“Burt?” the man replied as he fastened the robe and stepped out of the tub.
“Is that okay?”
“I don’t know,” the guy shrugged. “Is that a good name?”
“Does it matter?”
“It might. I don’t know. How about we go with something like Spot or Tango?”
Paulie scrunched his face for a moment.
“I think you’re still a bit in wolf-mode. You can call yourself whatever you want once you leave. For now, let’s just stick with Burt.”
“Burt,” said Burt with a grunt. Then he shook his head and added, “Burt Biscuits.”
“Right.”
ACCEPTING A MISSION
The palace at Yezan was unlike other royal houses. It did not have turrets of stone that reached far into the sky, nor did it have a large moat with an expansion bridge that was raised and lowered via a chain-based system. As point in fact, it wasn’t even made of stone at all. It was a castle for the domestic (though not necessarily domesticated) inhabitants of Yezan.
Namely, werewolves.
The original castle had been of standard build, but since werewolves had a tendency of becoming violent without reason, many a leader in the early days was killed while attempting to show his alpha capabilities. Busting through the wall was one of the ways that males showed their dominance. In a castle made of stone, this didn’t work out very well. There was nothing more sad than seeing one’s leader smeared on the stonework of his own castle all because he got into a rage about another, inferior male, piddling on the carpet.
So they had torn down the original estate and replaced it with one that had standard drywall and siding. It provided enough protection against the elements while allowing the alpha to show his sturdiness. A group of carpenters was kept on site at all times. It was a full-time job, after all.
Stelan pulled on his sleeves, smoothed out his mustache, and cracked his neck. It was a little ritual he used to calm himself. Werewolves could smell fear, even when they were in non-wolf form.
“It’s about time,” said King Louis Barkin’ Larkin, the longest reigning king in the history of Yezan.
The story of how Larkin had destroyed the previous king, who had been a gargantuan orc werewolf, was a thing of legend.
As Stelan recalled the tale, it was said that Larkin had challenged the orc king, Garfnef, while they were in non-wolf form. This had never been done before and Garfnef had argued that it was not allowed. But Larkin had brought an attorney along to confirm that there was no law against it in the books.
The story went on to say that Garfnef had finally agreed to the challenge, and went about selecting how the two would do battle. Larkin, though, had explained that it was the challenger who selected the type of battle. Garfnef again began to argue, but Larkin assured him that rule was also in the books. In actuality, it was not, but Larkin’s cunning had stifled the orc. The two went out to the Field of Challenging and Garfnef demanded to know how they would do battle. Larkin responded by saying, “We will see who can successfully complete a simple mathematical calculation.” Garfnef’s shoulders slumped and he could be heard howling, “Awwwwweee…dat’s not fair!” While most orcs are rather adept at mathematics, Garfnef’s number skills were weak. A few additions and subtractions later, Larkin was named the new king of Yezan. His first order of business was to set into law that nobody could challenge his position while in non-wolf form.
Today, King Larkin was older, grayer, and had put on a few pounds.
“I do apologize for my lateness in arriving, my king.”
“As I’ve told you many times before, Stelan, I am not your king. You’re not one of us, as much as you may want to think it.”
“No, sire.”
The king grunted and turned toward one of the guards.
“Where is my daughter?”
“I shall fetch her right away,” the guard replied.
Stelan found the use of fetch humorous.
“Do you want a drink or food?” asked the king.
“No, thank you, sire,” Stelan answered with a slight bow. “I have just come from a, ah, restaurant.”
“Suit yourself. I daresay, though, that you may consider trying one of these new Mounting Doo fizzy pops they have been pushing around for the last few months.”
While Stelan avoided most sugary snacks, he had tried one of the fizzies when they had first come out. The dark halflings had a way with sugary treats. It was their primary export, after all. Fizzies were the latest in their seeming endeavor to fatten up the world. Ever since fizzies (or fizzers, fizzy pops, and numerous other nicknames that the drinks had) were released, there had been an obesity epidemic. Stelan had laughed aloud when the marketing firms from Xarpney posted studies that demonstrated the fizzies’ ingredients had little to do with the ever-”growing” populace.
Pupsi used to be the fizzy pop of choice in Yezan. A few months ago, though, they introduced Mounting Doo and the werewolves took to it instantly.
“I have tried one, sire,” Stelan said with a bow. “They are quite enjoyable.”
“That they are,” the king said. “I do wonder if they aren’t somewhat responsible for my, well, recent weight gain.”
Stelan coughed.
“It’s noticeable, is it?”
“Just barely, sire.”
The king swung his robe over his belly and pushed the fizzy pop away.
“Don’t think that a few extra pounds would stop me from ripping you in two, Stelan.”
“I was only answering your question with honesty, sire,” Stelan said as diplomatically as he could. “I shall always endeavor to be honest with you, as I would assume you would wish.”
“Well, yes, I do expect that,” the king snarled.
It was a constant struggle dealing with the mood swings of a werewolf, especially those of King Larkin.
“If I may, though, sire?”
The king scratched his ear and motioned Stelan to go on.
“There are diet versions of that fizzy pop on the market that are just as tasty as the real thing.”
“Is this true?”
“Yes, sire.”
Stelan had read numerous reports on the subject since he had copious free time between his missions. It seemed that a few months after society started questioning the correlation between fizzies hitting the market and weight increases, the dark halflings had invented a new brand of sweetener that they used to compete with themselves. To be safe, and to ensure the best profitability, marketing executives launched an all-out war of competition between the diet and non-diet versions of each product. Essentially, the company fought itself to outdo itself. It was a win-win situation…for the company. Independent studies showed a number of negatives to both products, but those studies were always recanted or mysteriously removed from the limelight.
“Do these ‘diet’ versions still have the same sweetness, I wonder?”
“It is very similar, sire, and it offers far fewer calories. Zero, I believe.”
“I shall have to inform the kitchens.”
The side-door opened and Larkin’s daughter, Princess Terrissa, entered. She was one of the most attractive women in all of Yezan, while in non-wolf form. In wolf form she was particularly hideous. Still, Stelan could not help being in awe of her porcelain beauty. Her jet-black hair alone gave his blood pressure reason to elevate.
But she was off-limits to the likes of Stelan. For one, she was the king’s daughter. Anyone in his right mind would be wise to stay out of her bed for that reason alone. The bigger reason, though, was that she regarded males as less-than-equals, and she made it no secret that she preferred the company of other females anyway.
“Well, if it isn’t Stelan Bumache,” Terrissa said with a sneer. “I should have smelled you as I walked the halls.”
“Too much urine on the carpet,” the king said.
“Right,” Terrissa concurred, keeping her eyes on Stelan.
“I mean that’s why you couldn
’t smell him.”
“I understood you, Father. Why have you summoned me?”
“You know why, bitch.”
“Dude,” Stelan said, cringing at the use of the word.
“Dude?” said the king with raised eyebrows.
“Sorry,” Stelan hurriedly replied. “It’s not my place.”
“No,” Terrissa said, “it is not your place. That said, Father, I would agree with Mr. Bumache’s sentiment here, and I do not like you using that term toward me. Pregnant or not, you know damn well that it means something far different when I am in non-wolf form.”
Pregnant? thought Bumache.
“But I can’t speak when I’m in wolf form,” the king sulked.
“Now, Father,” Terrissa said with a smile, “it’s all well and fine—”
“This is the problem with women’s liberation, Stelan. We men are being emasculated at every turn. Don’t you agree?”
Stelan bridled.
“I so do my best to avoid involvement in politics, sire. I, uh, find it impedes my ability as an assassin.”
“I can’t see how,” Terrissa said. “But I do commend your wisdom in keeping your mouth shut.”
The king had just finished his third can of Mounting Doo when he released a rather loud burp. Stelan’s pulse raced as he thought for certain that Larkin was going to turn into a werewolf at that moment. Then he sighed in relief recalling that it was still early in the day and the sun was in no danger of setting just yet.
“I want you to tell Stelan about your suitor,” the king said.
“Why?”
“You know damn well why, bitch…sorry, Terrissa. I will not have an outsider as heir to my throne, especially not one from the Upperworld!”
Terrissa did so seem to enjoy getting a rise out of her father.
“So you’ll have him killed?” Terrissa asked.
“Do you have a better suggestion?”
“Not really.”
“Well then?”
Terrissa closed her eyes for a moment, obviously finding the entire ordeal abysmal.
“I met a man in Dakmenhem a couple of days ago,” she said. “It was during the full-moon event.”
That explained the pregnancy, thought Stelan.
Mostly anyway.
“But I thought you weren’t interested in males.”
“I’m not,” Terrissa said, “but it is time for me to have my first litter. I have reached the age.”
Stelan nodded.
“Anyway,” she continued, “I was at a party where everyone was dressed in various animal outfits.”
“Wait…what? Why?” Stelan squinted.
“Because some people are into that kind of thing.”
“They are?” he squinted further.
Terrissa put her hands on her hips and gave Stelan that “Do you honestly want to go there?” look.
“Sorry,” Stelan said with a bow. “Go on.”
“He was dressed as a great wolf, as was I.”
“But you are a great wolf,” the king said. “The one night of the month you don’t turn into a wolf and you dressed up as one anyway?”
“Father, please?”
The king rolled his eyes and cracked open another Mounting Doo.
“As I was saying,” Terrissa continued, “we were both dressed as wolves and, well, one thing led to another, and now I’m pregnant.”
Stelan started to say a number of different things, but he kept stopping himself. Each image that came to mind was more disturbing than the next. What halted him from stating any of them was the most worrisome image of Terrissa attacking him.
“I see,” was all he could muster.
“I hope you do,” the king said after a moment, “because I sure as hell don’t.”
“Father,” Terrissa said warningly.
She was the only one that could get away with speaking to him like that. Stelan wondered if he was genuinely afraid of her or if he was just being a good parent.
“Why do you want him dead?”
“That should be obvious,” the king answered.
“I’m sorry, sire, but it seems to me that if they were both wearing outfits then neither of them should know who the other one is…correct?”
“Nope,” burped the king.
“No,” Terrissa agreed. “We didn’t put our costumes on until the party started.”
“Forgive me, madam, but I don’t understand.”
“Much like you, Mr. Bumache,” she said with a trace of sarcasm, “it’s quite simple. As I’ve already said, I need to have a litter at this age in my life. I have no desire to take on a husband for obvious reasons, so I ‘took one for the team,’ as it were.”
“He knows who you are, then?” Stelan asked.
“I doubt that. I gave him a false name, but it’s not like my picture doesn’t turn up in the papers from time-to-time.”
Stelan nodded. “What do you know of him?”
“Only that he’s a prince from the Upperworld.”
“Exactly,” said the king. “A prince. I will not have some disgusting Upperworlder trying to share the power of my kingdom!”
Terrissa sniffed the air.
Stelan tugged at his collar and reconsidered having a drink.
“Did this prince give his name?” asked Stelan.
“Of course, but I’m sure it’s a false name.”
“Right,” Stelan conceded. “Still, anything would be of help.”
“He said he was Hughbarian something-or-other from someplace named ‘Argan.’ That’s all I know.”
“Ah, yes, Argan,” mused Stelan. “Doubtful that is his true home. Argan is a haven of trash heaps. Nobody who actually lived there would admit to it. I also have to wonder about this man being an heir to any throne as I find it difficult to believe a prince from the Upperworld would be go about wearing a wolf outfit. No offense intended.”
The king sat forward and his robe fell open, again exposing his overlarge belly. “So you don’t think it’s a prince then?”
“I have no way to know without actually interrogating the man, but it’s counter to their culture.”
“Interrogation is a waste of time,” the king stated. “I’d rather you just killed him.”
“Yes,” Stelan said, “about that…If he is a prince or was trying to pass himself off as a prince, I’m assuming that he was, well, on the larger side, no?”
“If you mean his…”
“No, no,” Stelan stopped her. “I mean to ask if he was tall and muscular…that kind of thing?”
“That’s what I was going to say before you interrupted me,” Terrissa answered. “I would say he was about the same height as Father, but with a smaller frame.”
He didn’t like the sound of that. Stelan was the kind of assassin who preferred his quarry to be small and weak, or at least unconscious from a drunken stupor. Stelan was more of a lover than a fighter, after all. This job would require a range weapon of some sort.
“Do I smell fear, Bumache?” the king asked ominously.
“Hmmm? Oh, no, sire. I had a bit of stew earlier and it is not agreeing with me is all.”
“Ah, yes, my apologies,” the king smiled. “Fear does often smell like that, you know.”
Stelan bowed slightly.
“Is there anything further you can tell me so I can find this prince?”
Terrissa sighed. “Only that he has long, blond hair, blue eyes, and has a 50/50 chance of being a werewolf himself now.”
“Right,” Stelan said. Since they slept together during the full-moon event, the man could have been infected with Werewolfism. It was one of the more dreaded venereal diseases known to Underworlders. It was the highest of many reasons that people did all they could to stay indoors during certain times of the werewolf calendar. “Definitely an Upperworlder,” Stelan added.
“Indeed,” agreed the king.
“The last place I saw him was in Dakmenhem,” Terrissa said. “But I left a note on his pillow
with enough money to get to Viq.”
“Why Viq?”
“Because vampires hate us as much as we hate them, of course.”
“I applaud you, madam,” Stelan said. “The problem should be solved then, no?”
“Only if he was infected.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s true.”
“Oh,” Terrissa added after a moment, “I also have a picture of him.”
“You have his picture?” gasped the king.
“We were at a booth when a gnome took some photographs,” she said as she handed it over to Stelan.
“You are both wearing wolf outfits in this. I assume you’re the one with the pinkish hair?”
“No,” she answered, pulling out another picture.
“Still in the wolf outfits, but this time you are in a doggy-fashion pose, as it were.” Stelan noted that the “wolf” with the black tuft of fur was in the back. “You’re sure you weren’t wearing the suit with the pink?”
“I’m certain,” she said, shuffling through her purse. “Ah, here you go.”
“Yes, this is better,” Stelan said looking at an actual photo of the prince.
“Everything is settled then,” the king said. “I expect you’ll be underway today?”
There was never a choice in the matter. One did not turn down the king of Yezan and then live to talk about it. Stelan would have to face down this prince and kill him, or he would have to face King Larkin. Neither prospect helped his stomach at all.
“Certainly, sire. I will start my search in Dakmenhem since we don’t know whether or not the prince has been infected.”
“Good,” the king said with a smile. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind taking your leave. That stew you had is making quite an impression on my guards.”
DRESSING A PUPPY
It was mid-afternoon by the time Paulie had returned from Orcmart.
He had missed half a day of sleep already, and he was tired. On top of that, it was one of those hot and sunny days that he so hated. That meant he needed to wear some form of UV protection. Paulie found the smell of suntan lotion too coco-nutty, and the cost of 270-level sunblock was extreme, so he dressed to cover all exposed skin. This only made it hotter since his entire ensemble was comprised of dark tones.
Comedic Fantasy Bundle #1: 4 Hilarious Adventures (Tales from the land of Ononokin) Page 22