching the flowers in her hair.
Heat crept up Lizbeth’s neck as she realized Laycee had been speaking to her and she hadn’t heard a word the gnome was saying. It took all the courage she could muster to look her dorm-matron in the eye and listen.
“Guess I should be glad ya and Adan made it at all tonight. Being newlyweds and all, ya probably can’t keep ya hands off each other. I still remember when he was just a lad and didn’t know what ta do with his willy. Is he half as good between the sheets as I told ya he’d be?” Laycee beamed.
Beside her, the sound of coughing and choking told Lizbeth she needed to say something, anything, to change the topic. She grasped onto the only safe topic she could think of.
“Laycee, your apartment is so…so different. Did you decorate it yourself?”
If Lizbeth thought the gnome was smiling before, there was certainly no question of it now. Her eyes lit up, her cheeks pinkened, and every tooth in her head sparkled, her grin was so wide.
“Yep. Made all this myself from thousands of pairs of pilfered panties. Just ask Lark. She, her sisters, and even Briar helped me sort ’em out. Bet ya haven’t heard about my Leeky yet, have ya? What am I thinking? Of course, ya have. He’s a world-famous rogue, after all.
“He’s been the resident panty thief here at the Academy for more than twenty years. He’s probably even filched a pair or two from ya by now.”
The thought was more than a little disturbing to Lizbeth, but she concentrated on keeping her expression neutral as Laycee continued talking.
“First time I walked into this apartment there were panties piled all the way ta the ceiling. It was all ya could do ta even get around the stacks. It’s taken me a couple of seasons ta put them all ta good use, but I’ve done it. Go on, sit down and see how comfy that chair is for yarself.”
The last thing Lizbeth wanted to do was sit on a bunch of other women’s panties. She searched for a polite way to refuse, but lost her concentration when Adan leaned in close to her and whispered. “Didn’t I warn you about asking questions?”
Lizbeth didn’t get a chance to respond.
“Where’s my manners? Ya young folks come on into the dining area and get yarselves a nice big mug of ale. It’s a special brew, Leeky made it himself.”
Laycee turned and Adan and Lizbeth had little choice but follow.
If she thought the apartment’s entry space was unusual, then she didn’t know what to think about the dining area. As bright and unusual as the other room had been, this one was just as bizarre. A red table, with what Lizbeth now had no doubt were panty placemats on it, sat in the middle of the room. It was loaded down with a large ceramic crock, an array of bowls and spoons, trays of vegetables and fruits, and mugs. The walls were light green with blue splotches, and like the entry area, the floor was scattered with braided rugs.
It was the sound of something bubbling over in the corner surrounded by a small crowd of people that really caught her attention. Lizbeth recognized a group of her dorm-mates off to one side, and Leeky, Lark, Sarco, and Briar standing directly in front of it.
Most of the guests were attired in robes of rich fall hues, reds, browns, and golds. For a moment, Lizbeth felt self-conscious and drab in her plain, faded orange tunic with its matching pants. It had been the only remotely end-of-autumn-like outfit she owned.
Suddenly, the crowd parted, and she got a glimpse of what they were standing around, and all thoughts about the inadequacy of her garments fled.
It was Tug McGroin, or at least she was pretty sure it was Laycee’s blow-up doll. But one thing was for certain, she’d never seen Tug like this before. He had short, little horns on the top of his head and a wide, plastic grin on his face. Both hands held a small wooden flute to his lips as if he were playing a tune.
His berber-haired chest was bare, and what looked like a garter belt cinched around his waist held up a set of shaggy, white fur leggings that ended in hooves matching his horns.
Most disturbing of all, however, was a steady gush of foaming yellow liquid pouring out the end of the biggest, gaudiest-looking, plastic penis Lizbeth had ever seen. The stream flowed continuously into a white, ceramic pool the shape of a huge water lily at Tug’s feet.
She forgot herself, and the question slipped out of Lizbeth’s mouth before she even realized she’d asked it. “What’s he supposed to be?”
Laycee cackled. “A Satyr, of course. Ingenious, don’t ya think? What better ale dispenser can ya think of for an almost-Samhain party than a Satyr peeing into the pool of eternal youth? My Tug’s multi-functional, don’t ya know, and handsome ta boot. That’s why Leeky and I are dressed as Wood Nymphs. After all, a Satyr needs followers.”
The female gnome motioned toward something standing back in the corner behind the Tug beer fountain. It looked to be a dead tree with a flat plastic face sticking out of its middle. Lifeless blue eyes stared out at the crowd, and its red-lipped open mouth made it appear surprised at its surroundings. Three pathetic little leaves clung precariously to its otherwise bare branches.
“Took me quite a while ta come up with an idea for Leeky’s good-for-nothing Miss Bunny over there, but I think I found a job even that airhead can handle. Worked more than two turns of the hourglass ta make her presentable and useful.”
Chapter Nine
Lizbeth stood in a corner tucked behind the table, along with Adan, Lark, Sarco, and Briar. With her eyes scrunched tightly closed and a death grip on her husband’s hand, she silently sent a prayer upward to God Draka.
Over and over, she kept telling herself Laycee’s brother would knock on the door any minute and they would pay their respects, say their goodnights, and then this nightmare would be over. They’d finally be allowed to take their leave of this place. He had to get here soon, he simply had to. She couldn’t take much more.
If she’d thought the bizarre furniture, the gnome wood nymph costumes, and the satyr-Tug-peeing-ale-fountain traumatic, then how would she categorize the last three turns of the hourglass since they’d first arrived? Beyond disturbing and nightmare inducing didn’t seem to even come close.
The offer of ale had been quickly followed by a rousing game of ingesting copious amounts of chili as fast as possible by Leeky, Laycee, half her dorm-mates, and a couple of ogres whose names she couldn’t even pronounce.
If that sight hadn’t been bad enough, what came next was much worse. An extensive burping and farting contest with Leeky Shortz declared the unanimous winner after thankfully only three rounds. A noxious cloud still hung heavy in the air.
Then, the really alarming activities began. She, Adan, and their little group declined to participate, even though taunted to do so, but there was no way to completely avoid observing what proceeded.
Lizbeth had never even heard of Strip Charades before this night and hoped fervently to never see it played again. The site of pasty white bottoms scampering to and fro, combined with various saggy body parts trying to act out scenes, was permanently etched in her mind.
Right after charades, there had been a moment she’d thought the nightmare was about to end. Like manikins, all movement in the room stopped when a loud knock sounded at the door. To Lizbeth’s chagrin, it had only been Headmistress Seychelle, thankfully minus Ray and his toy.
The arrival of the Enchanter instructor, however, sparked a whole new round of even more terrifying events. There was the Pin the Penis on the Dwarf game, with Seychelle supplying not only the pink rubber dildo used as the penis but the poor unsuspecting Dwarf himself.
The only remotely pleasant thing about the entire evening so far had been a short conversation with Lark. Her new sister-in-law had promised to have lunch with her sometime during the next week so they could become better acquainted.
The thought of lunch had made Lizbeth’s stomach growl, and the sight of the vegetable trays still on the table before her had caused her mouth to water. She’d almost picked up and munched a slice of cucumber. Almost. That was before Sarco had gasped, Lark had lunged toward her, and Adan had plucked it right from her fingertips as he not so nicely admonished her, “Didn’t I tell you not to eat anything here? You have no idea where it might have been.”
That had been a good half turn of the hourglass ago, though, and this was now. Now consisted of large bowls of whipped-cream being passed around, along with jars of chocolate sauce, sheets of plastic, riding crops, and lengths of rope. Lizbeth’s appetite faded as chills of dread ran down her spine.
Her worst fears were realized moments later when Laycee spoke. “This next game is called Greased Piggy, Greased Piggy, Who Can Ride Their Greased Piggy. Lark, Adan, grab yare spouses and join in. Briar, ya can be Leeky’s piggy, and I’ll be the scorekeeper. Ya can’t be stick-in-the-muds the entire evening, ya know.”
Leeky grumbled somewhere in the background. Something about not wanting to take the chance of getting his eyebrows burned off by Briar.
Laycee didn’t seem to notice. “The rest of ya pair up as ya will, and whoever catches and rides their piggy first gets ta lick ’em clean. So, when I say go, lather that whipped cream on yare partner and douse them good with the chocolate sauce. Then, they’ll have them take off running. When ya catch ’em, tie ’em up with the rope, ride ’em over ta yare plastic sheet, and lay ’em down. First one ta get their piggy flat on their back gets ta enjoy their dessert! Okay, get ready, get set…”
A knock at the door prevented Laycee from finishing what she’d been about to say.
It was Leeky’s “Where the watery crossed eyes and green snotty nose on the chubby face of a dwarf dandy standing bow-legged in a field of purple pansies have ya been, lad? Yare party’s more than half over.” That let Lizbeth know the guest of honor had finally arrived. She silently offered up her thanks to God Draka.
Laycee’s brother wasn’t anything like she’d imagined he’d be. Where Laycee was more than a little on the flamboyant side, O.T.T. was quite plain looking. Tall for a gnome but still less than five foot, he had a completely bald head, a pencil mustache that twitched with a nervous tic, and round wire-rimmed glasses. Even his attire was ordinary. He wore a dull brown tunic and trousers that looked a size too big, and his elfin shoes could’ve used a good brushing.
What did come as a surprise, however, was the volume of his voice. For being a gnome, the high pitch of his accent held none of the normal rumble she had come to expect from those of his race. It almost made her ears hurt to listen to it as, the further O.T.T. came into the room, the louder and more excited he became.
“I was unavoidably detained by Gnome-Ogre Affairs, and it was all very hush-hush and important. Work comes before play, I always say. After all, I am the assistant ta the assistant ya know. Now, where’s the ale and the food? I’m hungry and parched.” The gnome headed for the dining area.
Adan squeezed Lizbeth’s hand, and she glanced into his smiling face. “It shouldn’t be long now, Lizard. I doubt he’ll even remember me, so this will be quick. Let me do all the talking. I’ll simply greet him, say our goodnight, and we’ll be on our way.”
O.T.T. didn’t look at, acknowledge, or address anyone in the dining area until he had collected a mug from the table and filled it to overflowing from the Tug ale fountain. After downing its contents, belching loudly, and filling it once more, he finally turned back toward the table and its spread of food. It was then the gnome’s eyes lit up at the sight of Adan.
“Is that little Adan Hammerstrike all grown up? It is, isn’t it? Has it really been that long since I’ve seen ya, lad? If I remember right, last time I visited Laycee at Alaria, ya were just beginning ta get pubic hair around ya itty-bitty willy.”
The shocked look on Adan’s face and his quickly pinkening cheeks almost made coming to the party worth it for Lizbeth as he faced her and tried desperately to explain. “Skinny-dipping. He caught me skinny-dipping in a pond once, just once, and it was a very cold pond. There was shrinkage. I was only twelve, for God Draka’s sake.”
She tried her best to avoid giggling. Luckily, that moment, O.T.T. distracted Adan once more as Laycee’s brother wiped a tear from his eye, ran over, and wrapped his free arm tightly about Adan’s left leg.
It was all the huge barbarian could do to pry the gnome loose. Lizbeth couldn’t help but giggle at her husband’s bright red face and unsuccessful attempts to completely extracate himself. Finally, he simply gave up.
“O.T.T., it’s good to see you, too. It’s been a long time. Might I introduce my wife?” Adan gestured to his right. “Meet Lady Lizbeth Hammerstrike, and Lizbeth, my lady, this is Laycee’s distinguished brother, O.T.T. Not only is he a well-known diplomat in his own right, but an expert on historical artifacts to boot.”
She wasn’t sure what to say to the gnome as she bent and placed her free hand in his, so Lizbeth said the first thing that came to mind. “It’s nice to meet such an important man. That’s a very unusual name, O.T.T. What do the initials stand for?”
It was as if t
ime ground to a halt. The fingers of her hand were being clamped in a vice grip, and there was no mistaking the plea from Adan being whispered in her ear. “You didn’t really ask him that, did you? Please tell me you didn’t.”
From somewhere behind, Lizbeth heard Lark’s voice. “Adan, you didn’t warn her?”
The entire room went dead quiet. Not even the sound of a breath being taken could be heard. Then the sobs and the story began.
“Oh, they stand for something, that’s for sure, lass. They stand as a symbol of my deep shame. Been known ta everyone as O.T.T. for years now. It wasn’t always so. I used ta be known far and wide as Thaddeus Tobias Titwilder, only gnome ta ever be appointed ta the Diplomatic and Preservation of Historical Artifacts core at the same time. That was a whole ’nother life ago, though. That was before I was stationed for a tour of duty in the troll city of Karza, and that was before I met and fell in love with Karla.”
O.T.T. sniffed loudly and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his tunic. “It’s a sad story, ta be sure. I’m the victim of lost love and missing body parts.”
Lizbeth gasped. Missing body parts? She got her first true inkling she probably didn’t really want to know the origins of O.T.T.’s name, after all. It didn’t matter. She had asked, and now it was too late. The gnome just kept on talking.
“Karla was the only daughter of the troll magistrate. Big, green, and mean as the day is long, but I tell ya, it was love at first sight. How can any man my size be expected ta watch a more than seven foot tall troll lass stroll by daily, swinging her hips, and not become completely infatuated? It’s not possible, I tell ya, and Karla was more troll than most. Why, I’d bet there was more meat on that woman’s backside than you’d find on a full-sized Tambian water buffalo. Her arse alone was a virtual oasis.”
Lizbeth gulped.
The gnome downed his mug of ale, filled it once more from the Tug fountain, and continued. “Even now, when I close my eyes, I can still see her matted, black hair, her big nose with that cute little wart on the end of it, her thick, sharp, yellow tusks, and those voluminous, greasy red lips of hers. What wasn’t there ta love?”
Taken By The Passion (The Academy Series) Page 9