Comedic Fantasy Bundle #1: 4 Hilarious Adventures (Tales from the land of Ononokin)

by John P. Logsdon

  “Six months of cleanings for all you see here,” Whizzfiddle said to a stunned Kope.

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  “Excuse me?” One of the footman had stepped up, helmet tucked respectfully under his arm. “Does that include us, sir?” The man was shuffling a bit. “It’s been a while since...um...my partner here had a nice cleaning.”

  “What?” His partner said.

  “I suppose the house could use some protection against thieves,” Whizzfiddle said, smiling inwardly. “Three passes a day, including weekends. Are we in agreement?”

  They both saluted, if it could be called that.

  “Very well,” Whizzfiddle added a few more coins to Kope’s stash.

  CALLING IN A FAVOR

  Rimpertuz,” Treneth said as his apprentice was shoveling ostrich feces into a barrel, “I have immediate need of assistance.”

  Rimpertuz laid the shovel down and approached. When he got within a few feet of Treneth there was a change of plan.

  “Actually, it can wait,” Treneth said waving away the stench. “First you’ll need to wash up and then I’ll need immediate assistance.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Hurry to it, man. Time is of the essence.”

  Rimpertuz trotted off toward his humble lodgings.

  Treneth entered his office, creaking the floorboard and cringing slightly. Vigilance, he thought.

  He sat and pulled open the lower drawer and sighed. He hated to do it, but the contract sabotage had failed. With a groan, he pulled forth a device that looked like a hammer with two heads. One head was placed on the ear and the other was sidled to the mouth. In its center sat a grouping of buttons that were etched with numbers and letters. It was an Underworld device that he had only used once, and that was just to test it. It was named the “TalkyThingy.”

  Treneth snagged a piece of paper from the drawer and plunked in the numbers and then pressed the red button. After a moment, a buzzing sound emitted from one of the hammer heads.

  “Yeah,” a voice said.

  “Yes, hello?”

  “Yeah,” the voice repeated.

  “Uh,” Treneth said as he felt sweat beading on his forehead. “I would like to speak to Teggins please.”

  “You got him.”

  “I’ve got him?”

  “This is Teggins,” he said.

  “Oh, I see. This is Master Treneth of Dahl.”

  “Well, well, well,” Teggins said at length. “It’s been five years or better, Treneth of Dahl.”

  “Yes,” Treneth said, slumping his shoulders and then jumping straight back to attention. One had to remain in control. “Can you see me?”

  “No, Treneth,” Teggins said, “but I could hear you slumping.”

  “You could?”

  “No,” Teggins laughed. “It was a guess. So what do I owe the pleasure of the great wizard calling into the Underworld?”

  The damnable technology always set Treneth on edge. He saw no point whatsoever in replacing the natural flowing of magical energies with man-made contraptions that, at best, made people lazier than they already were. He had to agree that the mechanical zappers did do well for keeping vampires away, but that was an anomaly.

  When Teggins had originally given the TalkyThingy to Treneth, he had explained that it worked by sending some type of wave through the air to the nearest portal, which then tracked it to the portal hub and through a series of switches and whatnots until it connected to the appropriate party on the other side. Most of the description made little sense to Treneth. There were too many words and acronyms that sat outside of his vocabulary and there weren’t many books in the Upperworld that could supply definitions for even a tenth of them. The mere thought of one’s voice traveling such grand distances faster than a wizard could transport a letter, and with far less power expenditure, was just unsettling.

  Treneth abhorred the fact that he had resorted to fraternizing with the Underworlder in the first place. But he had to cover all of his bases when working against one such as Whizzfiddle, and when planning his own usurpation of the council. So Treneth closed his eyes and said the unthinkable.

  “I...need a favor.”

  “Do you now?” Teggins said. “Last I recall, I’d asked you for a favor and you got back to me five years later asking me for a favor.”

  “You...what?”

  “You were supposed to clear my name with the guild, Treneth.”

  Treneth was now in his element. Negotiation.

  “Yes, Teggins, I was and I am. As you may also recall, I had said, clearly and repeatedly, that it would take me upwards of twenty years to get to such a level where I could assist.”

  “Okay, okay,” Teggins said. “Don’t turn your britches into butt-floss.”

  Treneth mulled that over for a moment and gave up.

  “I am nearly on the council as we speak,” Treneth continued. “I would imagine I will be able to assist you in your plight within the next month even.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes, that is so,” Treneth replied. “First, though, I shall need some assistance from you.”

  “I’ll bite. What?”

  “There is a man coming into the Underworld on a quest of undoing.”

  “Which one is that?” Teggins said.

  “The man?”

  “No, the quest of undoing. What is that?”

  Treneth remembered that the Underworlders were mostly magically devoid, but they were quick learners. Even with many wizards from the Upperworld moving down to garner freedom from guild rules and regulations, the locals weren’t all that fond of magic and so they kept their distance. Essentially, they felt about magic as Treneth felt about technology. It kept the balance. Teggins was different though. As soon as this call was over, he would likely assign one of his minions to gather details on every facet of the quest type.

  “It’s a simple quest where people are changed physically and mentally. Then a wizard is hired to get them back to what they were.”

  “Oh, like turning one of them prince-types into a frog kind of thing?”

  “Close enough,” Treneth said.

  “So what do you need from me?” Teggins asked.

  “I need you to delay him.”

  “Okay, so who is it?”

  “Whizzfiddle.”

  “Xebdigon?”

  “Unless you know of another Whizzfiddle.”

  “How do you want him delayed?”

  “However you see fit.”

  “Well, I’m not going to kill him. He’s a friend of my old mother.”

  “Of course not,” Treneth said. “I’m sure you can find ways of applying delays as I continue working on getting your release to return to the Upperworld.”

  “I’ll do my part, Treneth. Just make sure you do yours.”

  After they hung up, Treneth took a few moments to compose himself. Working with technology made him feel dirty. It was like using magic without the essence, which, in Treneth’s case, made technology a cleaner option.

  THE CONFESSION

  The lunch rush was over by the time Whizzfiddle got to Gilly’s pub. Since Gilly’s was not known for its food, the lunch rush consisted of a flock of no goods drinking off their hangovers.

  “Gilly?” he called out as he approached the bar.

  Gilly was wiping his hands on a dirty rag as he came out from the kitchen.

  “Good day, Master Whizzfiddle,” Gilly said. “Already have your supplies ready.”

  “You do?”

  “Well, you were in for a quest yesterday, sir,” Gilly said with a wink.

  “Indeed,” Whizzfiddle said. “Good man, Gilly. How many have you got for me?”

  “Seven, sir, but I can do more if needed.”

  Seven mini-barrels over thirty days. It should suffice, but he would have preferred ten to be on the safe side. Not for the magical potency, but rather because he liked Gilly’s ale.

  “Seven should do,” he said. “If yo
u’re able to place one more together quickly, though, I would not complain.”

  Gilly called out to have his sons head into the cellars for another barrel as Whizzfiddle doled out triple the going rate. The elderly wizard knew it was wise to keep all his contacts happy, and to keep his ale supplier ecstatic.

  Whizzfiddle grabbed his backpack and placed it on the ground near the casks. He opened its mouth wide and grabbed for the frothy mug that Gilly had laid out for him. With each pull from the mug he said a little incantation that brought one of the drums smoothly over and into the backpack. As soon as it touched the brim, it shrunk to the size of a mug and slipped neatly inside. Gilly’s sons arrived with the last one, giving Whizzfiddle a little buffer.

  “Did Idoon bring my apples?”

  Gilly pointed toward the table next to the door where sat an oversize bushel of dark reds. A flick of the wrist sent those hiding into the pack as well. A few purchases of dried meat and blocks of cheese and Whizzfiddle said his goodbyes and trucked out the door.

  The rest of the troop were ready to go as well.

  “I see that one of you didn’t listen very well,” Whizzfiddle said, looking at Gungren who sported a new, purple-colored wizardly hat with little designs on it.

  “I told him it was a nay thing to be after purchasing,” Bekner said.

  “And you were right to do so. Yes, Zel?”

  “Sorry, sir,” Zel said. “I brought foodstuffs and drink only, sir. Is that all well?”

  Whizzfiddle frowned. “Would that be what you would bring on a knight’s journey?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then, Knight Zelbaldian Riddenhaur—”

  “Former knight, sir.”

  “—I would say that you are well suited for our trip. And please do stop raising your hand when you have a question.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How are we going to be completing this quest if Gungren keeps after wizarding?” Bekner asked, plucking Gungren’s hat.

  “It becomes more and more challenging, actually. It would behoove you all to keep a critical eye on each other.”

  He scanned each of them. The problem child was obviously Gungren, but Zel’s cowardice didn’t help. Orophin was clearly unhappy with his looks and not many dwarfs would find pleasure in being as large as Bekner.

  Whizzfiddle led them out of the city. They were making good time and Whizzfiddle toyed with the idea of taking an afternoon nap. The thought tugged at him as they passed his house but he pushed steadfast toward a clearing in the surrounding forest.

  Zel was whispering something back and forth with Orophin during the entire walk. Whizzfiddle couldn’t make out what it was. No matter. It was obvious that Zel was the target of Orophin’s interest, even if the elf denied it. There was simply too much flirting going on from Orophin’s side.

  Bekner stayed close to Gungren.

  “Yer gonna be after ruining it for us all, Gungren.”

  “No, I not.”

  “Ye shall and ye know it.”

  “You not know nothing. I be a great wizard and then you have nothing to say.”

  “That’s the point,” Bekner admonished. “Ye should be after being a giant, not a great wizard.”

  Whizzfiddle was pleased to hear the seed had been planted. Working through the details of a quest posed enough complexity. He could use a little help from the rest of the troop to keep each other in line. After all, this wasn’t a babysitting quest...yet.

  For now, he had to worry about getting from point A to point B as smoothly as possible, and that meant they had to find the portal. This was always a tricky task because grass and foliage grew at a higher rate around the portal area. One of his troll friends had explained that this was due to the type of energy that emanated from the device.

  “It would be easier if we knew what we were looking for,” said Orophin.

  “Aye,” agreed Bekner as he hurdled a large log deep into the woods.

  Whizzfiddle itched at his nose, thinking. “It’s a flat, square rock about the size of a small table,” he said absently as he kicked away dirt and branches. “It will be flush with the ground.”

  “This it?” Gungren said pointing toward a small, marble sphere that hovered a foot off the ground.

  “Not according to the wizard’s description,” Orophin said.

  Whizzfiddle stepped up to the orb and placed his hands on either side. He whispered a cryptic pass code, “takemebelow” and then stepped back. The ball flashed for a moment and then disappeared, leaving a square in the ground that was about the size of a table. A small metallic arm stuck out of its furthest edge.

  “What is it?” Orophin said.

  “It’s called a portal,” Whizzfiddle replied. “We are going to be going to a number of places that will seem strange to you. There will be dangers and...yes, Zel?”

  “There is another,” Zel said quickly.

  “Zel!” Orophin snapped, causing Zel to run behind Bekner.

  “I’m sorry,” Zel said meekly, “but I can’t stand the deception any longer!”

  “Pardon me,” Whizzfiddle said. They all stepped back. He sighed. “Would someone mind telling me what Zel is talking about?”

  The former knight was shaking as Orophin glared at him. Finally, the elf threw up his hands, sat down on a nearby rock and motioned Zel to go ahead.

  “There was another one in our group when we were transformed.”

  “What?” Whizzfiddle shouted, feeling his blood begin to steam.

  It was going to be difficult enough saving his guild status in this quest and now this? Why is it that every quest he went on was full of surprises? Couldn’t there just be one or two that went smoothly? Was that truly too much to ask for?

  “Don’t blame him,” Orophin said. “It was my idea to keep it from you.”

  “May I ask why you felt the need to do such a thing?” Whizzfiddle said.

  “Because we tried a number of wizards and they all turned us down. You gave us a “yes” and we didn’t want you to back out.”

  Whizzfiddle kicked a few rocks and threw others. Gungren began doing the same thing.

  “Stop that,” Whizzfiddle said, wagging a finger at Gungren. “You are not a wizard. Quit trying to be one.”

  “I are too,” Gungren said, hands on hips.

  “Anything else you’re not telling me?” Whizzfiddle asked Orophin.

  “No.”

  “Where is he...or is it a she?”

  “Kind of an it, really,” Bekner said. “He’s a lizard.”

  “A lizard.”

  “He was a dragon,” Zel said, “but he was changed into, yes, a lizard.”

  Whizzfiddle knew a number of dragons.

  “What is this dragon’s name?”

  “Winchester,” Orophin said.

  “Winchester Hargrath?”

  “Yes, sir,” Zel replied.

  “Okay, here is the important part. Is it Winchester Hargrath Junior, or,” he swallowed hard, “Winchester Hargrath Junior the third?”

  “The third, I believe,” Orophin said.

  “That’s right, yes,” Zel affirmed.

  Wonderful, thought Whizzfiddle. Junior wasn’t so bad. He wasn’t very bright. Junior, III, though, was one of the more astute dragons. Winchester always had an angle and a plan, and anything else he could fit up his sleeve. Whizzfiddle spat. Bringing Winchester would prove troublesome.

  “It no matter anyway,” Gungren said. “Him not sign contract so you not need him for quest.”

  “Were it that easy, I would be elated,” Whizzfiddle replied. “A quest of undoing ties you all together. It can be undone without all of you, yes, but it’s much more difficult.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s a group spell. It’s like trying to complete a puzzle that doesn’t have all the pieces. Do we have any idea where Winchester is?”

  “Not exactly,” Zel said. “He said something about starting up a business where there would be likenesse
s on paper of scantily-clad women.”

  “Pictures?” Whizzfiddle said. “Scantily clad women?” He looked around for a moment and then snapped his fingers. “Dakmenhem. He’s in Dakmenhem.”

  “I ain’t rightly heard of that place,” Beckner said.

  “Nor would you have. It’s in the Underworld.”

  THE SHIPMENT

  Treneth was sitting at his desk when Rimpertuz arrived, freshly scrubbed from his day’s toil. While there were many negatives to having an apprentice with the paltry cognitive capabilities of Rimpertuz, there were advantages to it as well. It had been years since Treneth had lifted a shovel, for example.

  “Rimpertuz,” he said, “I feel it may be time for you to begin planning your future. You need to do things you can really own, you see?”

  “I do?”

  “Would I say so if it weren’t true?”

  Rimpertuz didn’t reply.

  “Your ingenuity with delaying Whizzfiddle at the guild was impressive to say the least.”

  “It was?”

  “Absolutely. I dare say that I was proud of you.”

  “You were?”

  “That said, I feel it is time for you to build relationships with other wizards. This will be done of your own volition.”

  “Um—”

  “There is a wizard who lives in Kek,” Treneth said. “His name is Peapod Pecklesworthy. It seems that his birthday is coming up.”

  “Yes, sir. His birthday.”

  “As an apprentice begins to grow it is often wise to glean support in the eyes of those who may one day be of assistance to him.”

  “But you always said that other wizards are, stupid and foolish, and you always have falling outs with—”

  “I am not your average wizard, Rimpertuz,” Treneth said sternly. “I am self-reliant. You, on the other hand, are not.”

  “No, sir,” Rimpertuz responded without looking offended.

  If there was any one thing that Treneth held as confidence regarding Rimpertuz it was that Rimpertuz had little in the way of confidence.