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

by John P. Logsdon

  He’d once seen a documentary of the Upperworld where the people thought that vampires burned up in the sun; that it was deadly to them. In a sense, this was accurate, but only in that vampire skin didn’t offer any real protection against the sun’s damaging rays. A couple of months of constant exposure could cause all sorts of problems, even severe illness.

  But as he walked up the steps to his little end-unit row house, he thanked The Twelve that it was daytime since Mrs. Luden was nowhere to be seen. He paused to consider the idea of doing more daily events that required him to leave his home.

  “Burt?”

  Burt came out of the bathroom with Paulie’s robe still on. It was too short for the large man, but it covered the more important bits. Thankfully.

  “I wasn’t sure of your size,” Paulie said. “Or style, for that matter. But I did my best.”

  “I’m sure it will be fine,” Burt said with a sad smile. “I don’t recall what my taste in garb is anyway.”

  “Right, well, here you go.”

  Burt took the bag and headed back into the bathroom.

  Paulie took a few moments to check his email.

  The majority of it was spam. If he had a dollar for every “grow your hair back” product that didn’t work, he’d have at least some of the money back he’d spent on all those “grow your hair back” products that didn’t work.

  He sighed.

  There were two work-related emails, but he was in the middle of his annual “month off” and he was not about to respond to work. The government of Viq had legislation in place that required each employer to provide a full month of vacation to every employee. This had been going on since before Paulie was born. That, plus the 30 official holidays in Viq, gave Paulie roughly 60 days away from work each year. Two of the holidays fell within his month-off, but that didn’t bother him any since they were both worship holidays and Paulie wasn’t much into religiosity.

  “How’s it going in there?” Paulie called out.

  “Just trying to remember how to put these things on my feet. There are laces.”

  Paulie shook his head and smiled. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

  He pulled up Gnoogle, the only search engine Paulie ever used. He had tried many of the other engines, like Yippie! and Boing, but Gnoogle won out every time.

  There were a ton of entries on Gnomepedia about werewolves, but Paulie wanted to find something a bit more scholarly.

  Finally, he landed on a research paper done by Dr. V. Ternarian in Dogda.

  Paulie stopped and laughed.

  He’d never thought about it, but Dogda was a more fitting name of a country for werewolves to live than Yezan. Dogda, though, was the land of dark halflings, who were the makers of chocolates. Canines and chocolates don’t mix well.

  It was kind of strange that there was research done on werewolves by a halfling, though. Paulie just shrugged and assumed that not everyone living in Dogda would find confections as an interesting career path.

  There is little in the history books as to where the werewolf actually originated. Many stories abound, but to date there are few factual references. The most commonly accepted explanation is that the werewolves came about circa the war of Pladozka, when unwashed men spent their evenings with unkempt women. Over time, a sexually transmitted disease (STD), now called “Werewolfia,” or “Werewolfism,” began taking hold. It started with a mild case of eczema and some hair growth, but after a while a burning sensation occurred during urination that caused the infected to howl.

  Paulie continued scanning the document. He found bits and bobs about how the disease could only be transmitted during the full-moon event, the only night of the month that werewolves stayed in their non-wolf form. It was also the only time that the females were fertile.

  For the first few months, a newly infected werewolf will have no memory of who he or she is. If they do not get to a certified handler [which was the Yezanian name for “priest”] in Yezan for treatment, the memory loss will permanently manifest.

  At least Paulie could provide some direction to Burt about where he would need to go for help. He would also have to give some money to the man so he could get there. Paulie sighed at the thought of that. He wasn’t one of those who found enjoyment in parting with his money.

  An idiosyncratic point of note is that the initial burp after sunset precipitates the werewolf morphing into wolf form. Conversely, flatus at sunrise reverses the werewolfatic-polarity. Also of note is that some werewolves have serious bladder and bowel issues for their first few weeks, often defecating every few hours. It is not known why this occurs, but preventive measures, such as a gas mask, are suggested for future research studies in Yezan.

  Burt exited the bathroom. The shirt seemed a bit snug, but the jeans looked to fit fine. They were possibly at tad short. Paulie noted that the shoelaces were tied in knots around Burt’s ankles. He decided not to say anything.

  “Comfortable now?”

  “I guess so,” Burt answered with a shrug and then he straightened up. “Don’t get me wrong, Paulie. I do appreciate your willingness to help me and I’m very sorry to have intruded on your life.”

  Paulie felt pity for Burt.

  “Things happen,” Paulie said. “Listen, I have been doing some further research on your situation and it seems you need to get to Yezan.”

  “Yezan,” Burt said while pinching his lower lip.

  “Are you familiar with it?”

  “I don’t believe so, no.”

  “Ah,” Paulie said. “Well, it seems that all of your answers can be found there, but you need to get there soon.”

  “Why?”

  Paulie explained everything he’d read about werewolves and showed a few of the photographs from Gnoogle’s image gallery.

  “So you’re saying I had sex with one of those?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Paulie answered. “There’s no other way around it.”

  “But a dog? What kind of person was I?”

  “She wouldn’t have been a dog during your tryst, Burt. If anything, assuming she wasn’t an orc or an ogre, she was probably a very attractive woman.”

  “Oh,” Burt sat down. “Still, that should be illegal.”

  “Actually, it is,” Paulie said. “But only if the werewolf doesn’t first tell you she, or he, is a wolf.”

  “I doubt that I would have had relations with her had I known she was a werewolf!”

  Paulie held his response.

  “But,” Burt continued, “maybe I would have. I don’t know who I was, after all. Apparently, I was some sort of degenerate.”

  “Now, you don’t know that.”

  “I had sex with a dog, Paulie.”

  “You won’t know the full story until you get your memory back, Burt. You need to get to Yezan. And just so you know, they hate to be called dogs.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Burt said while putting his head in his hands. “How am I supposed to get to Yezan, Paulie? I don’t even know my name.”

  “Burt Biscuits.”

  “My real name.”

  “For now, that is your real name.”

  Paulie patted Burt on the shoulder and walked over to his wall-safe. He opened it up and pulled out a little of his savings. He still had a few months’ worth stashed in the bank, but he always liked keeping some extra on hand, just in case.

  “Here is enough to get you to Yezan while keeping you fed. You should endeavor to hurry as you’ll turn back into a werepup after sunset.”

  “Werepup?”

  “That’s the term used for a newly infected werewolf. You’ll be considered a pup until you reach maturity.”

  Burt looked himself over.

  “How old do you think I am?”

  “I don’t mean maturity in non-wolf form,” Paulie said and then got off the chair and motioned Burt to sit down. “You should read this article, Burt.”

  When Burt had finished reading, he leaned back in the chair and ran his
fingers through his golden locks.

  “I don’t suppose you know how I can get to Yezan, do you Paulie?”

  Paulie pulled up another chair and drew out the route of portal systems to get to Yezan. He gave Burt details on how to work the dials and even printed out a cheat sheet.

  Burt pointed at the map. “Wouldn’t it be faster if I went through Civen Station to Dakmenhem and then over to Aopow Station and down to Yezan?”

  “I thought of that,” Paulie said, “but you don’t remember who you are or the details behind your situation. What if you were infected in Dakmenhem?”

  “But I don’t even know if I’ve ever been there.”

  “It’s a pretty popular town for people who are looking to be involved in all sorts of mayhem, so it’s one of the more likely places for you to have contracted Werewolfism. As the commercial says, ‘What happens in Dakmenhem stays in Dakmenhem.’”

  “Oh,” Burt said, biting his lip. “Well, then what about taking Civen to Xarpney—”

  “I’ll just stop you there, Burt,” Paulie said. “Xarpney is the land of salespeople. Do you know what a timeshare is?”

  “No.”

  “Nor do you want to, if you catch my meaning.”

  Burt crossed his arms.

  “Look,” Paulie said, pointing back at the map, “it should only take you a half day to get to Yezan, if you use the portals.”

  “How will I get from Fez to Gadzooks?”

  “It’s pronounced ‘Gakoonk,’” Paulie corrected him. “There is a bike service in Fez that will take you there.”

  Burt looked like a lost puppy, which was somewhat fitting.

  “It’s all very easy, Burt. You just have to relax and follow the route.”

  “Okay, okay,” Burt said. “I’m sorry, Paulie. This is just…overwhelming.”

  “I understand,” Paulie said, and he did. Not because he’d ever had relations with a werewolf, but because he was once just a plain old human. He had lived in a small town on the outskirts of the Klaken mountains. It was such a rural place that it wasn’t even on the map. One day, which happened to be on Paulie’s 47th birthday, a salesman came through and touted up how wonderful it was to be a vampire. Everyone knew that once each century the vampires had a drive to get more people into their flock so that they wouldn’t die out as a race. It wasn’t like they could have children, contrary to popular fiction. Paulie found the idea of becoming a vampire thrilling. He thought that maybe if he were one, he would become stronger of mind and be more adventurous. All he really got was thrown into a mix with a Coven, which meant he got brothers and sisters that all fell under the tooth at the same time, and he got another 1,400 years of an already dull life.

  “I don’t know how to thank you, Paulie.”

  By leaving, Paulie thought sadly. But it was true. The last thing Paulie needed was for the local authorities to find out that he was harboring a werewolf. He had no desire to spend the next few years behind bars.

  “Right,” Paulie said, walking Burt to the door. “Best of luck to you, Mr. Biscuits.”

  Burt stepped out into the sunlight as Paulie shielded his eyes.

  “Thank you again, Paulie. You were more helpful than you should have been.”

  Paulie smiled and closed his door.

  With that done, he would finally be able to get a little sleep.

  INFORMATION GATHERING

  Stelan had arrived in Dakmenhem a few hours before dark. Dakmenhem was on the east coast of Ononokin, so night arrived sooner than Stelan was used to, so he still had plenty of energy.

  He had spent his time seeking out the pub that Terrissa had mentioned. “Drinks and Dress-Ups” was its name. He’d expected that it would be easy enough to find, and, in a way, it was. It turned out that it was actually a chain of pubs. There was one every mile or so on the strip.

  So far he’d had no luck with any of the ones he’d already tried, but with so many of them to search along the massive boardwalk, he expected it would take some time.

  Since Hughbarian was supposedly a prince, Stelan kept to the higher end of the city, where all the well-to-do could be found. Even if the man wasn’t truly a prince, Stelan knew well that Terrissa wouldn’t be caught dead in one of the lower-end districts, and since she had been with the man that Stelan was hunting, the upper-side was the place to look.

  Stelan arrived at the next Drinks and Dress-Ups in line. He took a deep breath, cracked his neck, and walked in and ordered a drink.

  “You wouldn’t know where I could find some action this fine evening, would you my good troll?” Stelan said to the bartender, a troll who was wearing an outfit that was plush and fluffy.

  The troll sat the drink on the bar, pushed up the lip of his purple velvet hat and squinted at Stelan. The assassin had to fight to hold in his laughter. He had never seen a troll wearing eye makeup before, especially not a male one. It only served to enhance the creature’s enormous nose and sunken brow. The foundation did cover up the majority of the pimples though.

  “What kind of action?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Stelan swirled his drink. “Something requiring costumes, maybe?”

  The troll shook his head and said, “You’re one of those, eh?”

  Stelan cleared his throat and looked at his fellow patrons. He was not one of those, technically speaking. Well, he did sleep with werewolves when they were in non-wolf form, of course, but they were not wearing wolf outfits.

  “I suppose I am,” he answered through gritted teeth.

  “Good,” the troll smiled. “You can’t imagine how many fakes we get in here just trying to make fun of us. We weed them out where we can.”

  “Oh,” Stelan said, feeling a bit of relief as everyone smiled at him in a knowing way.

  Then he felt dread again as the troll pointed toward the back room.

  “Wait. I was wondering if you could first answer a couple of questions for me.”

  “What kind of questions?” the troll asked, crossing his arms.

  “It’s just that a friend of mine was supposed to meet me here this week, but I got…well, tied up, you know.”

  Everyone giggled.

  “What’s your friend’s name?”

  “Now you know better than that, my good troll,” Stelan said as he twisted his mustache. “Let’s just say that he goes by the name ‘Hughbarian’ and he claims to be a prince.”

  “The guy from Argan?” said a thin woman with red hair.

  “You know of him?”

  “How could I not,” she answered. “He was gorgeous. Long hair, tall, muscular.”

  “Muscular, yes.”

  “He was so powerful. His choice of the wolf outfit was ideal.”

  Stelan nearly choked on his drink.

  “Wonderful,” Stelan said with a smile. “I’m glad he’s still in town. I’m assuming I can catch up with him in the, um, back room?”

  “He left a couple of nights ago,” the lady said. “Last I saw him he was with one of those tall and voluptuous types. They’ve been the rage ever since fizzies came about.”

  “Hmmm. I don’t suppose you know where he went?”

  “Haven’t seen him since the other night,” she said.

  The troll just shrugged.

  “That’s too bad,” Stelan said. “I thought certain we would get along quite well.”

  “I thought you said you were friends.”

  “Well, yes, but I mean getting along in, you know, that other way.”

  “Ahhh,” the troll grinned. “I got it.”

  Stelan sat savoring his drink for a few minutes as other conversations took over the room. His next stop would be Viq. If that didn’t pan out then he would try Argan. That would be a long shot, but if nothing else it could lead him to the real place that the prince was from. His guess was Kesper’s, being that it was a bit more on the liberal side in the Upperworld.

  The troll had turned off the local news feed and flipped over to the entertainment channel where
the latest installment of Princes Gone Missing was showing, which was the spin-off of the wildly successful Princesses Gone Missing that had debuted a few seasons earlier. The announcer said it was a double-header night.

  Stelan grunted.

  Apparently, there were a lot of missing princes and princesses in the Upperworld.

  He wasn’t much for reality TV., but seeing that he was hungry, he decided to take a table and have some dinner while watching the show. It was unlikely that he’d see the man he was hunting for on the screen, but…

  “And then there is Prince Hughbarian Tessan from the Kingdom of Argan. His rugged and flawless jawline—a seemingly princely requirement—and his sharp mind make him an interesting prince to go missing indeed. Rumor had it that he was promised to be wed to the current ‘queen’ of the elves in Natix. Of course, the term ‘queen,’ when used in relation to an elf, is not always what one would imagine. Instead of a married ruler of the land, as the actual definition intends, with elves it often describes a guy that enjoys dressing the part of a lady. Sources say that the prince escaped Argan in an effort to avoid marrying the elf. He was last seen in Dakmenhem at a pub where the patrons are known to dress up as animals and engage in all sorts of tawdry happenings, as if that’s better than marrying a ‘queen.’”

  “I’ll be damned,” Stelan said to the waiter.

  “May I take your order, sir?”

  “Hmmm? Oh, sorry. I’ll have the Pasta Bappers, to go. No onions.”

  The waiter shuffled off and Stelan peeked at the photo Terrissa had given him. It was definitely the same man.

  Stelan suddenly smiled as he thought of a way he could make double the money on this job. If he brought the man back to Argan, the king would reward him richly. Then he would wait a week or two, cut the prince down, and return with a patch of his skin for the werewolves to sniff as proof.

  He determined that he’d better get off to Viq as quickly as possible. If Hughbarian was there, and he had been infected with Werewolfism, the vampires would be out for his blood.