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

by John P. Logsdon

  “Easily double. Probably triple.”

  “No.”

  “Yultza,” Curdles said. “You’ll do it if I say you’ll do it. Don’t forget that you work for me, not the other way around.”

  “Not anymore,” she got up.

  “But…you’ll be famous,” Winchester said. “You’ll be the first!”

  “What will being famous do for me?”

  “Well, you’ll be rich, for one,” Winchester said. “Plus, you’ll have no need for a boss anymore.”

  “Hey now.”

  “Curdles,” Winchester said seriously, “what’s more important, ten percent of a highly successful magazine or one employee who leaves your service? And remember that it’s good for her too, and she’s the one that’s going to be the cause of much more toward that five percent you’re getting.”

  “Hmmm. Okay, you win this one. And it’s twenty-five percent, lizard. Don’t forget it.”

  Whizzfiddle shook his head and smiled. Dragons were cunning. Specifically this sagacious dragon. Demons were less shrewd than Winchester Hargrath Jr. III.

  “Okay, I’ll do it,” Yultza said, “but I want one-hundred gold to do it.”

  “One hundred!”

  “Plus a percentage of any issue I’m in,” she stated evenly.

  They sat dumbfounded.

  “It’s either that or I walk.”

  “Done,” Winchester said.

  “Done?” Curdles said to Winchester. “What do you mean done? Where are you going to get a hundred gold, lizard?”

  “You said it yourself, Curdles,” Winchester replied, “I’m the one with the eye for this magazine. That makes you the one with the money.”

  “You should know better than to tangle with a dragon,” Whizzfiddle laughed and then winced through another swallow of the ale.

  “Lizard,” Curdles muttered the correction.

  “Sadly, there is still the problem of my group quest,” Whizzfiddle said. “While I really hate to put your plans in jeopardy, Winchester is going to have to come with me.”

  THE COUNCIL HAS CONCERNS

  Ibork and Zotrinder were waiting for Muppy when she arrived at the office. They had asked to see her, which was an odd occurrence for the weekend, made stranger by the fact that Zotrinder and Ibork despised one another.

  They said their hellos as she plopped into her chair.

  “This is about Treneth,” she stated.

  “What were you thinking?” Ibork blurted out.

  “Yes,” Zotrinder said. “I would seek your logic here as well.”

  She had been thinking how best to answer this question over the last two days. They would find out eventually, of course, but by the time they did she would have new twists and turns in place to cover herself. It was Wizarding-101.

  Unfortunately, she had fallen a bit for Rimpertuz. He was young and vivacious, and he was smitten with her. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her days covering things up. Why should she have to hide her relationship from the council, burying it from regulatory control? It was a stupid rule that was put in place simply for Treneth to use as leverage for his ploy.

  It was time to come clean and change the record books.

  “I did it to avoid a scandal.”

  “Scandal?” Zotrinder said as he paused from filing his nails.

  “That’s right,” Muppy answered. “I have been in a relationship with Rimpertuz.”

  “What?”

  “Treneth’s apprentice?”

  She leaned forward and looked over her clasped fingers.

  “Gentlemen, we are all adults here. I know that the rules state that we are disallowed from having a relationship with an apprentice.”

  “Very clearly,” Ibork said.

  “However,” Muppy continued, “it’s an antiquated rule that needs to be removed from the books.”

  “It was just added a few meetings ago!”

  “No, Ibork, it wasn’t.” Muppy opened the book and turned the page toward the halfling. “As you can see, the original rule is about a thousand years old. Lore says that it was written because Blitlaray’s first apprentice had designs on him that he didn’t share.”

  “Didn’t we hold a vote on this rule recently,” Zotrinder said.

  “Yes, we added verbiage that said a wizard-apprentice relationship was disallowed even if the apprentice was not studying under the wizard they were relating to, in a manner of speaking. And that’s how our Treneth of Dahl worked to set me up.”

  “How so?”

  She explained the events that lead to the election of Treneth to the council.

  “As you can see,” she said, “it was either I get him appointed to the council or I fall into a scandal.”

  Zotrinder was grinning a little as Ibork’s jaw hung open.

  Muppy could pit the two men against each other. It wouldn’t be the first time. But knowing them both, it was only a matter of time before their combined front fell to pieces.

  “This is outrageous,” Ibork said, his face reddening.

  “Truly,” Zontrinder responded, keeping his smirk. “Truly outrageous.”

  “You realize that you have single-handedly—”

  “What exactly have I done, Ibork?”

  “You let Treneth of Dahl get on the council!”

  Zotrinder was giggling.

  Muppy huffed. “We all knew that he was going to make it to council eventually. He’s too devious not to. I think it’s more likely that we’re all just a tad bit jealous of just how clever our young Treneth can be.”

  “Dangerous,” Ibork said, along with a jettison of spittle.

  “And you’re not, Ibork?” Zotrinder said. “And I’m not? Name a wizard that isn’t dangerous.”

  “Whizzfiddle.”

  “Fair enough,” Zotrinder conceded. “Neither is he all that manipulative. Never was, from what I recall.”

  “No,” Muppy said, “but he’s clearly smarter than we are. He did have the sense to dump Treneth from his apprenticeship.”

  “True,” Zotrinder said.

  As Muppy was trying to dig up dirt on Treneth, of which she found none, she came across the copy of Whizzfiddle’s cessation letter. It had simply read, “The boy is too much of a stickler and I’m too old to stickle.”

  “Look,” Muppy said. “Treneth’s on the council. We can bicker and fight all we want, but if we don’t represent a combined front then he’ll soon own this council.”

  “Outrageous!”

  “You’ve already used that one, Ibork.”

  “Shut up, Zotrinder.”

  A DONE DEAL

  The deal was done.

  Winchester was going to go along and fulfill his return to being a dragon so that Whizzfiddle could satisfy the guild contract.

  In turn, Whizzfiddle agreed to become the first subscriber to Winchester’s upcoming publication. While the elderly wizard found little interest in naked orcs and dragons, he figured that five gold was a small price to pay in getting Winchester on board with the quest.

  Winchester also insisted on making a stop-over in Xarpney before going to Kek. This detour worried Whizzfiddle a bit, but one rarely got the solid end of a deal when negotiating with dragons.

  Blerg was going to run the day-to-day operations of PlayDragon with a little help from Zooks and a lot of oversight from Curdles.

  Yultza had insisted on journeying with Winchester to make sure that he came back.

  And for all this, Whizzfiddle promised to keep Winchester and Yultza safe. Plus two hundred gold to Curdles and a round of ale the next ten times he was in town. Curdles always came out ahead.

  “Lads,” Whizzfiddle said as he exited the pub with the troop, “let’s head back to the hotel and get ourselves a decent night of sleep. Tomorrow we’re off to Kek to get everything squared away.”

  “Xarpney first,” Winchester reminded.

  “Briefly.”

  It was only a few blocks to the hotel, which gave Whizzfiddle enough time to
think. He would gave them all a quick reminder on the importance of tenacity, focusing mostly on Winchester and Gungren. They were edging closer to completing this little quest and he needed it to end right.

  “Now, remember,” Whizzfiddle said to them as they entered the lobby, “the more you embrace what you have become, the harder it’s going to be for Pecklesworthy to undo it.”

  “Don’t you think it’s going to be a little too late?” Winchester said. “It’s not like we’re a week into this, wizard.”

  “Yes,” Whizzfiddle looked from face to face. “I do know.”

  “Good.”

  “Look, Winchester,” Whizzfiddle said, “you were at the battle with these people when they were normal.”

  “Normal is a relative term.”

  “Nevertheless,” Whizzfiddle continued, “they all want to be back to their old selves.”

  “I don’t,” Gungren said.

  “Nor I,” Winchester agreed. “I’ve grown rather fond of my new perspective.”

  “Which is exactly my point. You are the two that are jeopardizing the success of these three returning to what they were. The only thing you’re going to miss is a week or two of Dakmenhem. Then you get to come back, resume your work, and have the knowledge that you’ve allowed these others to get on with their lives.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Winchester said. “I agreed already, didn’t I?”

  “As long as you fully understand what you agreed to,” Whizzfiddle replied.

  “How come he get go back?” Gungren asked.

  Whizzfiddle grunted. He’d had a feeling this was going to come up. Why couldn’t Pecklesworthy have just made the giant little and be done with it? Why make him smart too?

  “It was in our agreement,” Whizzfiddle said.

  “I want go back too.”

  “Now, Gungren—”

  “No, now,” Gungren said, squaring his shoulders. “Lizard go back, so does I.”

  Whizzfiddle closed his eyes and pinched the top of his nose. His head ached from all this work, and probably a bit from Benpo’s ale. There was enough juice in his veins to allow a small incantation to clear things up.

  “And I want be your ‘prentice.”

  “Oh no,” Whizzfiddle answered as they headed upstairs. “Not going to happen.”

  “Then I not doing it.”

  “I’m not having this discussion, Gungren. You signed a contract with the Wizards’ Guild. If you don’t fulfill that contract, you will never get your license to be a wizard anyway. It’s one of those rock and a hard place situations, you see?”

  Gungren frowned and crossed his arms, stomping harder than he had to as they approached the gate at the top floor.

  Whizzfiddle pushed at the gate, but it wouldn’t open.

  “Hmmm,” he said, rubbing his chin. “Maybe I have to say something to open it?”

  He cleared his throat.

  “Open presto,” he declared.

  Gungren groaned. “It open sesame or presto, not both. You may be great wizard but you no good for street magic.”

  “Are you sure? I thought certain it was open presto.”

  “It not. Look, you got use the card thing.”

  Gungren reached into Whizzfiddle’s pocket and pulled a couple of cards out. He placed one of the cards into the slot at the top of the stairs and the gate opened.

  “Presto,” he said sarcastically.

  They entered the floor and found a large room with doors on all sides. The suite was luxurious indeed, and the entire floor was theirs. At ten gold a night it was a ripoff, but it would do nicely in helping Whizzfiddle to keep everyone in check.

  “Now,” Whizzfiddle said, motioning them all to pick a room, “I want each of you to go to sleep. I trust you all understand the gravity of our quest at this point and will act responsibly until we complete it.”

  They all stared at him.

  “Well?” Whizzfiddle said, jarring them to action. “We leave early in the morning.”

  Gungren dropped the access cards on the table in the middle of the room, mumbled something about Whizzfiddle not being fair, and then walked to the last door.

  One by one, the rest disappeared into various rooms. Winchester shared his room with Yultza.

  Whizzfiddle walked to the opposite side and entered the master suite. Ostentatious was the only word to describe it. Gold linens, an enormous soaking tub, and a view of Dakmenhem that was fit for a king.

  This was no time for pleasantries, though. At some point he would come back to vacation here, but for now he was tired. He refilled his flask, took a couple of sips, and topped it off again.

  Looking out the window, Whizzfiddle could see the life of Dakmenhem. It was a party town. There were clubs, pubs, games, rides, street magic, and...

  “Oh damn,” he said as he bolted back into the main hallway.

  He rapped on each door.

  Orophin opened.

  Zel opened.

  Bekner opened.

  Winchester’s room was empty and so was Gungren’s.

  Whizzfiddle flopped down on the leather couch and rubbed his eyes. He should have known better than to trust them. They were too much like him.

  He pressed a button on the table beside him and the curtains opened to reveal a vast skyline. The others sat down and joined him in looking outside. It was quite a sight.

  “Where do you suppose they were after going?” Bekner said.

  “We’re in a party town on a Saturday night,” Whizzfiddle grumbled, motioning to the window. “Where do you think they’re going?”

  “I don’t see Gungren as one who would frequent taverns,” Zel said.

  “Street magic,” Whizzfiddle replied.

  He wanted to be out there with them, but he was too busy doing this damned awful thing called “work.” The thought made him shiver.

  “Should we go after them?” Orophin asked.

  Whizzfiddle shook his head.

  “They’ll just find some other way out.”

  AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR

  Treneth had his feet on the ottoman as he leaned back into his leather chair. He swirled the juice in his glass, taking the occasional taste in celebration of his position on the council.

  Saturday evenings were reserved for relaxation. It was a time to reflect on the week’s events and see how things progressed on his plans. Rimpertuz was scheduled away as usual, likely spending a less-than-quiet evening with Muppy and her friends.

  Friends, Treneth thought and scoffed. Who needs friends when you have power?

  He set the glass on the side table and folded his hands in his lap. It was the first time in years that he had gone more than a few hours without wearing his leather gloves.

  He looked at his fingernails and grunted. They were long. They had to be in order to stuff enough... essence... to give him full power when needed.

  A knock came at the door.

  Treneth stood up and straightened his clothing.

  He opened the door and then looked down.

  “Councilman Ibork?”

  “We need to talk.”

  WE HAVE A WINNER!

  Gungren had followed Winchester and Yultza through various alleys until they finally slipped into one of the taverns that they called a “night club.” He had no interest in that. It was all the lights and shops that had him mesmerized.

  “Step on up, my boy!”

  He looked up at a human that was standing by an odd machine. It had a silver base that was connected to a mini tower with what appeared to be a bell on top. Next to it was a hammer.

  Gungren looked from side-to-side and then finally pointed at himself.

  “Yes, you,” the man waved him over. “You look like a strong lad, but I’m not sure if you’re strong enough. Do you think you’re strong enough?”

  “What for?”

  “Why, to knock the ball up to the bell, my boy.”

  Gungren rubbed his chin, trying to mimic what he’d seen Whizzfiddle do when he was
thinking about something. The distance from the ball to the bell was probably about twenty feet. The ball would be weighted, no doubt, but he wasn’t worried about that. While he no longer possessed the full strength he’d had as a giant, he was still ten times stronger than the demographic for this game.

  “Okay.”

  “Two silvers, son,” the man said, putting out his hand.

  “You pay me two silvers to hit the bell?”

  “No. You pay me two silvers so you can try to hit the bell.”

  “Why’d I do that?”

  The man stepped down from his podium and knelt beside Gungren.

  “See that sign, my boy?” He pointed up to a large green board. “If you hit the bell, you can choose whatever you want from that list.”

  “Magic set,” Gungren said softly, his eyes widening.

  “What is it you would want?”

  “Magic—”

  “Magic set it is then,” the man said and sprung back to his podium. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he yelled out, “and everything in between, step right up and see if our little man here can hit the bell! He’s putting three silver—”

  “Two!” Gungren said.

  “Ah, yes, two silver on his chances. If he wins, the lad gets a magic set.”

  People gathered around and started to cheer for Gungren. He liked the attention. Giants were notorious for being solo creatures, but the attention made him feel important.

  He picked up the hammer and looked the contraption up and down. About a quarter of the way up was a little silver lever that he didn’t recall seeing the first time he’d looked. It sat above a painting of a red rose.

  “How many chance I get?” Gungren said. “I not think I try too hard on first chance. I just try for that flower first time.”

  The man beamed at the crowd.

  “Our contestant wants to take a practice swing,” he jeered.

  The crowd laughed.

  “Do you all think he can at least hit the flower?”

  The crowd grew even larger.

  “They believe in you, my lad!”