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

by John P. Logsdon

  “No, will it hurt him?”

  “Oh,” Handler Fleffy shuffled his feet. “Yeah, quite a bit.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  “You’re not allowed to go any farther in the church than you already have gone, vampire. Truth be told, you shouldn’t even be in this far, but under the circumstances I bent the rules a little.”

  “And I thank you,” Paulie said and then thought of something. “Actually, I have a question. How come you weren’t in werewolf form when I got here? It wasn’t morning yet.”

  “I’m a handler,” Handler Fleffy replied, as if that had explained everything. He must have seen the confused look on Paulie’s face, because he added, “Right, well, handlers go through the ritual of Nomoremorphin, which makes it so we always stay in our current form.”

  “But you still have the same sense capabilities and—”

  “And innate dislike for vampires, yes, though I must admit that you seem quite decent.”

  “Oh,” Paulie smiled. “Thank you. You as well.”

  “Indeed? Hmmm.”

  “If I’m not allowed to go with Burt, can I wait here?”

  “Sorry, no,” Handler Fleffy said. “What you should do is get this boy’s father here so that this ritual doesn’t end up being for nothing.”

  “You want me to get King Tessan to come down to Yezan?”

  “Kind of rhymed there,” Handler Fleffy giggled. Then he straightened up. “Well, yes, how else will this boy make it out of here and not be killed on sight? Either by King Larkin or by Stelan Bumache?”

  “Right,” Paulie said with a sigh.

  “I’ve done it to you again, Paulie,” Burt said. “I’ve done too much to you. You should just go back home and let me fend for myself.”

  “We’ve already been through this, Burt. You know that’s not going to happen.”

  “Fascinating,” Handler Fleffy observed.

  “What?”

  “I just would never expect a vampire to care about the life of a werewolf. It’s rather…unexpected.”

  “Friendship is friendship,” Paulie said. “Race doesn’t matter.”

  Handler Fleffy held out his hand to Paulie. Paulie reluctantly took it.

  “You impress me, Mr. Vergen,” Handler Fleffy said, departing from calling Paulie “vampire” for the first time. “I will take care of your friend here. You go and get his father so that my work is not wasted.”

  Burt got up and gave Paulie a hug.

  “Thanks, Paulie,” Burt said. “You’re the greatest friend a guy could ask for.”

  Paulie smiled sadly and walked to the door.

  “Just a second, Mr. Vergen,” Handler Fleffy said, “I want you to take this with you.”

  The handler pulled out a silver chain and placed it over Paulie’s head. Dangling from it was a very large amulet in the shape of a werewolf with a halo. It was heavy.

  “What’s this for?”

  “It signifies that you are an ambassador to the Church of Yezan.”

  “Wow,” Paulie said in shock.

  “Keep it on when you’re in Yezan and nobody will touch you, day or night. You’re under the church’s protection now.”

  “That’s incredible.”

  “Yeah,” Handler Fleffy said with a grin. “Oh, it also gives you the ability to call for a parlay, should the need ever arise.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “It means that you can stop an army, if only briefly.”

  “Any army?”

  “Well, no, just the Yezan one, but that’s still saying something.”

  Paulie nodded, looking at the amulet.

  “Can’t you just give one of these to Burt after you’ve given him his memories back? That way the king has to call off the assassination.”

  “He’s a werewolf, Mr. Vergen,” Handler Fleffy said, shaking his head. “All werewolves must stand on their own.”

  “Even handlers?”

  “Well, no, but that’s because we have a special duty. And, as I explained, we’re not exactly full werewolves anymore due to the rituals that we must endure.”

  “I understand,” Paulie said after a moment. “Look, I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “You’ve taught me something today, Mr. Vergen. It’s not often that someone teaches me something, so that, to me, is thanks enough. Now, off with you, and do hurry. This ritual will be done by mid-afternoon.”

  GETTING TO ARGAN

  Everyone looked to be in a bit of a daze when Paulie stepped out into daylight.

  A few naked people were about, signaling that they weren’t yet fully matured. The “Inside the Yezanian Empire” documentary that Paulie had seen had explained how the gnomes had developed special clothing for the werewolves. It expanded and contracted during a werewolf’s morphing so it wouldn’t rip. As with Mr. Biscuits, though, this clothing was not effective for the change between a werepup and a human.

  The scene was like something out of a horror film. They were all clomping about like zombies.

  “Hey you,” a guy called out, “are you a vampire?”

  Paulie ignored him and just kept walking.

  “Hey,” the guy said again, only louder, “that guy’s a vampire.”

  “Where?”

  “There!”

  Paulie heard footsteps approaching and stopped. The footsteps stopped too.

  “I don’t want any trouble,” Paulie said, turning to face the growing mob.

  “You should have thought of that before, pal.”

  “He’s an ambassador to the church,” a woman said, pointing at Paulie’s amulet.

  Everyone’s eyes got wide.

  “Yes,” Paulie said. “That’s right. I am an ambassador. Now, if you’ll all get back to minding your own business, I’ll forget this ever happened.”

  Most of the bunch bolted from the scene. A few shook their heads and returned to their daily toils.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” said the guy who had instigated things. “I didn’t know.”

  “Do you think that matters?”

  “In my defense, sir, you were facing the other direction and—”

  “And what?” Paulie said, but the guy had clammed up. Paulie snorted derisively. “If I weren’t wearing this amulet, you would have led an attack against me because I’m a vampire.” There was no response. “Don’t get me wrong,” Paulie added, “if you were in Viq or another one of the vampire lands you’d face the same treatment.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Which doesn’t make it right.”

  “It doesn’t?” The guy asked.

  “No, it doesn’t, but it is what it is, as they say. Good tidings to you.”

  Paulie sighed, turned away, and continued his walk to the portal, making sure to hold out the amulet to anyone who began looking at him funny. Most people just kept their eyes on their feet and plodded about.

  When he entered the building, everyone moved out of his way and let him get to the portal first.

  This “ambassador” thing could have easily gone to his head.

  He pressed the button and headed into the ether.

  Aopow Station seemed far less daunting than the first time. There were still scrags about, but they took one look at him and turned away. Stories must spread quickly in the realm of thieves, he thought.

  Paulie keyed in the code for Argan and hovered his finger over the button.

  What happened if there were guards on the other side? His amulet wouldn’t do any good fending them off. He assumed he’d be arrested. That could be a good thing if they brought him before the king, but it was more probable that he’d be put in front of a local judge, tried for illegally entering the Upperworld, and then made to sit in a cell until one of the ambassadors from Viq arrived to bail him out. Then he’d be imprisoned in Viq for causing a stink.

  “Going to stand there all day?”

  Paulie looked over his shoulder and saw a wizard with a whitish beard and a green backp
ack. He also had a bit of a beer belly. There was something familiar about the man, but Paulie couldn’t quite place him.

  “I’m sorry,” Paulie said, feeling tired. “I’m on a bit of a mission and am having trouble deciding what to do next.” He pointed around the room. “There are many other portals that are open, though.”

  “Yes, yes,” said the wizard, “but this one is a favorite of mine. When you get to be my age you tend to build traditions.”

  “Let me get out of your way and then I’ll go after you.”

  “Mighty decent of you,” the wizard said, looking taken aback. “Most people would just tell me to do something unkind to myself.”

  “No kidding?”

  “You’d be surprised,” the wizard said and then looked down at the keypad on the portal. “Ah, seems you are going to Argan too, eh?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’re a vampire, no?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you have a passport?”

  Paulie shook his head.

  “Must be an important mission,” the wizard surmised, pursing his lips. “You do realize the penalty for illegal immigration?”

  “I do, yes.”

  “What’s your name, young man?”

  “Paulie,” said Paulie. “Paulie Vergen.”

  “I am Xebdigon Whizzfiddle, Mr. Vergen,” said the wizard, “but you may just call me ‘Whizzfiddle.’”

  “Nice to meet you, sir,” Paulie said and tilted his head slightly. “I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before.”

  “I get that a lot,” the wizard grimaced. “You no doubt saw me on the cover of one of those blasted paperback books that people down here read all the time.”

  “Ah, yes, that’s it,” Paulie said with a nod, remembering the book that had held the Dakmenhem Post’s Best Seller’s list record for most consecutive weeks at #1. It had since fallen back a few slots.

  “Read it?”

  “Heavens, no,” Paulie answered. “I only read intellectual novels.”

  “Right,” Whizzfiddle said, scratching his beard. “Abysmal writing. Pure trash. And it is a very loose interpretation of my true nature, I’ll tell you that.”

  “I’m sure it is.”

  “Anyway,” Whizzfiddle continued, “if you want to get into Argan, you’re going to have to turn into a mosquito and then hitch a ride in my hat.”

  “Sir?” Paulie asked, shocked.

  “You won’t be able to get in otherwise. There will be guards on duty.”

  “Oh.”

  “Indeed. So do the mosquito thing you do and fly into my hat.”

  “Why into your hat?”

  “Arganians are rather distasteful of mosquitoes, you see?”

  “Isn’t everyone?”

  “True, true. Arganians, though, have a couple of mechanical zappers within kicking distance of the outside door to their portal cave. So if you ride on the outside of my hat, you’ll be mesmerized one instant and zapped into oblivion the next.”

  “That would be bad.”

  “Riding inside of my hat, though, you won’t see the light and so you’ll be just splendid.”

  “I appreciate your help, but don’t you even want to know why I’m taking such a risk? This man, Stelan Bumache, he was—”

  “No, no, no,” Whizzfiddle said with a firm shake of his head while holding up his hands. “I know better than to ask the details of a person’s mission, Mr. Vergen. In so doing, I become at best an accomplice, at worst a partner. I wish to become neither. However, it seems that that you’re wearing an amulet that signifies you’re an ambassador to Yezan.”

  Paulie looked down at the amulet. This thing was coming in handy.

  “Um…yes, sir.”

  “A vampire who’s brave enough to be an ambassador to a country full of his mortal enemies is someone who is quite special indeed,” Whizzfiddle said with a smile. “If the werewolves can trust a vampire, I see no reason why I shouldn’t.”

  Paulie didn’t know what to say to that. It was a valid point. Of course he could have just stolen the amulet or had one made. The wizard wouldn’t have known.

  “Sir,” Paulie said, “I honestly did get this from the church in Yezan. Just recently.”

  “You don’t need to convince me of that, Mr. Vergen,” Whizzfiddle said. “I can tell by the magic emanating from it that it’s the real thing.”

  “Oh,” Paulie said, more awed by the trinket than before.

  “However,” Whizzfiddle added, “you mentioned a Mr. Bumache.”

  “Yes.”

  “I know that name all too well, and I can’t say that there is much good attached to it.”

  “Well, he has been—”

  “Please, Mr. Vergen,” Whizzfiddle said quickly, “I neither need nor desire the details.”

  “Right, sorry.”

  “Let me just say that your Mr. Bumache is a very dangerous assassin who is playing at an even more dangerous game in Yezan.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I am sadly under a CTN agreement with the gnomes in Hubintegler, so I cannot give you too much information.”

  “Sorry, but what is a CTN agreement?”

  “Ah,” Whizzfiddle chuckled. “It stands for ‘Can’t Tell Nobody.’ Essentially it means that I’m not allowed to divulge what I know.”

  “About Bumache?”

  “Indeed, but I will mention a name that you should do a little research on. That name is ‘Herbert Pegly.’”

  “Why should I look him up?”

  “Again, I can’t tell you why. I just suggest that you do the research.”

  “Herbert Pegly?”

  “Correct.”

  Paulie looked around while tapping on his good tooth. What did Bumache have to do with Hubintegler? And why would it be interesting enough for this elderly wizard to hint about it? Clearly the gnomes must know something about Bumache, but what? And how did this Herbert Pegly play into things?

  “I can see the wheels are turning, Mr. Vergen,” Whizzfiddle said with a smile. “I do wish I could provide more for you, but a contract is a contract, you know. Now, if you would please morph into a mosquito then we can get things going.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I do ask that you not feed on me during our trip, if you would be so kind.”

  “No, sir.”

  “Good then,” Whizzfiddle said, tapping his timepiece. “Shall we?”

  Paulie began the ritual of turning into a mosquito. He took a deep breath, pinched his nose, crossed his eyes, and began mentally chanting “buzzy buzzy buzzy” while doing a small, shuffling dance. The full process took a solid two minutes to get his neurons firing at the proper frequency. Then he took his free hand and punched himself in the stomach, expelling all the air he’d been holding. The moment the punch landed, the world became a much larger place.

  The wizard was now huge and he was motioning Paulie into his hat and then he stopped.

  “Wait a second,” Whizzfiddle’s voice was much louder while Paulie was in this state. “That won’t work.”

  “Huh?” buzzed Paulie in response. “What won’t work?”

  Whizzfiddle giggled. “Sorry, but you sound funny as a mosquito.”

  Paulie just continued hovering at the wizard’s eye level.

  “Right,” Whizzfiddle clear his throat. “I’ll take a leap in guess that you wish to speak with the king of Argan, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I assumed as much. And we know that the Arganians don’t like mosquitoes.”

  “Who does?”

  “Hmmm. Anyway, it’d come across as underhanded if you showed up as a bug. You should show up as a vampire.”

  “Arganians are okay with vampires?” Paulie buzzed his question.

  “Not at all, no,” Whizzfiddle answered, “but with me there to introduce and vouch for you, I’d expect you’ll at least get your audience with the king.”

  “I’ll do it,” Paulie buzzed, feeling a bit
irritated, “but do you realize how painful it is to go through the process of turning into a mosquito?”

  “Not first-hand, no.”

  “It’s not fun, I’ll tell you that.”

  “I do apologize.”

  “And it makes me hungry too!”

  “I’d offer to let you have a nibble on my arm or something, but seeing that we kind of know each other now, that seems a bit odd, no?”

  It did.

  LARKIN IS BARKIN'

  Stelan was a fair bit woozy and beyond sore as he entered the king’s chambers.

  King Larkin had obviously heard of the morning’s festivities since he was in a constant state of snickering, as were his guards.

  “How was your morning, Bumache?” Larkin asked with a bit of a chuckle. “Care to have a seat?”

  The guards bursted out laughing and Larkin nearly fell off his throne.

  Stelan made a resolution at that moment that no matter what it took, he would get that damnable vampire back for doing this to him. Kill him? Most definitely, but not without a fair bit of torture first.

  Never again would any of the werewolf ladies look at Bumache the same way. His days of love-em-and-leave-em were over in Yezan.

  But that was all for another time.

  Larkin had finally calmed down a bit, though he still snorted a few times.

  “Sorry, Bumache,” he said. “I’m sure this is rather unnerving for you.”

  “Quite,” Stelan said through clenched teeth.

  “Can I get you anything?” the king asked, seriously. “Maybe an ice cube?”

  The floor again erupted into juvenile hysterics.

  Stelan had a mind to just walk out and never return. Let the blasted king deal with the fallout on his own. But he knew better. He had too much information regarding Yezan. If he walked away, the king would eventually find a new assassin and the first contract taken out would be for Stelan Bumache.

  “Again,” the king said between heaves, “I am sorry, Bumache.”

  “The prince is in town,” Stelan said over the laughter.

  Larkin got instantly serious.

  “You haven’t killed him?”

  “I have been trying,” Stelan said. “There is a rather pesky vampire who’s been aiding him.”

  “A vampire?”