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

by John P. Logsdon

  “Guk,” Paulie said, “do you know of a decent hotel here?”

  “Troll-run?”

  Trolls were known for their hospitality and their hygiene. A troll-run hotel would be clean and the staff would be courteous. After the trials of these last few days, Paulie decided that he could stand a little pampering, though he shuddered at the impending cost.

  “Preferably.”

  “Most of my clients go to the 9-Seasons on 7th street. Classy joint.”

  “Is it expensive?”

  “Run ya a couple hundred a night, if you get a standard room. Suite is more like a thousand bucks.”

  “A standard room will be fine.”

  “Want me to call ahead?”

  Paulie sat up, feeling instantly important. “Yes, that would be fine.”

  “Are you sure about this, Paulie?” Burt whispered while Guk was on the TalkyThingy.

  “What?”

  “A fancy hotel and all.”

  “I know,” Paulie said with a shrug, feeling beaten down. But he needed at least one night of comfort. “I’ve already spent a lot on this little adventure. May as well have one night of luxury.”

  “A bath would be nice,” said Burt.

  “Unfortunately, you’ll be a werepup by the time we get to the hotel…which reminds me. Guk, how much is the pet fee?”

  Guk held up his finger for a moment and then called back, “Guy says it’s two hundred and fifty bucks.”

  “For the room?”

  “No, for the dog.”

  “Ugh.”

  “Wait a sec,” Guk went about negotiating with the person on the other side of the TalkyThingy. “Okay, since it’s a new werewolf the guy said he’ll drop it to fifty bucks for one night.”

  “Wow,” Paulie said, resolving to give Guk a good tip. “Thanks, Guk!”

  One thing was for sure, if anyone ever asked Paulie for advice on a good bike ride between Fez and Gakoonk, Guk was going to get the referral. Sadly, nobody would ever ask Paulie that question.

  “You’re all set, guys,” Guk said. He turned to Burt and added, “If you hold off turning into a werepup, that’d help. That way they see you do it, yeah?”

  “It’s not in my control,” Burt said with a shrug.

  “Yeah,” Guk nodded. “Okay, we’re next.”

  They pulled up to the gate and a troll in a bright green uniform stepped up and began conversing with Guk. He asked about the trip and the passengers and then turned to Paulie and Burt.

  “Good evening, my fellow trolls,” the officer greeted them.

  Paulie recalled that trolls referred to everyone as trolls.

  “Good evening,” Paulie said.

  “Hello,” Burt said. “I’m a human, by the way. Well, in a manner of speaking. I mean—”

  “Do you have anything to declare?”

  “I’m sorry,” Paulie said, “I’ve never actually been to your wonderful city before. I have only my clothes and some basic toiletries that I carry in my coat.”

  “Well and good,” the officer said. “You are a vampire, my good troll?”

  “I am, yes. Is that okay?”

  The officer glanced up at him, “Of course it is. Why are you orange?”

  “Sunless tanning lotion,” Paulie said.

  “Right,” the officer resumed his writing and looked over at Burt. “And you are a human?”

  Burt looked at Paulie and then at Guk. “Uh, yeah, I guess.”

  “You guess?”

  “Well, I’m kind of a werewolf.”

  “Do you have papers?”

  “He don’t know who he is yet,” Guk said. “This guy is taking him to Yezan to help him get his memory thing, ya know?”

  “I see,” the officer said, tapping his pen on his notepad. “Interesting to find a vampire helping a werewolf.”

  Paulie just shrugged. “He was a werepup when I found him.”

  “And yet you still decided to help him out when you learned his true nature?”

  “He didn’t know who he was,” Paulie said. “I couldn’t just leave him there.”

  “That, my dear troll, is noble.”

  “Just the right thing to do, I guess,” Paulie said, feeling a bit uncomfortable.

  “What hotel are you taking them to?

  “9-Seasons.”

  “When are you leaving?”

  “In the morning,” Paulie answered.

  The officer jotted a few more things down and then stepped back to the little building. The gate went up and Guk began slowly peddling through. As they passed through, the guard dropped a card in Paulie’s lap and gave him a nod.

  Paulie picked up the card and read it.

  This card is good for one night in the Trollington Suite at the 9-Seasons Hotel. Courtesy of the Noble Trolls of Liberty.

  Paulie’s mouth dropped open and he scrambled to look back over the carriage, but the officer was already taking care of the next customer.

  “What is it, Paulie?” Burt asked.

  Paulie handed him the card.

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah.”

  At the hotel, they said their farewells to Guk, promising to tell all their friends about what great service he had provided them. Paulie shook the ogre’s hand, slipping him $100 in the process. He had planned only $50, but since he was going to get the room for free, he was still saving a good deal of money. Guk’s eyes widened and he gave Paulie a respectful nod.

  The hotel lobby was posh. Guests wore suits, sport coats, evening gowns, and every other adornment that marked them as well-to-do. Paulie felt somewhat under-dressed. He could tell that Burt felt even more drab in his outfit.

  “Two for a room please,” Paulie said with a shaky voice to the clerk.

  The clerk smiled as she looked up. After giving them a once-over, she cleared her throat.

  “You’re the two that Guk called in about?”

  “Yes.”

  “Guk is a good troll,” she said.

  Burt started to correct the clerk about Guk’s race, but Paulie took him aside.

  “They call everyone trolls, Burt. Just let it go.”

  “Why?”

  “Why do humans refer to everyone as men?”

  “Well, because we’re—”

  “Arrogant?”

  “Ah,” Burt said, nodding. “I get it.”

  “Is everything okay?” the clerk asked. “You look a bit orange. Were you using sunless tanning lotion or something?”

  Paulie rolled his eyes. “Am I the only one that didn’t know that was a bad idea?”

  The clerk smiled and then began fishing around in a bag that sat on the table behind her. She pulled out a jar of something and handed it to Paulie.

  “Put this on when you get to your room and the orange will be gone within five minutes.”

  “No kidding?”

  “No kidding,” she affirmed. “I’ll just add it onto your bill.”

  “Thank you very much, my good, um, troll,” said Paulie. The clerk smiled at that. “Oh, by the way, one of the border officers gave us this card.”

  She took the card and read it over. Her eyes lit up a bit.

  “You two must have done something special to warrant this,” she said. “The Trollington Suite is only offered as the highest honor. It also includes a free meal for you and your guest at our best restaurant, ‘Le Troll.’ You will be required to wear a dinner jacket, of course, but that can be furnished at the door. Unfortunately, we have just recently sent out the casket that was in the room. It was in need of cleaning. I hope a bed will do?”

  “Sure,” Paulie answered. “That will be fine.”

  Just then Burt released an enormous burp. It was so loud that it rose above the chatter in the lobby and silenced everyone. When Paulie opened his shamed eyes, he saw everyone looking at him and Mr. Biscuits.

  “I get it now,” said the clerk. “You’re a vampire. He’s a new werewolf. You’re helping him get to Yezan.”

  “That’s r
ight,” Paulie replied, glad that he was incapable of blushing.

  “Do you have a leash for him?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you have a limp or some ailment? I mean something other than the orange skin?”

  “Um…well, I’m missing a tooth.”

  “A vampire missing a tooth could be considered a handicap, right? I mean, if not, it should be. How else would you eat?”

  “I guess that’s one of the reasons we have two fangs instead of just the one,” he said with a one-fanged smile.

  “True,” the troll conceded, handing Paulie a yellow piece of cloth. “Put the leash on the werepup and put this scarf around his neck. It will mark him as a service animal and nobody will give you any trouble.”

  “Thank you,” said Paulie. “It’s true what they say about the hospitality of the great people…I mean trolls…of Gakoonk.”

  She inclined her head and handed Paulie the access card to his room.

  STELAN ARRIVES

  To make sure they weren’t spotted, Stelan had Carl pull the bike into a clearing just beyond the sight lines of the Gakoonk border.

  Carl talked about his girlfriend, Percie, while they waited.

  “She’s kinda greenish brown, just the way I like ‘em,” Carl was saying as Stelan waited for the message from his contact to come in, “and her eyes cross so much that it’s like they is looking right at each other.”

  “She sounds lovely,” Stelan said sarcastically.

  “She’s a dream,” Carl said, obviously not catching the sarcasm.

  Stelan’s ePad chimed. The vampire had taken up at the 9 Seasons Hotel. “The Trollington Suite?” Stelan said aloud as Carl continued talking about his beloved Percie.

  “Hmmm?”

  “Nothing, nothing,” Stelan said, wondering how this vampire could afford such a luxury. “I think we can go now, Carl.”

  “Oh, okay,” Carl replied and set back to getting them moving until they hit the line at the border.

  Stelan endured the wait at the Gakoonk border like he endured every wait: poorly. Fortunately, the bike lane moved quicker than the other lines, so Stelan needed only put up with Carl’s continued descriptions of Percie’s loveliness for a few more minutes.

  “Reason for entering Gakoonk?” the guard asked.

  “Just got a guy here in the back on a trip from Fez is all,” Carl said.

  “Drop the canopy please,” the troll said. “Good evening to you, my good troll.”

  “I have nothing to declare,” Stelan said tersely.

  The officer leaned in and looked around, and then pursed his rather large lips. He pulled forth a device, clicked on it, and waited a few seconds.

  “You are Stelan Bumache, are you not?”

  “I am.”

  “And you honestly expect me to believe you have nothing to declare?”

  Stelan took a deep breath, rolled his eyes, and began retrieving weapon after weapon from his person. There was always a risk and reward scenario that went along with having a reputation, and, worse, a record.

  “There is a note here that you have a fondness for keeping a stiletto in your boot.”

  Stelan handed it over.

  “I would prefer not to have to take you from the carriage to do a full scan and cavity search,” the officer said before he locked the container that he’d placed all of Stelan’s weaponry into. “Is this everything?”

  “It is,” Stelan said, looking at his fingernails.

  “You are aware that any of the entryways at any of the major hotels will pick up most weaponry?”

  “I am.”

  And he was. He had been busted once before and claimed ignorance. Since that event, Stelan had purchased stealthier devices for his purposes.

  “They’ve recently been upgraded to catch even more items,” the officer informed him. “The law has also changed, making the sentence thirty-days in prison, a one thousand dollar fine, and the promise of a full-cavity search for every visit to Gakoonk in the future.”

  Stelan found three additional pieces of weaponry and turned them over to the officer.

  “A wise decision,” the troll said. “How long will you be in town?”

  “Just the night.”

  “Will you be leaving this way?”

  “No,” Stelan said. “I’m going through the portal tomorrow.”

  “Where are you staying this evening?”

  “I typically stay at the 9-Seasons hotel.”

  The officer nodded and then sealed the container.

  “When you get to the portal,” he said, handing the container to Stelan, “they’ll deactivate the lock. Any attempt to deactivate the lock on your own will signal the nearest agency and you’ll go to jail. Understood?”

  Stelan didn’t bother to answer. He simply placed the case on the seat next to him and looked straight ahead.

  As they passed through the gate, the officer dropped a card into Stelan’s lap.

  The Noble Trolls of Liberty wish special treatment for this fellow at the 9-Seasons Hotel.

  “Well,” Stelan said to himself, “that was nice.”

  “What was?” Carl asked.

  “The officer gave me a card that said the 9-Seasons should treat me well.”

  “Why’d he do that?”

  “I guess he felt bad for giving me such trouble. He was only doing his job, I suppose. Gestures like this could go a long way in helping people be a tad bit more cooperative. Better than threats anyway, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I guess,” Carl said, scratching his neck. “I don’t know.”

  They pulled up to the front of the hotel and Carl jumped out to open Stelan’s door for him.

  “You did well, Carl,” Stelan forced himself to say. “I have signed the title over to you here. You will need to sign and register it with the Fez authorities.”

  “Thank you, mister,” Carl said with a voice of awe.

  “A deal is a deal, Carl.”

  And with that, Stelan walked in to the 9-Seasons Hotel.

  “I require a room for the night,” he said to the clerk.

  She looked up with a smile and, after looking him over, turned a bit sour.

  “A discount room, no doubt?” she said.

  “That was rather rude,” Stelan responded. “Is your manager here?”

  “No.”

  “Well, call him down. I wish to see him straight away.”

  “No.”

  “I could have your job for this kind of treatment,” Stelan said resolutely.

  “No, you couldn’t.”

  Did he know this troll? He didn’t think so, but to him they all looked the same. He glanced at her name tag. “Gispee,” it read. The name didn’t ring a bell.

  Then he caught the problem.

  The box.

  He was carrying a box full of weapons. Everyone in Gakoonk knew that if you were carrying a box like this, you had weapons on your person. Or at least in your possession. Trolls did so despise violence and they could turn quite disdainful toward anyone who propagated the notion of violence.

  But Stelan had an ace in the hole.

  He handed the card to her that the border officer had given him.

  She took it and smiled.

  “Changing your tune now, are you?” Stelan said in as uppity a voice as he could muster.

  “Oh, indeed,” she said. “Unfortunately, we have just filled our last suite, so we can only provide you with a standard room for the evening.”

  “A standard room?” Stelan said as if slapped.

  “I do so apologize,” the troll said. “But since you are to receive special treatment, I will give you the room for the rate of five hundred dollars for the night.”

  “That’s better,” Stelan said as he reached for his wallet. “Wait, how much?”

  “Five hundred dollars.”

  “For one night?”

  “Correct.”

  “In a standard room?”

  “You are astute, aren
’t you?”

  “That’s robbery.”

  “No, sir,” the troll smiled evilly, “that is special treatment.”

  THE MEETING

  Their room was magnificent.

  Two king-sized beds, a large TV, a small kitchen that was fully-stocked, and a balcony that overlooked the back courtyard. All in all, it was about the size of Paulie’s townhouse, but had nicer amenities.

  Mr. Biscuits was dozing on one of the beds.

  Paulie was famished. He checked through the items in the kitchen but didn’t find anything interesting. Then he remembered the free meal he was offered and decided it was time to live a little.

  “Mr. Biscuits,” Paulie said, leaning on the kitchen counter, “are you hungry?”

  The werepup kept his head on his paws, his tail wagging noncommittally.

  “Who wants a treat?” Paulie asked, trying a different tactic.

  That got his attention.

  Thirty minutes later they were sitting on the outside deck of Le Troll.

  Paulie was in a comfortable chair with his arms on a glass-topped table. Mr. Biscuits was basking in the moonlight. The moon was crisp in the night sky. Paulie had always tried to spy the “vampire in the moon” that the people in Viq talked about. He’d never found it. There was a tooth, for certain, but not a full vampire.

  “Lovely evening,” said a voice.

  “Yes, it is,” Paulie said, looking back.

  It was the man from the way-station and the picnic area. The one who had tried to kill them.

  Paulie went to get up and Mr. Biscuits began to growl.

  “Now, now,” the man said. “Just relax. I mean you no harm.”

  “You tried to shoot me,” Paulie said, preparing himself to call for help.

  “Fair point. I believe, though, that it was all due to a misunderstanding. Let me introduce myself. My name is Stelan Bumache.” Then he pointed at the chair. “May I?”

  “Why would you think you could?”

  “Right. I’ll get to the point. That dog of yours is a werewolf.”

  “I know that, and it’s rude to refer to him as a ‘dog.’ He’s a werepup.”

  “My apologies to the werepup. Do you know who he is? Who he truly is?”

  Paule shuffled in his seat. “No, I don’t.”

  “He is Hughbarian Tessan, prince of Argan.”