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

by John P. Logsdon

“Gentlemen, there are a number of things you will see that are strange to you. Some things may seem familiar. This is because people from here often visit us as we are now visiting them.”

  “Vampires,” said Orophin as he pointed at a couple of men having a conversation by a street lamp.

  The men were wearing black capes and had slicked-back hair. Their skin was white and pasty, much like Zel’s appearance at the moment.

  Whizzfiddle pushed Orophin’s hand down.

  “It’s not nice to point,” he said. “Yes, those are vampires. There are also orcs, trolls, ogres, werewolves, and various other species that you have been told of in your legends.”

  “Are you after saying the legends are all real?” Bekner asked quietly.

  “I hope so,” Orophin said, keeping his gaze on the vampires.

  “No,” Whizzfiddle answered. “Many of them are not real at all.” He waved his hand in front of Orophin. “Especially the one about vampires.”

  “There are vampires in the Upperworld too,” Zel said. “I used to deport them all the time.”

  “There are?”

  “Yes, Orophin, there are,” answered Whizzfiddle. “Most of them are there illegally, so they are careful to avoid detection. You’ve come in contact with a number of them over the years, no doubt.”

  “I think I would have known if I’d come in contact—”

  “Mosquitoes.”

  “Pardon?”

  Everyone backed away.

  “No,” Orophin said, “not that. I mean why did you say mosquitoes?”

  “That’s what vampires turn into when they want to fly and feed.”

  “You mean bats.”

  “No, I don’t mean bats.”

  Orophin looked horrified. “I’ve smacked hundreds of those things.”

  “They’re quite resilient, I assure you.”

  “I like this place,” Gungren said, interrupting the conversation. “It smell like home.”

  “Indeed,” said Whizzfiddle and then he moved into the crowd and headed for the only hotel that was run by the trolls.

  Hotel Gakoonk.

  The trolls treated it like their home town of Gakoonk. Though not particularly attractive creatures, trolls were excellent in the realm of hospitality. They were even better at charging for it.

  The troll that served as doorman was more hideous than most. His nose alone was bulbous enough to use as a float on a fishing expedition. After looking over the troop, the troll pulled the door open and gestured them inside.

  The place was posh. Checkered marble floors ran throughout the lobby. Dark mahogany boards lined the walls and were etched expertly with crown molding. Even the furniture was trimmed in fine leather with gold beading.

  “You’ve got no reservation?”

  “Not exactly,” Whizzfiddle said to the clerk. He then pulled forth his bag of gold. It was depleting quickly. He acted as if he’d accidentally dropped a piece on the other side of the reception desk. The clerk picked it up and looked at Whizzfiddle questioningly. “It seems you’ve found a piece of gold there, my good man...I mean, troll.”

  Trolls hated to be referred to as men.

  The troll snorted.

  “So it does. Hmmm...wait a tick or two.” He looked at a box of some sort. “I believe I have found your reservation after all, my dear troll.” Trolls had no reservations calling men trolls. “It says here that the reservation is for four persons—”

  “Five.”

  “—five persons. Staying for two—”

  “One.”

  “—one night.”

  He clicked away on a pad that sat on the desk.

  “What’s that after being?” Bekner asked, pointing at the troll’s keypad.

  “Not now,” Whizzfiddle hushed him.

  “What was the question?” the troll asked.

  “Nothing, my good troll,” Whizzfiddle said. “One of our lot just needs to use the facilities. Erm, I mean he needs to use the can.”

  The troll nodded and pointed toward the restrooms.

  “I’m sure it can wait until we’re settled,” Whizzfiddle said.

  “Aye, it can at that,” Bekner agreed.

  “The room is ten gold for the night,” the troll said.

  “Ten?”

  The troll turned the box toward Whizzfiddle. The amount glowed in jarring digital clarity.

  “That’s how much the top suite costs, my good troll,” he said, showing his perfect smile. “It does encompass the entire floor, and will allow for any additional guests. And do note that if you need help finding any additional guests,” the troll added with a wink, “we can assist you there as well.”

  “Right,” Whizzfiddle said and handed over the coins.

  VISITING WINCHESTER

  Photographs were strewn all over the walls and desks. Tazdoreena, Qayla, and Patty were literally on display, and they looked fantastic, depending on whether you were a dragon, orc, or ogre. Trolls weren’t being represented in this issue.

  Winchester wore his little red-velvet robe as he worked on narrowing the list of photos that would make the issue. His tail’s throbbing was buried to the point of a dull ache as his excitement mounted. It had started with hundreds of snapshots and was now down to just over twenty each.

  Qayla was working diligently on the layout. It was coming together better than Winchester had expected.

  He still wasn’t sold on Tazdoreena being his cover model, but there wasn’t a lot of choice. She had been a little peeved that there were going to be other girls in the magazine, but Winchester had assured her that she would be no less popular for sharing the pages. She had just given him a dirty look and walked out.

  He would keep his word, of course. Once a dragon gives his word, it was solid. One just had to be careful to understand precisely what the word was that a dragon had given.

  “My equal that pays me,” Blerg said, “there’s some people here to see you.”

  Winchester raised his head from his work. People? He wasn’t expecting to see any people.

  So Curdles wasn’t even going to give him a week. That was one of the bigger differences between dragons and orcs: orcs weren’t known for keeping their word. To be fair, they weren’t known for giving their word either.

  “Tell them I’m not here,” Winchester said. “I’ll sneak out the back and buy us some time.”

  “You want me to lie?”

  “Blerg, if they throw me in that tank we’ll never get this magazine done,” he said frantically.

  Blerg took in a deep breath and slowly let it out. The average ogre would sell his own grandmother for a popsicle. Blerg proved more and more each day that he was not your average ogre.

  “You owe me one,” he said and stormed out of the office.

  Winchester threw off his robe and bolted for the back door, slipping through the doggy flap he’d had installed when they’d moved in. It was much simpler than asking someone to open it for him.

  Just as he cleared the door he ran directly into the foot of Zooks.

  “Going somewhere?” Curdles said, picking up Winchester by his still-aching tail.

  “You said I had a week!”

  Curdles shook his head. “Still stereotyping me with other orcs, lizard? You’ll get your week, but I’ve decided that you need a little supervision. Yultza here is going to watch over the establishment a bit for me.”

  “That is just…” then he paused. “Yultza?”

  “Yeah,” Curdles said. “That a problem?”

  “No, no,” Winchester said. “Actually, that would be quite helpful.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. We could, um, use the muscle.”

  YOU SCRATCH MY BACK

  Treneth was going through the stack of legal documents that he’d brought home from the council meeting.

  Of the twenty-seven wizard contracts that he had already processed, twenty-six of them had not been fulfilled to the letter. The twenty-seventh one hadn’t been fulfilled at a
ll. Had he so desired, Treneth resolved that he could make a living doing nothing but persecuting wizards for not upholding the guild rules.

  His TalkyThingy started to jingle.

  “Yeah,” Treneth said, remembering how Teggins had answered earlier.

  “They’re in Dakmenhem,” Teggins said.

  “Who?”

  “Your wizard friend, Treneth. Who do you think?”

  “I thought you said they were in Gorgan?”

  “They were and they should have been stuck there for at least a couple of weeks, but somehow they got out. My men ran into them at Wimat Station.”

  Treneth grabbed a map of the stations that Rimpertuz had picked up a few weeks prior. The layout was confusing at best, but he spotted Wimat and saw that it connected to Kek. That Whizzfiddle was in Dakmenhem was a good sign. Being in the Underworld meant that he was still a good ways away from hooking up with Pecklesworthy.

  “Why didn’t they stop them?”

  “According to my men,” Teggins said, “the wizard had an entourage of bodyguards and the station police were in the area. There was nothing they could do.”

  “I don’t want excuses, Teggins,” Treneth said in a huff.

  “Watch it, Treneth. You ain’t exactly cleared my name with the council.”

  “As a matter of fact, I have. The papers are signed and filed. And I’ll have you also know that I’m a full-fledged member of the council now.”

  There was silence.

  “So,” Treneth continued, “I will expect better action from you.”

  “You’re saying that I’m all set up there?” Teggins said.

  “That’s what I said. Now, you just need to finish your end of the bargain.”

  “I’d say we’re done,” Teggins replied. “I delayed Whizzfiddle twice and I told you I couldn’t kill him. Not much more I can do.”

  Treneth fumed. It was another case of putting his beliefs on others. He would complete his end of any bargain, but Teggins and most of the populace of Ononokin took a different view.

  “One more thing, Treneth,” Teggins said. “I would recommend that you not travel to my city for at least a couple of years, and I’ll be sending you a little message soon so you’ll know I’m serious.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Oh.” Nobody ever answers the “Is that a threat?” question directly. Usually, they respond with something clever, like, “I don’t make threats” or “No, it’s a promise.” Sure, it meant the same thing, but it was just more ominous. “Save your threats,” Treneth said, trying to gain the upper hand again. “Or I’ll make a few of my own.”

  “Now you’re talking my language,” Teggins replied. “I like working with threats. It’s most efficient.”

  “Good day, Teggins,” Treneth said as he shut down the connection.

  As long as Idoon’s shipment arrived before Whizzfiddle did, things would continue moving smoothly on the plan to disbar his former master. At this point Treneth had no choice but to rely on Pecklesworthy being incapable of helping Whizzfiddle.

  Treneth’s vengeance wasn’t as important as his position in the council, but, again, he followed through with his obligations…even those he made with himself.

  THE WIZARD AND THE LOAN SHARK

  Whizzfiddle and his troop were standing in the middle of a little office. There were desks, fans, cameras, lighting pods, and a bed that was tucked in the corner. The cameras were all facing the bed. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what kind of business this was.

  An ogre, who had introduced himself as “Blerg” was explaining that Winchester was currently out on an appointment.

  The back door opened and a gruff looking orc walked in. He was holding a lizard upside down by its tail.

  “Curdles?” Whizzfiddle said, thinking he’d recognized the orc.

  “Whizzfiddle?” Curdles said back.

  “Whizzfiddle?” The lizard said, and then looked past him. “Orophin? Bekner? Gungren? Zel?”

  They all stood across from each other. Nobody moved, except Winchester who was wriggling a bit.

  “Could you please let me down? Ahhhh—ouch,” Winchester said as he hit the floor.

  Whizzfiddle adjusted his hat as he eyed Curdles, who was adjusting his tie. It was a little odd to see an orc in a suit, but Whizzfiddle had to admit that the pinstriped look had always worked for the mob boss.

  “What are you doin’ in my town?” Curdles asked.

  “Your town?” Winchester said, eyebrows raised.

  “Figure of speech.”

  “I take it you guys know each other,” Orophin said.

  Whizzfiddle muttered a “hmmm” and then grabbed his flask. He took a quick swig as Curdles smiled at him.

  “You know your magic ain’t gonna be fast enough for Zooks’s bullets,” he said, grinning.

  “You misunderstand, Curdles,” Whizzfiddle said. “I believe the last time we parted it was my turn to buy the rounds. I’m not powering up. I’m numbing up.”

  Everyone stood their distance, mumbling in confusion.

  Whizzfiddle finally couldn’t stay in character any further and began to giggle. Curdles burst out into a full laugh and they crossed the chasm and shook hands.

  “I guess that answers that,” Orophin said.

  LET'S HAVE DRINKS

  Swill was a kind description for the ale in Curdles's favorite tavern, Benpo’s. It was a shade of greenish-brown that smelled like it looked, and tasted worse. Even if you could stomach the brew, the mental ramifications would likely set your soul aflame. It had won the “Worst Ale in Dakmenhem” award the last seven years in a row. Fortunately, Whizzfiddle had already suffered the wrath of Benpo’s brew once before. He put a protection spell on himself to counteract the slurried liquid.

  The pub itself was pleasant enough. Whizzfiddle especially enjoyed the billiard tables. They were handcrafted by the finest artisans, stained in different hues, and stretched with multiple felt styles. He had once considered making room in his house to have one of his own, but the transportation costs were outrageous and he was awful at the game anyway.

  Orophin, however, appeared to be quite adept with the stick and balls. The elf had been winning all night. It could have been his skill or it could have been that his entourage consisted of a knight, a little giant, and a gigantic dwarf.

  “I can’t say that it’s good to see you, Zooks,” Whizzfiddle said to Curdles’s henchman.

  “Likewise.”

  “Ha!” Whizzfiddle said with a wink. “You haven’t changed a bit. Just as surly as ever.”

  “You look the same too, wizard.”

  “I would,” Whizzfiddle said with a sigh. “Long life elixir and all, if you remember.”

  Zooks grunted and resumed his drinking. He never was one for conversation.

  “Yultza is new to your team, Curdles,” Whizzfiddle said. “I thought you didn’t believe in diversification.”

  “She surprised me,” Curdles said. “I don’t surprise easily. And don’t let her looks fool ya, she’s capable.”

  Whizzfiddle didn’t have enough booze in his veins to consider an orc’s “looks.” Winchester definitely seemed taken by her though. He had been sitting next to her and chatting her up ever since they’d sat down.

  “So why are you here, old man?”

  “For him,” Whizzfiddle pointed at the lizard.

  “Is that right?”

  “Sadly, yes. It seems that he was part of a troop caught in one of Pecklesworthy’s transfigurations.”

  “Group spell,” Curdles said.

  “Indeed. And you know how it is with those.”

  “All or nothing.”

  Whizzfiddle leaned forward and whispered. “I take it you have designs on him as well.”

  “He owes me money.”

  Whizzfiddle nodded and took a pull from the mug. It took some effort to swallow. There was nothing quite like a nice, lumpy ale.

  “How mu
ch?”

  “Now you know that’s—”

  “One hundred and fifty gold,” Zooks said, and then looked at Curdles. “Oh, sorry, boss.”

  “I can cover that,” Whizzfiddle said. “I’ll just need to stop off at the bank.”

  Winchester stopped talking to Yultza.

  “Really?” Winchester said.

  “It’s not free, Winchester,” Whizzfiddle said. “And your reputation for trickery is legendary, so you may as well just hush up now.”

  “There’s a bit of a problem that’s come up,” Curdles said, knocking on the table. “See, I’ve been thinking that instead of this being a straight out loan that it may instead be an investment. Diversification, if you will.”

  “Wise,” Whizzfiddle said, tucking his purse away. There was no point in trying to pay off a mob boss looking to invest.

  “Wait a second,” Winchester said, stamping to the middle of the table. “We agreed on it being a loan, and I’ll—”

  “Shut up, lizard,” Curdles said. “You ain’t in a position of power here.”

  Winchester pointed, began to talk, shut his mouth, and then crossed his arms and looked away. He was much less threatening as a lizard than as a dragon.

  “The way I see it,” Curdles said, “you’ll be cutting me in for twenty-five percent of all profits.”

  Winchester uncrossed his arms.

  “So—”

  “Don’t worry, Winchester. I don’t want to run the thing. I don’t have an eye for it, and since you’ll be photographing ogres and dragons, I don’t have the stomach for it either.”

  “What about the aquarium?”

  “If this PlayDragon thing of yours takes off, I’ll buy me a lizard that don’t speak.”

  “Done,” Winchester said, “but, I need one more thing.”

  “Go on.”

  “Yultza.”

  “What?” Yultza and Curdles said in unison, followed a split-second later by Zooks.

  “She is the perfect orc for the cover. She’ll push this mag through the roof.”

  “No,” she said.

  “Wait,” Curdles said, holding up a finger. Whizzfiddle checked it. It was the correct one. “So,” Curdles continued, “you’re saying that if she poses nude in your magazine that we’ll see more money?”