The man reached under the podium and Gungren surveyed the unit again to find the metal piece had moved back out of sight.
“Okay,” the man said. “You may try for that flower now. It should be a pretty simple hit for a powerful lad such as yourself.”
The crowd began chanting the word “flow-er” over and over.
Gungren swung the hammer over his shoulder and let it set for a second. He made sure there were no additional levers the rest of the way up.
With a quick slam, he crushed the mallet on the platform. The ball flew up so fast that it shattered upon hitting the bell.
There was a moment of silence. Then the crowd roared and pooled around him, slapping him on the back and telling him how impressed they were with his strength.
“You cheated me,” the man at the podium yelled over the noise.
“I want magic set now,” Gungren replied.
“I do not award prizes to cheaters.”
“How do I cheated?”
“You cheated by tricking me into removing...I mean, you knew that...” The man stumbled for the right words. “Well...that is to say...you see...it’s...um...”
A rough-looking man walked out of the crowd and approached the podium. Gungren assumed it was a werewolf. He was very hairy, had large teeth, and a partially elongated jaw. Gungren looked up at the moon and saw that it wasn’t quite full, which explained why the guy was between full-wolf and non-wolf.
The werewolf flexed a set of enormous muscular arms, cracked his neck a few times, and then looked down at the proprietor.
“Give him the prize,” he quite literally growled, “or I’ll ring that bell with your head.”
The crowd hoorayed again as Gungren walked away with a brand new magic set.
TIME TO MOVE
Whizzfiddle had spent most of the night on the terrace. He found the night air, rank as it was, kept his mind off Benpo’s ale. The next time he was in town he planned to use a much stronger spell of protection before going drinking with Curdles.
The terrace afforded him a 180-degree view of Dakmenhem. Rows of buildings stretched as far as the eye could see in one direction, and boats of all shapes and sizes littered the waters in the other.
It was even more awesome now that the sun glittered off the distant ripples.
If he were forced to leave his life of magic in the Upperworld, Whizzfiddle could see himself spending a few hundred years practicing here.
The thought was rather appealing.
For now, though, there were a few people counting on him. If nothing else, he couldn’t let them down. At least, not without a fight.
He sighed and pushed his creaking bones off the lounge chair, refilled his backpack and flask, and headed out into the main room.
Zel, Beckner, and Orophin were eating snacks from a box that sat near the window. Whizzfiddle groaned. That would be another couple of gold. The prices trolls charged for the smallest treats were a crime.
He pushed open Gungren’s door after telling the others to gather Winchester and Yultza.
“Make it difficult,” he pointed out to Bekner.
Gungren wasn’t in his bed, but the contents of his pack were spilled out over it. There was a little box with dice and cards and various booklets, and there was a larger book that brought a sense of nostalgia to the old wizard.
Blitlaray’s Guide to Wizardry.
The leather cover was slightly torn and the binding was creased. He flipped it open and thumbed through a few pages. There were little marks in the margins. He wondered if they had belonged to Gungren or some previous owner.
A giant that could read was odd enough, Whizzfiddle thought, but one that’s a wizard? Nonsensical, he added to himself with a frown.
“Gungren,” Whizzfiddle called out, “are you here?”
“I are here,” a muffled voice replied from the closet.
Whizzfiddle shook his head.
“I am here.”
Gungren stepped out of the closet, fastening a belt around his robe. “I can see you am here.”
“I can see you are here,” Whizzfiddle corrected.
“Okay,” Gungren said at length. “It good that you can see I are here.”
“It’s good that you can see I am here!”
Gungren squinted. “Maybe you am a great wizard, but you got issues.”
“Maybe you are a great wizard.”
“I are?”
“I am!”
“I said that you am,” Gungren said, looking confused.
“No, it’s...” Whizzfiddle slammed his mouth shut and breathed slowly out of his nose as he tapped his finger on the bed post.
“Never mind. Are you ready to go?”
“Yep,” Gungren said.
The little giant walked over and shoved all his junk into the pack.
“I are ready.”
“I am ready,” Whizzfiddle wailed as he exited the room.
“Obviously you am ready,” Gungren yelled back. “Elsewise, why you buggin’ me!”
RIMPERTUZ REPORTS
As Treneth worked on his morning tea and toast, he thought over Ibork’s request for an alliance.
For the most part, Ibork was a dimwitted fool with a big mouth. But there was something to having a balanced front on the council. Zotrinder would never cross Muppy, and the Croomplatt twins represented their town specifically. They had no designs on power plays.
A shadow filled the doorway.
“Good morning, Rimpertuz.”
“Good day, sir.”
“I trust your evening was pleasant?”
“The shipment to Kek has arrived, sir.”
Treneth found Rimpertuz’s lack of response amusing.
“Excellent,” he said after a moment.
It didn’t ensure success, but it would delay Whizzfiddle even further. If nothing else, Treneth would make life hard on his former master. Now that Treneth sat on the council he would eventually work the old wizard out of his status. For now the more difficulty Whizzfiddle faced, the happier Treneth would feel.
“I’m sure Farmer Idoon will be much pleased with your gesture of friendship.”
Rimpertuz nodded, not smiling.
“You seem distant, Rimpertuz. I trust you are well?”
“Is there anything else I can do for you today, sir?”
Treneth sipped at his tea.
“There is,” he said. “It says in today’s paper that there is a livestock auction happening at Dappenhibby’s farm. I would like you to see if there are any solid-looking ostriches there for purchase.”
“Mr. Dappenhibby doesn’t usually raise ostriches, sir.”
“Yes, I know,” Treneth said, “but I have requested he do so for the last few years, so having a presence there may assist him in future decisions.”
“It’s a half-day’s travel, sir.”
“Mmm-hmmm,” Treneth agreed, sipping more tea. “I would begin my trip soon then, if I were you.”
THE SHIPMENT ARRIVES
Peapod Pecklesworthy awoke to a nice beam of sunshine that peeked through his bedroom curtains.
He loved Sunday mornings.
The townspeople in Kek made it a general rule to celebrate the week’s end so heavily on Saturday night that they had a viable excuse to miss Sunday morning services. One would imagine this would have been highly offensive to the local clergyman, but he had often purchased the first round.
Pecklesworthy rarely partook in the festivities as he preferred to keep a clear head and awake early since it was the only time of the week that he could walk the streets in peace. For some reason, the people of Kek saw a wizard as a doctor, lawyer, and any number of things that they found themselves incapable of comprehending. This gave him only Sunday mornings to move about freely. Those few that would be milling about on Sundays were typically of right-enough mind to leave him alone anyway.
He swung his feet off the bed and went about his morning ritual.
He stretched from side-to-side, did a few deep k
nee bends, touched his toes, and worked in a couple of upper-torso twists. He swiveled his head all about to extend his neck for mobility. The wizard had learned a number of exercises when he was an apprentice. He found it cleared his mind and prepared his body for the day.
If there was one thing Pecklesworthy prided himself on, it was discipline and mental fortitude.
He despised work as much as the next wizard, to be sure, but his leisure practices were not of the lazy sort. He would read various philosophies and engage in heated debates on most any topic. Games of wit and cunning were at the top of his loves.
Pecklesworthy walked to the window to finalize his morning practice. Taking a deep, cleansing breath, he closed his eyes and flung open the curtains to let the sunlight bathe his face.
The warmth flowed in as he slowly exhaled with an “oooh” sound.
His mind sharpened and he visualized the light immersing his body in its golden potency, filling him from his feet to the top of his head.
The sensation connected him to the world.
It grounded him.
At the end of his morning routine there was little that could break through Peapod Pecklesworthy’s mental fortress.
He opened his eyes and looked out along his property.
Strewn across his front yard sat bushel upon bushel of un-shucked pea pods.
“Oh dear.”
THE WAY OF THE SALESPERSON
Civen Station was unlike the other stations.
The ceilings were about thirty feet high and the layout was square. It had no shops or restaurants, though there was a pretzel vendor on the east side and a hot dog vendor on the west side. To the south stood the maintenance bays and a plethora of boxes. The north housed a large security base that served as the nexus for all the portals. With all the guards milling about, there was never a fear of being mugged in Civen Station.
“Let’s move,” the wizard said. “We have a tight timetable.”
“Remember our first stop, wizard,” Winchester said.
Whizzfiddle bridled a bit, but grunted an acknowledgment.
He had agreed to a quick detour into Xarpney. It was not something the wizard looked forward to, but a deal was a deal. They still had a few weeks left to complete the quest, so a few hours wasn’t awful. Fortunately, he had stopped off at the bank in Dakmenhem after leaving the hotel…just in case.
He’d toyed with the idea of leaving the others in Civen Station. It would be safer since they could easily get into mischief in Xarpney. But in Xarpney he would be able to keep an eye on them. No, he decided finally. Best not to risk it.
“Gather around,” Whizzfiddle said. “Our friend Winchester must make a stop in a town called Xarpney before we can continue our mission.”
Orophin shook his head. “Delaying us again, Winchester?”
“Don’t look at me like that,” Winchester responded, crossing his arms.
“I want to set clear that Xarpney is an interesting town,” Whizzfiddle continued. “It is a town full of people that...sell things.”
After a few moments of silence, Bekner said, “What things are they after selling?”
“Everything and anything,” Whizzfiddle said. “They’re extremely good at it. It’s all they do.”
“A town full of salespeople?”
Whizzfiddle nodded distantly.
“I’ve been there,” Zel said. “I’d rather visit the vampire town than go back.”
“I’m for that,” Orophin said dreamily.
Whizzfiddle entered in their destination as everyone assembled on the platform. His finger hovered over the green button, but he stopped and turned back to them.
“There are a few rules we have to follow in Xarpney,” he said. “The first rule is that we do not make eye contact with anyone. Doing so opens the door to allow them to ask if you if you need anything. Some will ask this anyway. If they do, simply tell them you are just browsing.”
“Is there stores there?” Gungren asked.
“Everything in Xarpney is a store,” Whizzfiddle answered. “They’ll sell you the shoes right off their feet if you make a reasonable enough offer.”
He looked about to make sure that sunk in.
“The second rule is that you don’t wave at anyone. I know that this sounds odd. Many will wave at you as if in greeting, but the moment you wave back you have entered a non-verbal agreement telling them that you wish to inquire about purchasing some item. This ropes you in to a demonstration at the very least.”
“Can’t you just tell them it was a simple hello?” Orophin said.
“In any other land, yes,” Whizzfiddle said. “In Xarpney everything is about sales, and their local laws support it. So, don’t wave.”
“Is that it?” Bekner asked.
“Not quite,” Whizzfiddle answered. “The last one is the most important. Never, never, never...under any circumstances, smile at anyone.”
Blinks all around, except for Winchester who tapped his foot impatiently.
“If you smile, you have effectively agreed to a full presentation.”
The blinking continued.
“That means you will be subjected to sitting in a room with multiple salespeople, all of whom are trying to push any and all products upon you until you break down and buy something...or, worse, everything! A person could easily go broke in a town like Xarpney.”
He allowed the point to sink in.
“Any questions?”
There were none.
With a quick nod to The Twelve, Whizzfiddle pressed the portal button and the troop was swallowed up in the transit system. A moment later the world came back into view.
It was quite a sight.
Xarpney was a business district full of tall glass buildings and bustling walkways. Suits and briefcases were the norm, and almost everyone had a TalkyThingy attached at the ear. There were humans, orcs, ogres, etc. Race didn’t matter. A salesperson was a salesperson.
Whizzfiddle had never seen a dwarf, giant, or gorgan in Xarpney, but that didn’t mean they weren’t on the payroll somewhere. Frankly, he didn’t rightly care. He just wanted to get this over with.
“Point two-seven on appendix B should be amended—” one passerby said as he pushed through the crowd.
“If he won’t buy at wholesale there’s not a lot I can do—” another said.
It was a world of deals and high-paced finance. One had to be very cautious to avoid getting eaten alive.
“Hello there,” Winchester said to a lady that had just shut her TalkyThingy down.
“Good day to you,” she said. “Nice day for a purchase, wouldn’t you say?”
“I would indeed,” Winchester replied.
Whizzfiddle moaned and waved at the others to look at their feet.
“Ah, hello there, good man,” a gentlemen in a dark brown suit said. “What can I do for you today?”
“Huh?” Whizzfiddle looked at the man and saw him waving. He looked at his own hand. “Oh,” he smiled apologetically. “No, I wasn’t waving at you, my good man.”
The man smiled back.
“Damn,” Whizzfiddle said, recognizing that he had broken all three rules within moments of their arrival.
His shoulders slumped.
“Lead on,” Whizzfiddle said to the man.
The interior of the building they had entered was as slick as its exterior. Clean lines and starkly contrasted colors set the tone for what was to come. Presentations. It even smelled businessy.
“Listen to me,” Whizzfiddle whispered to his party. “Be careful what you buy. They’ll take you for everything you’ve got. You must be on your guard at all times.”
“You’re the one that looked at them,” Orophin said.
“You also waved at them,” Zel pointed out.
“Aye, and then smiled.”
“That was a misunderstanding,” Whizzfiddle said. “I was trying to stop you lot from...well...this.”
“Good work,” Gungren said.
Zel seemed like he was about to say something more, but Whizzfiddle gave him a stern enough glance that the former knight was compelled to move to the other side of Bekner.
Winchester and Yultza were on their own. Whizzfiddle wasn’t worried about the former-dragon. The salespeople would have to watch their backs around him.
But the rest had him concerned. Zel would break within minutes, if not sooner. Gungren was probably already planning his next purchase. Something related to magic, no doubt. Bekner and Orophin were the only two that had a chance of pushing through this without too much of a fuss.
“Now then,” the man that Whizzfiddle had smiled at said. “If you’ll each move into one of these rooms—”
“We’d like to stay together,” the elderly wizard stated.
“Ah, so you’re looking to broker a deal for a business then?”
“Well, no.”
“Are you incorporated in some way? Maybe investors?”
“Not exactly.”
The man tapped his foot and checked his watch.
“We’re on a quest, you see.”
“Unfortunately,” the businessman said, “we have no set process for managing questing parties. So if you’ll each choose a room, someone will be along shortly to provide you a presentation, build a deal, and then get you on your way. Remember, a good deal is only good when everyone is happy with the outcome!”
Whizzfiddle grunted. More like when you walk out broke and they walk out with a commission high enough to pay for a year’s rent.
“You have to buy something,” he whispered as they parted. “Just be wary.”
His blood pressure began to rise. There was nothing worse than suffering through a sales presentation, except, possibly, working.
Whizzfiddle was doing both.
TRENETH CONCERNED
Treneth had only once before visited Madam Slaygun. She was a seer, a practice he found akin to cheating. At first he had lobbied for her type to be classified as non-magical workers so that they wouldn’t be allowed guild access. His proposition was unanimously refused, though he was promised that they would not be allowed to look into the future. Nor could they “spy” on anyone unless paid to do so. And, finally, they would not be granted the status of wizard.
Comedic Fantasy Bundle #1: 4 Hilarious Adventures (Tales from the land of Ononokin) Page 14