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

by John P. Logsdon

  “Yes.”

  “Is he a warrior of some kind?” Larkin asked.

  “It didn’t seem that way at first,” Stelan said, “but he’s clearly a professional.”

  “You’re supposed to be a professional too, Bumache.”

  “Exactly,” Stelan answered. “This means that I am playing a game of chess with another who is…” he hated to say it, but “…my match.”

  “Why are you playing games of chess with the man? Just kill him and be done with it!”

  “It was just a figure of speech, sire.”

  “Oh, right. Where are they?”

  “At the church.”

  Larkin’s face dropped as he fell back into his throne. The king shot glances at his still giggling guards. They wisely quieted.

  “Where’s the vampire?”

  “I assume he’s at the church with the prince,” Stelan answered.

  “Sire,” one of the guards from the door called out, “there is a man here who claims to have urgent information.”

  “Can it wait?”

  “Well,” the guard said, tilting his head, “he did say it was urgent, so I’m guessing no.”

  The king squinted. “Curb your insolence, young man.”

  “Sorry, sire.”

  “Send him in.”

  A lanky man with short, brown hair stepped to the base of the throne, dropped to the floor and rolled over to show his belly.

  “Get up,” Larkin commanded. “We only do that in werewolf-form.” Larkin turned to Stelan. “You’d be amazed at how many people do that in non-wolf form. It’s embarrassing.”

  Stelan gave a fake smile.

  “What’s your news?”

  “Sire,” the man began shakily, “this morning there was a man who was being violated in many ways near the river.”

  “Yes,” the king said, and pointed at Stelan. “We know about that.”

  “Oh,” the man peered over at Stelan and then cleared his throat. “Sorry about my involvement in that, sir. You shouldn’t go about with WLP on, though. There’s nothing we can do about our reaction to it.”

  “I did not put the potion on myself, you idiot,” Stelan said with a glare.

  “Now, now,” Larkin interrupted. “Let’s keep this civil. I mean, I know you’re angry…or should I say, ‘sore?’”

  More laughter.

  Finally, the king calmed down and looked at the news-carrying man. “Is that all or do you have more to share with your king?”

  “I have more, sire. After going through the morning morphing, I saw a vampire walking away from the church. He was heading toward the portal room, and he was wearing the church’s amulet.”

  “What?”

  “I said I saw—”

  “I heard what you said,” Larkin interrupted. “I was being rhetorical.”

  “What does that mean?” Stelan asked.

  “It means that I’m not actually asking a question,” Larkin said. “It’s more of a statement, you know, but it sounds like a question. Truly, Bumache, I thought you were more educated than that.”

  “I know what ‘rhetorical’ means, sire,” Stelan said with a sigh. “I’m asking what the amulet signifies.”

  “Oh, it means that the church has decreed your vampire an ambassador of the state.”

  KING OF ARGAN

  The first thing that Paulie saw when they arrived in Argan was the form of a man strewn out across the floor.

  Whizzfiddle jumped off the platform and ran to the man’s aid, lifting his head a bit and slapping him lightly on the cheek.

  “Yebler,” said Whizzfiddle between thwacks, “can you hear me, man?”

  A few more hits and Yebler began to come to his senses.

  “What happened? Where am I?”

  “You’re in the portal room, down in the basement.”

  “Master Whizzfiddle? Is that you, sir?”

  “Indeed,” Whizzfiddle said and then he called out, “Deke, are you up there?”

  There was no response.

  Paulie helped pull Yebler to the wall so the man could sit up. Yebler’s eyes were still half closed and he was mumbling about feeling tingly.

  Whizzfiddle went up the steps with Paulie in tow. There was another guard on the floor up there, so the wizard repeated the slapping process until he too began to come about.

  “I wonder what happened to them,” Whizzfiddle said as they pulled Deke into a chair.

  “Tingly,” Deke said, as if drunk.

  “Hmmm,” replied Whizzfiddle.

  “I’m sure I know what happened to them,” Paulie said, “but you keep telling me you don’t want to know.”

  “Ah, yes, that I do, and I will stick with that! That you know is good enough for me. Let me just give these boys back their full senses and then we’ll get the king down here to talk with you.”

  The wizard ran downstairs for a minute and then came back up with Yebler behind him. He then said some type of poem in a language that Paulie couldn’t understand, pressed his hand against the head of Deke, causing a small, bluish light to flash through the man’s hair, and then stepped back.

  “Yebler,” Deke said, “you left the door open again!”

  Yebler, still seeming somewhat woozy, pressed the door closed.

  “Oh, hello Master Whizzfiddle. Didn’t see you come in.”

  “That’s because you were unconscious, Deke.”

  “What?” Deke went to get out of his chair, but only got part way and then seemed to think better of it. “No, sir,” he said after he had regained his seat, lifting one of his buttocks and wincing. “I don’t drink on work nights, sir.”

  “Ha,” Whizzfiddle smiled. “Not from drink, my good man. You were knocked out by someone.”

  “Is that why I feel tingly?” Yebler asked.

  “I would imagine so.”

  Suddenly, Deke managed to get up and he had his sword drawn and it was pointing at Paulie.

  “You’re a vampire,” Deke said.

  Yebler went for his sword too, but it wasn’t on his person. Paulie recalled seeing the sword a few feet away from where Yebler had been lying in the basement. Instead, Yebler put both of his hands around his own neck, clearly protecting himself from being bitten.

  Paulie shook his head and grimaced.

  “He is,” Whizzfiddle confirmed, stepping between the sword and Paulie, “and he is here under my protection.”

  “But didn’t he knock us out?” asked Yebler.

  “He did not,” said Whizzfiddle.

  “With all due respect, Master Whizzfiddle—”

  “Watch yourself, Deke,” Whizzfiddle said, giving the man a sinister glance. “And you too, Yebler. I knew you when you were only as high as my knee. I’ve gotten both of you out of more trouble than you’re worth and remember that you wouldn’t even have this job were it not for the good word I’d put in with your king.”

  The two men stood dumbfounded.

  “Now put your blasted sword away, Deke.” Deke did so without a word. “Yebler, take your hands off your neck and go fetch the king, and be quick about it. And, Yebler, tell no one…and I do mean no one…about my guest.”

  “Not even the king?” Yebler asked. “I don’t think he’ll come down here without knowing why, sir.”

  “Of course you can tell the king,” Whizzfiddle said. “I meant nobody other than the king.”

  “Oh, right,” Yebler nodded briskly, “that makes more sense.”

  After Yebler left, it was silent in the room for what seemed an eternity. Then Whizzfiddle grabbed one of the chairs and sat down.

  “So, Deke,” he said, “how is the wife?”

  “She’s doing good sir,” Deke said, keeping an eye on Paulie. “She won the Argan Best Peach Cobbler ribbon just this past season.”

  “Always did make a wonderful cobbler, she did.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Your son…Holt, is it?”

  “Colt, sir.”

  “That’s it, y
es,” Whizzfiddle said with a snap of his fingers. “He’s still working at the mill?”

  “His third year, sir, thanks to you.”

  “It was all his doing, Deke. The boy has a talent for craftsmanship.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The door to the portal opened and a slurry of guards came into the room. They took one look at Paulie and began reaching for their swords. Whizzfiddle stood up and told them to keep their hands steady, so instead they all reached for their own necks.

  Paulie rolled his eyes.

  The king was the last to stroll through the entrance. Paulie could see the likeness of his friend Burt. Tall in stature, broad shoulders, strong jawline. It was definitely Burt’s father.

  “What is the meaning of this?” the king demanded, looking at Whizzfiddle.

  “Hello, King Tessan,” Whizzfiddle said kindly. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you at such an hour, but I’ve brought with me a man who has some important information for you.”

  “Oh?” the king said, looking over at Paulie.

  “I know not the full nature of his mission,” Whizzfiddle contiued, “because I choose not to know. But I will tell you, King Tessan, that I vouch fully for him, as does the Church of Yezan.”

  “You know that I would take your word, Master Whizzfiddle, but why would I care about what the Church of Yezan thinks?”

  “Because, sire, Yezan is the land of werewolves. You are familiar with how much werewolves despise vampires, yes?”

  “It’s in our folklore.”

  “Indeed,” Whizzfiddle said, “and it is accurate. The two races truly do hate each other.”

  “I fail to see the importance, Master Whizzfiddle,” the king replied.

  “Sire, if the Church of Yezan has made a vampire an ambassador of their state, does that not tell you something about the nobleness of this vampire?”

  The king said, “Hmmm” and then seemed to go into thought. It was that same look that Burt got whenever he was pondering something. It was also the same look that Mr. Biscuits got right before leaving a present.

  “I assume you’ve a name, sir?” the king asked Paulie.

  “I am Paulie Vergen, sire,” Paulie replied as strongly as he could. Truth be told, of all the trouble he’d been through over the last couple of days, this moment was the most nerve-racking. Being shot at by Bumache had been no picnic, even if it was while he and Burt were having a picnic, but standing in this portal room Paulie felt a full-blown case of discrimination directed solely at him.

  The king must have recognized this too, as he turned and saw all of his guards with their hands protecting their necks.

  “Oh, for the love of The Twelve,” the king said, “will you buffoons put your arms down.”

  “Don’t want to get bit, sire,” one of the guards said helplessly.

  “We don’t do that anymore,” Paulie offered.

  “Never?” the man asked.

  “Only once every one hundred years and you have to sign up for it,” Paulie said with a smile.

  “He’s only got one fang,” a female guard said to another female guard, both of which had kept their hands at their sides.

  “One is enough for me,” the other female guard said.

  “Look how pale his skin is. It’s like porcelain.”

  “And that hair. Black as night.”

  Paulie was blinking rapidly at the two female guards. Porcelain skin? If anything, he skin was still a bit blotchy from all the sunshine he’d endured. And his hair? Sure, it was black, where there was hair. He nearly looked back to see if someone was standing behind him.

  “He’s delicious.”

  “I’ll say.”

  Delicious?

  “Hard to argue that,” said one of the male guards, who had a mesmerized look about him. “Um…I mean, uh…”

  “All right, all right,” the king said. “If you three can’t be professional about this, you’ll need to step outside.”

  “Sorry, sire,” the male guard said. “Got caught up in the moment.”

  “I wouldn’t mind getting caught up in a moment or two with him,” said the one female guard.

  “You said it, sister,” agreed the other.

  “That’s it,” the king said. “Out, the both of you. And don’t go running your mouths about me discriminating, either!”

  They exited the room and the king apologized to Paulie for their insolence.

  Paulie had actually quite enjoyed the attention. He’d never been spoken about in such a way before. Compared to most men, Paulie knew he wasn’t much of a catch. He had to hand it to the public relations firms of Viq and Vaq. They’d successfully sold the myth of the vampire.

  “I must take my leave now,” Whizzfiddle piped up. “This man is of no harm to you, sire, and I’m most certain that whatever his reason for coming to your land, it must be important indeed. Good luck to you, Mr. Vergen, and do make sure to read up on your Mr. Bumache, I’m sure you will learn some items of import.”

  “Thank you, Master Whizzfiddle,” Paulie said. “I will, and I appreciate your help.”

  And with that, Whizzfiddle winked and slipped out of the room.

  “So then,” King Tessan turned to Paulie, “why would a vampire be so bold as to summon me?”

  “It’s your son, sire. I know where he is.”

  ON THE FIELD

  It was just about noon as Stelan stood on the field with the king, the princess, and a set of heavily armed guards.

  The way the sun struck the church made it stand out somehow, like it was out of place. From Stelan’s perspective, churches were always out of place, but this was different. It glowed eerily.

  “And now we wait,” the king said.

  “For what?” Stelan asked.

  “For the man to come out, of course.”

  Stelan sighed.

  Despite all of their power and gusto, werewolves had a few glaring weaknesses, and their biggest was to never mess with the handlers. This held true whether in werewolf form or not.

  Stelan had sat on the balcony of his lodge on a number of evenings watching over the city. He knew what the handlers were all about.

  The handlers did a duty that nobody in their right mind would: they cared for the werewolves.

  While all others in the land, aside from guests and idiotic tourists who missed the memo about Yezan being a not-so-great place to vacation, nearly every inhabitant turned into a werewolf at sundown…except during the full-moon event.

  The handlers didn’t.

  Each night the handlers did something that made them special. They made sure the flock had bowls of fresh water; they kept all the food dishes filled with fresh kibble; they held special training courses where they taught new werewolves the basics in obedience, like sit, stay, heel, shake, and roll-over; they proffered treats to those wolves that were particularly good; they brought out a special machine that launched tennis balls in all directions; they gave flea and tick baths; they made sure everyone was up to date on vaccines; they splinted injuries, which often resulted in the wolf being forced to wear a cone-collar so that it didn’t pester its wounds; and numerous other duties—including the cleaning up of doodies.

  And this is why everyone waited.

  King or not, Larkin wouldn’t dare do anything to offend the handlers.

  Stelan sighed.

  “He’ll be out soon enough,” the king said.

  “What if they make him an ambassador too?” Stelan asked.

  “He’s a werewolf now,” the king said. “They can’t make him an ambassador.”

  “I wasn’t aware of any such rule.”

  “And now you are,” said the king. “It’s nice to learn new tricks, isn’t it, Stelan?”

  ARGAN TO YEZAN

  After King Tessan had learned of Paulie’s information, things went smoothly. Paulie was asked to stay in the portal room until the king and his soldiers were ready.

  He spent the time reading up on Herbert Pegly, the man who Wh
izzfiddle had mentioned.

  The first hit that came up was a news article written some 700 years ago in the city of Hubintegler. It was about an arrest that had happened for robbery. Paulie read through the article and found out that the gnomes had mistaken Pegly for the real thief. The journalist then went into a bit of a tirade about how the gnome police force needed better rules and regulations, and detailed their countless screw-ups. Paulie skimmed through the rest until he saw the mug shot of Pegly.

  Paulie’s jaw dropped open.

  He cycled through all of the other photos from the arrest, thinking that maybe there was just an eerie resemblance, but each picture only made it more obvious.

  It was Stelan Bumache.

  “How in the world has Bumache lived for 700 years and why did he change his name from Pegly?” Paulie said aloud.

  “What’s that?” asked the guard.

  “Huh? Oh, sorry, was just talking to myself.”

  Slowly things began to fall into place.

  He still had nothing definitive, except for a news story and pictures of Stelan—or Pegly—as the case may be.

  One thing was certain: Stelan Bumache was not exactly who he claimed to be.

  Paulie kept building up information on the assassin until the king finally arrived with a group of soldiers and an aide. Paulie had hoped there would be a few female soldiers joining the quest, but they were no doubt denied their requests to travel along with a vampire.

  “You’re certain we can all go through this at the same time?” the king asked one of his aides.

  “According to the manual here,” the aide tapped on a book that was titled Getting to Know Your Local Portal, “it says that it is rated up to one hundred travelers at a time, though it suggests only sending half that, just in case.”

  “And how many do we have?”

  “Forty-seven, including the vampire.”

  The king gazed back at Paulie and nodded.

  “Is everyone going to fit on the portal?”

  “Says here that they all just have to be holding hands.”

  “Let’s get on with it. I want to be at this Yezan place within the hour!”

  “It should only take like two minutes,” said Paulie.