Ibork almost choked.
“Now, hear me out. Our Muppy is quite capable in some respects, but her recent judgment—or lack thereof—is demonstrative that her first duty is not to the guild. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Entirely.”
“I would also go as far as to say that having Zotrinder as her second, should anything happen to her, is a concern that all wizards should share.”
“May The Twelve forbid it,” Ibork whispered while making a hand gesture that consisted of throwing both hands up, fingers spread, and then dropping the left hand and leaving two fingers up on the right hand.
Treneth leaned forward and looked from left to right. Ibork mirrored the action. It was almost too easy.
“Would it not be better if you were the council chair and Zotrinder was your second?”
“It would not, yes.”
Treneth squinted. “It wouldn’t?”
“Would,” Ibork said, patting his forehead again. “I meant that it would be better.”
“It will require vigilance, my dear Ibork.”
“Oh,” Ibork croaked.
AFTERLIFE SECURITY
In preparation for sending everyone into the Afterlife, Whizzfiddle had taken enough of his fill of the spirits to knock the wits out of a rhino. He began the incantation a few times. The slurring of words and his inability to focus made the process challenging.
The first attempt resulted in a localized rain shower that soaked them all. The second turned everyone’s clothing bright pink. Orophin seemed pleased with this until Whizzfiddle managed to reverse it.
Finally, a light wind started coming in and began swirling around the troop. As it picked up velocity, Whizzfiddle yelled for them to link arms and hold tight. Flashes of light flooded the vortex. Everyone was screaming as they were lifted from the ground. Mostly they were screaming at Zel because his piddle floated in mid air and hit each of them as they rotated into it. One more flash and a blinding orb appeared in their midst. It grew in heat and intensity until it threatened to rip them to shreds.
Then it suddenly stopped and they fell to the ground.
Whizzfiddle found himself lying on a cold marble floor a few feet away from a large glass booth. Everything in the room was white and glossy, except for the doors, which were red and dull.
“We’re dead?” Zel said.
“Not exactly,” Whizzfiddle replied as he got to his feet. His head was clear since most of the booze had been worn off due to the use of its power. “More like in limbo. Our bodies are with us here. If we were dead, we wouldn’t all be together.”
“Unless we all praised the same god,” Winchester added.
The Afterlife was almost identical to real life except that it was always sunny or rainy or snowy or...well, whatever you wanted your personal experience to be. This could present an oddness to newcomers since some people would be wearing heavy coats in what appeared to be the middle of summer, or, conversely, swim trunks in three feet of snow. It was all about perspective.
For Whizzfiddle and his troop, though, they would only experience what actual residences had set as their personal eternities.
“Passports?” an official-looking man in a blue uniform said.
“Ah, yes,” Whizzfiddle said patting his coat pockets before realizing that was pointless since he had no papers with him. “As to that, we’re not technically supposed to be here.”
“No problem,” the man said, gesturing toward a hole in the ground. “If you’ll just hop in here we’ll get you on your way.”
“Sorry,” Whizzfiddle said. “We intend to be here, but—”
“Everyone intends to be here, sir,” the man interrupted. “Sadly, only a few actually achieve what they intend. Now, if you would all—”
“Stop,” Whizzfiddle commanded, garnering a surprised look from the guard. “I am Xebdigon Whizzfiddle of the third order in the second age.” He scratched his beard. “Or maybe it’s the second order in the third age. Well, it’s definitely some order in some age, that much I well know!”
The man tapped his foot and yawned.
“I have come seeking my former master. It is imperative that I speak with him. This is a matter of grave urgency.”
“Considering you’re all dead,” replied the guard, “I would say that the graveness has passed, sir.”
Whizzfiddle stumbled at the logic. True enough, he thought.
“Yes, well, I need to see Master Blitlaray.”
“Ooh,” the guard said after a pause. “Seems he’s unavailable.”
“Master Blitlaray was your master?” Gungren said with a look of sincere admiration.
“Hmmm? Different one.”
“Blitlaray is a common name?” Orophin asked.
“Sounds like it’s after being unique to my ears.”
Whizzfiddle turned on them. “I don’t know!” He pushed forward, feeling a bit irritable. “I’m sure there was some novelty to it when I was accepted, but he turned out to be relatively stagnant minded so I made no further fuss. Probably just a cousin or grandson or something.” He spun back on the guard. “Try him again.”
“Still out,” the guard said without a moments hesitation.
“You’re not even trying,” Whizzfiddle blurted.
“Aren’t you astute? Now, if you would all just hop off this ledge—”
Bekner stepped forward and plucked the man on the back of his head, hard. A resounding snap threw the guard to the ground and he groaned.
Another guard bolted in looking perplexed. “What’s going on here?”
Whizzfiddle moved past Bekner.
“It’s all a misunderstanding. This guard was trying to contact Master Blitlaray and my friend here thought he was pulling a weapon. He’s not familiar with your ways, you see.”
The guard looked at them dubiously and knelt beside his comrade. He felt the man’s neck and then stood back up.
“He’s alive,” he said and then seemed to think better of it. “I mean, not alive really. You know, I mean he’s alive in a manner of speaking.”
“Right,” Whizzfiddle said. “Good.”
“Blitlaray, you said?”
“Indeed, that’s correct.”
The man consulted a large sheet of names, flipping it over multiple times. “I have a Gesdeegun Blitlaray and a Herbie Blitlaray. I’m assuming you want the former?”
“Herbie, if you would.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
After a few moments the man turned back and asked for Whizzfiddle’s name again. Then he moved off to the main office and got on what appeared to be a TalkyThingy, albeit a more advanced model. There was a lot of nodding and hand gesturing before the man filled out some paperwork and called them over.
“Master Blitlaray...of the Herbie persuasion, will be here shortly to collect all of you.”
“Excellent.”
“We’ll need to get all the paperwork done on you and you’ll have to go through the security screening process.”
They were led through a set of doors and made to form a line. Everyone had to remove their boots and put all metal items into little plastic containers that they then slid onto a black belt. The items disappeared into a chamber of sorts. Then, each in turn walked through a large box with a rotating arm that spun around them, beeped, and opened on the other side.
Gungren had gone first and was now standing beside a man who was looking at a screen that seemed capable of inspecting the items in the chamber. After a moment the man realized that Gungren was there and shooed him away.
A lady with an impressive badge stepped up to them.
“Do you have anything to declare?”
They all looked a bit confused, except Winchester who seemed to be enjoying their flustering. Whizzfiddle sneered as he finished putting his boots back on.
“Well, do you need to declare something?” she repeated.
“We do?”
“Do you?”
“I suppose th
at depends.”
“Look,” the guard said, “if you have something to declare, you need to do it now or you’ll be thrown out of the Afterlife.”
“Hell damn,” Zel attempted.
Whizzfiddle hoped that the pills would not be effective in the Afterlife and that Zel was just riding a high. He studied the guard and found that she was not the type to put up with mischief. Not that he had planned any. It was just good to know.
“We have nothing to declare,” he said strongly.
“Are you certain?” She replied.
He was not.
“It’s okay,” Orophin said, stepping forward and pulling Whizzfiddle back slightly. “You don’t have to protect me.”
The elf took a deep breath and faced the guard.
“I’m gay.”
CRUMBLING WALLS
Treneth and Ibork arrived at the Monday guild meeting early. The plan was simple, for Treneth. Ibork, however, was about to put everything on the line.
“You will have to be strong, Ibork. Don’t let Muppy or Zotrinder intimidate you. Talk powerfully, as is your power.”
“Right,” Ibork mumbled, looking more afraid than a mouse surrounded by cats.
The two worked for the better part of an hour getting all available wizards via their TalkyThingies. A lot of the wizards had difficulty with the communication device. They could be heard shouting and hitting it with a stick instead of speaking into it, and a couple had seemingly crushed the device outright. Some of the more intellectual understood what was going on and, while assuredly reluctant, agreed to sit in for the day’s proceedings.
As a matter of course, all wizards were supposed to attend the council meetings in some fashion at least once a week. Few obliged.
Zotrinder and the Croomplatt twins arrived moments before the bell. They said their hellos and “ha’s” but seemed a bit weary about the unfolding scene.
“What is going on here?” Zotrinder asked.
Ibork looked over at Treneth. Treneth nodded his head in a “go on” gesture.
“I, uh,” Ibork said and then coughed and pulled himself up. “I don’t answer to you, Zotrinder.”
Zotrinder harrumphed and shook his head. Then he sat down next to Treneth, leaning as far away as possible, and focused his attention on his nails.
Muppy stepped into the room as everything went quiet.
“I trust I’m not late,” she said just as the bell rang. “Ah, indeed, I’m right on time.”
She skipped up to the podium and pulled forth her gavel, tapping it lightly.
“It is a lovely day today,” she said to no one in particular. “Shall we begin?”
Roughly one hundred voices chorused, “We shall.”
Muppy froze and then spun on Treneth. She was awfully pale, he thought with a smile, and she looked intently irritable. Quite a change from the bouncy lady that had skipped up to the podium.
“You,” she said, pointing hotly at Treneth. “What is the meaning of this?”
Treneth feigned surprise. “I’m sorry, madam?”
“Why are there all these wizards...attending today?”
“I believe you should ask Ibork that question,” Treneth said with his hands up.
“Ibork?”
“I have an announcement to make,” Ibork said as confidently as he could.
“Don’t act like you don’t know what’s going on,” Muppy hissed as she turned back to Treneth. “We had a deal.”
“I’m sorry, madam,” Treneth said with his eyebrows raised. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He crossed his legs and rested his gloved hands on a knee. Muppy’s eyes were darting around the room. Treneth loved the drama of the moment.
Muppy turned back to Ibork who was now sweating profusely. He had one eye on the door...and the other one was too.
“Councilman Ibork,” Treneth said, “is there something to say or not?”
“I run this council, Treneth of Dahl.”
Treneth bowed his head. “Of course, madam. My apologies.”
“Ibork? What have you got to say?”
Ibork started to get up. He looked a bit wobbly. He waved his hands and sat back down.
“It can wait.”
Zotrinder laughed.
“You brought all these wizards into the meeting, many of whom are likely still recovering from a night’s sleep, and you are going to make them wait?”
“Ha,” the Croomplatt’s added, though a little out of sync.
“I do insist, Councilman Ibork,” Muppy said, stepping away from the podium. “I relinquish the podium to you for two minutes.”
As she sat down, Ibork dragged himself to the podium.
“I, uh,” Ibork started, speaking much quieter than was normal. “I put in a bid for the chair.”
“What?” A hundred voices said and then began chattering.
“I put in a bid for the chair,” he said a little louder.
The chattering stopped. Ibork’s hands were gripping the podium so tightly that Treneth could see them shaking. Sweat poured off the fat little man. The halfling was only a few months away from a heart attack as it was. The added stress would only serve to expedite matters.
“I’m sorry,” Treneth said, almost gleefully. “Did you say that you were putting in a bid for the guild chair?”
“That’s what he said, Treneth,” Muppy responded, “and don’t think for a moment that your innocent act is fooling anyone. You’re a weasel and everyone here, including the people on the conference, know it.”
“I beg your pardon, madam,” Treneth said, rising. “I will not tolerate being spoken to in such a manner.”
“What is it you will do, Treneth?” She pushed Ibork off the podium and directed him back to his chair. “Are you going to send a shipment of gavels to my house maybe?”
This time Treneth blanched. Rimpertuz! How could he betray his master’s trust like this? And for a woman, no less! Treneth had to think quickly. While Rimpertuz was dumb enough to fall for his manipulations, he was certain that the combined front of Muppy and the rest of the council could indict him quite nicely. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his days in jail.
No, he thought, Muppy wouldn’t risk it. If she brought charges upon Treneth, her little Rimpertuz would end up convicted as well. The man was Treneth’s apprentice, after all. Treneth could easily state that Rimpertuz was completely informed of the entire situation. Who could combat that? Masters often share with their apprentices so that they can grow and learn. Why else would they be apprenticed?
“Treneth,” Muppy whispered, covering the speaker on the TalkyThingy, “I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right. So just sit down, keep your mouth shut, and everyone walks away none the wiser.”
Treneth sat, finding an entirely new respect for the councilwoman. He was also pleased that she didn’t turn evidence on him. It meant that she was now an accomplice as well. She was protecting her beau.
“My fellow wizards,” Muppy spoke toward the speaker, “are any of you in favor of allowing Councilman Ibork to take over my chair on the guild?”
There was a resounding, “No.”
“Excellent,” she said. “Now, to be fair, I’m assuming that Councilman Ibork has just cause for chancing such a usurpation. Would you care to share your reasons, Councilman?”
“No, madam,” Ibork said meekly.
“I thought you would not,” Muppy said. “Ladies and gentleman, I will extend an apology on behalf of Councilman Ibork. Please return to your slumber or toil and I will have minutes of this meeting delivered to you as is our course.”
There were countless “clicks,” many proceeded with “ridiculous” and “Ibork.” Some combined the terms in one fashion or another. Finally the speaker’s light went dim.
“Well done, Treneth,” Muppy said, still smiling. “I believe you have successfully damaged Councilman Ibork’s reputation in this little power play.”
“I have no idea what you�
�re talking about,” Treneth replied.
“I’m sure you haven’t,” she said.
He said nothing as Muppy flipped open the guild book and started rattling off the day’s topics. She seemed quite pleased with herself.
Treneth had underestimated her. Even worse, he had underestimated his apprentice. Former apprentice, that is.
As it played right now, Treneth still held the cards. Unless Rimpertuz wanted to go to jail, he would remain silent. Muppy would keep her mouth shut too since she was also now part of this tangled web.
Regardless, both Muppy and Rimpertuz were now as good as dead. Treneth was not one to leave loose ends. Some accident would befall them before the month was out. Of that, Treneth was certain.
“...which concludes the payments for this season on the guild’s building rental,” Muppy was saying. “That brings us to our next topic.”
She tapped her gavel heavily and the door opened. Rimpertuz walked in and stood in the center of the floor.
“What is going on here?” Treneth said, pulling his gloves tightly.
“As to that,” Muppy said, running her finger along the page, “it seems that Rimpertuz Niptiwezzle is requesting to be released from his apprenticeship from one Treneth of Dahl.”
“What!”
A FORMER MASTER
The next morning, Whizzfiddle awoke and cast his normal hangover spell to clear his mind. He was a bit shocked that it was required in the Afterlife.
He had quite enjoyed spending time with Herbie. It had been a few lifetimes since he’d seen his former master and the man hadn’t changed one iota. Herbie was still better at partying than he’d ever been with magic.
Reflecting on the previous day, Whizzfiddle was surprised that things had gone so smoothly. He’d expected some opposition from the various trainers, but it seemed they were hungry for a challenge. The Afterlife was a wonderful place for the likes of the lazy, a.k.a. wizards, but those poor souls driven to achieve found it dull at best.
There was a Lady Cliffen, who was a knight of renown in the previous age. She was the first knight recorded to have successfully slain a dragon. The Lady was tasked with aiding Zel.
Comedic Fantasy Bundle #1: 4 Hilarious Adventures (Tales from the land of Ononokin) Page 17