“Bob?”
“Yeah,” Bob replied in his husky voice.
Perkder went to rush to his friend, but the world was still moving in such a way that made him more carefully tread.
“You…you…you okay?”
“No,” stated Bob, holding up his arm. “They took my hand, Perkder. The bastards took my hand.”
“Who…hic…took your hand?”
“Oh, I’ve got their names,” Bob said ominously. “I’ve got them and I’m planning to get my hand back. You can bet your butt on that.”
“Good,” Perkder said and then burped. “Sorry. Why are…hic…are you here?”
“I need your help, Perkder.”
“My…hic…help?”
* * *
It had taken an hour for Perkder to sober up enough to be somewhat levelheaded.
During his wait, Bob had successfully pulled himself onto one of the chairs that Perkder had offered. That was one of the nice things about Perkder—he saw the truth behind Bob’s situation, not the myths and legends. Fact was that there were many nice things about his Dwarfish friend.
“Sorry you lost your job,” Bob said sadly.
“Me too, Bob,” Perkder replied while drinking another cup of HighCaff tea. “I really liked that job.” He then shrugged and added, “But I’m a firm believer that things happen for a reason.”
“But why does it always happen to the good ones?”
“True,” Perkder said with a solemn nod. “True.”
The Dwarf set the cup down and took a deep breath. Bob missed the ability to really take a deep breath and give a full sigh. If he’d done that now, his lung would burst. Not that it mattered, since he was effectively dead anyway, but it was the point of the thing.
“So,” Perkder said, leaning forward, “you said that there were three of them, right?”
Bob nodded. “A Human female, a Dark Halfling, and an Ogre.”
“Mean or dumb?”
“Hmmm?”
“The Ogre,” Perkder clarified. “Was he the mean type or the dumb type.”
“I didn’t really talk to him that much, but he seemed kind of childlike to me.”
“Dumb type, then,” Perkder said. “That’s a good thing. You don’t want to mess with mean Ogres.”
“I don’t want to mess with any Ogres,” admitted Bob. “I just want my hand back.”
“You know, there are a lot of prosthetic devices on the market these days that are pretty high-tech.”
“They’re going to make boner medication out of my limb, Perkder.”
“I know, I know…I’m just saying…” Perkder trailed off for a second. “Okay, let’s look this up and see what they’ve got to do.”
Perkder pulled up his machine and got on the UnderNet. He was zipping around using Gnoogle and Gnomepedia, until he finally landed on a number of articles related to the use of Zombie parts and medication.
“Here it is,” Perkder said. “Looks like they’re going to the Upperworld. They’re going to Flaymtahk Island. Ever heard of it?”
“No.”
“It’s basically an island just beyond the northern tip of the Upperworld. It’s on the west side of the continent. Lots of volcanoes and lava and such. Hot place.”
“Sounds like it.”
“Yeah,” Perkder said and then ran his finger across the screen. “Says here that they’ll have to take your hand and put it in the correct lava pit while using an iron ladle. It’ll melt, leaving a greenish liquid behind. If they take that and mix it with the proper ingredients, they’ll be able to make erection medication…or tons of other things, of course.”
“I thought this had already been tried, though?”
“It has been. A few times, actually. According to this there are three types of lava pits that are available. One of them will turn the flesh properly; one of them has no actual evidence of what it will do, but it’s assumed nothing; and the last of them will cause a Caklactic Rift, instantly killing the original owner of the flesh.”
They looked at each other momentarily. Perkder’s eyes were wide, Bob’s were lidless.
“So if they get the wrong one, it’ll kill me?”
“That’s what it says.”
“Hmmm,” Bob said, thinking that it was better than “living” the rest of his days as a Zombie.
“I know what you’re thinking, Bob,” said Perkder, waving his finger, “but to go down in history as having died due to an erection medication attempt is pretty pathetic.”
Bob did the only kind of sigh he could, which sounded more like a wet hiss.
“Good thing I got fired, I suppose,” Perkder said, standing up and smiling broadly. “Otherwise, how could I help you get your hand back? Like I said, Bob, I believe that things always happen for a reason.”
“You’re really going to help me?”
“Of course! I can’t leave a friend of mine to die simply because it’s a bit inconvenient. Now, we have work to do. They’re not just going to let a Dwarf and a Zombie into the Upperworld, you know? We’ll need to…”—his eyes sparkled for a moment—“…dress up.”
“Hmmm,” said Bob again.
LESANG
The town of Lesang was known as the place to be, assuming you were wealthy.
All the rich and famous either had a summer cottage there or they lived there full time, especially after retirement. Many of the houses were extravagant, to say the least. The amount of gold adornments alone could pay off the national debt of most countries.
One would expect the residents of Lesang to be uppity, snobbish, and egotistical…and one would be correct. However, these were a people who prided themselves on being better than everyone else, and that meant that each felt it their personal obligation to point out to those who were less fortunate that they, the less fortunate, were, in fact, less fortunate.
An interesting psychological oddity, to anyone who saw beyond the plethora of normal oddities, was that they loved to entertain interesting races. This was especially true of Underworld races.
For the most part, the Underworld was a thing of legend to those who lived in the Upperworld. But there were a few in certain stations—such as kings, soldiers, and wizards—who knew the truth. The wealthy had a way of knowing things too, since kings and wizards often fraternized with people entrenched with insane amounts of money.
The races from the Underworld that Lesangians loved were Vampires, Zombies, Halflings, Ogres (the dumb kind), and Werewolves. They weren’t very fond of Underworld Humans, Dwarfs, Dark Halflings, Orcs, Ogres (the mean kind), or Trolls. To be fair, people of wealth in the Upperworld did like to visit Troll-run hotels and casinos in the Underworld, but that was a different story altogether.
Sadly, neither Modacio, Grubby, or Kone knew about this oddity that the wealthy had, so when their portal finished discharging them directly next to a security station at the top of a hill overlooking the seaport area of Lesang, both Modacio and Grubby were quickly taken into custody. Kone, on the other hand, was just asked to wait for a few minutes.
“Where are you taking us?” asked Modacio gruffly.
“Down to the cells, miss,” the guard cordially replied.
Grubby grunted, looking like he was still trying to get the cobwebs cleared after being knocked out. He said, “We’ve done nothing wrong and you know it.”
“Not for me to say, sir. I just know that there was an unauthorized access to the area from the Underworld.” Then he pointed at each of them in turn, whispering, “You’re a Human and you’re a Dark Halfling, and that—”
“How do you know I’m not a regular Halfling?” Grubby said with a sneer.
“You got a blue tint about you,” whispered the guard, apparently wanting to make sure the other prisoners didn’t hear him. Then he turned to open one of the cell doors, motioning them inside. “We get training on these things. Bottom line is that you two are unwanted folk in this area.”
“But you’ll let an Ogre run free?” asked
Modacio with a look of surprise, keeping her voice low as well.
“Only the dumb ones, miss, and we’ll have a guard with him at all times, too, of course.”
“He’s not dumb,” Modacio replied, sticking up for her business partner.
“Yes, he is,” argued Grubby. “Even this guy knows that.”
The guard nodded, smiling. “We’ll have someone come down to talk to you in the morning.” He then locked the door and padded away.
“If Kone is so dumb,” said Modacio haughtily as she watched the guard depart, “why is he free to roam the streets while we’re stuck in jail?”
Grubby hopped up on one of the metal benches. “Dumb ain’t the same thing as lucky.”
“You think being born an Ogre is lucky?”
“At the moment I do,” Grubby answered while putting his head in his hands.
* * *
Kone wasn’t sure what to do.
He’d never been to the Upperworld before and this place had a look to it that spelled someone of his nature wouldn’t be welcomed. But the security guard had been really nice to him. Of course he’d been nice to Modacio and that little weasel, Grubby, too, but they’d been arrested where Kone was free, sort of.
“But I never get to do anything!” complained a young guard as he walked out of the building with an older guard.
“Enough of your whining, Johnson,” stated the older guard. “It’s Bledstone’s turn to act as chaperon and that’s that.”
“His turn?” said Johnson, looking steamed. “He’s the one that got to go with Miss Wedlow just the other day to the market. And I’ve had to do day shift three times this week. He’s not had to do it once.”
“Well, Mr. Picky,” said the older guard with a grunt, “I guess we’ll just have to look over the schedule again to make sure that you are kept happy.”
That quieted Johnson for long enough that the older guy had time to walk away.
“What am I supposed to do?” Kone asked Johnson.
“Not much to do in the middle of the night around here,” Johnson said with a bit of a shrug. “I’m sure there are some parties down on the west side pier. Usually are, anyway. You could head over there and have some fun.”
“Hmmm,” said Kone, digging into his ear, “I fink Modacio would get mad at me if I done that.”
“She won’t even know,” the guard pointed out, rocking on his heels. “Truth is that she’ll probably be stuck in that cell with her little friend for at least a couple of days. That’s how long it’ll take to get them properly transfered back to the Underworld. One of the mayor’s aides just has to get the ball rolling, is all.”
“Oh,” said Kone forlornly. “Dat will put dem in a bunch of trouble.”
“They’re definitely looking at jail time in the Underworld. At least, assuming all the rumors I’ve heard are true.”
“Dey are,” said Kone. “I don’t wanna go ter no jail, mister.”
The guard smiled. “Worry not about that, my friend. You are of a different sort than your two friends. You’ll be taken care of nicely, and securely returned home whenever you wish it.”
“Really? Why?”
“Let’s just say that the folks around here find you people fascinating.”
Kone grimaced and squinted at the guard. “What do you mean, you people?”
“Uh…Underworlders.”
“My friends is from der, too,” said Kone. “I don’t fink dat’s what you meaned.”
“Johnson,” called out another guard from inside the booth, “I’ll take it from here.”
“Right,” said Johnson as if the world had just given him a gift, which, for all intents and purposes, it had. “Sorry, sir,” he said hurriedly to Kone. “I have to run.”
Kone watched the little man disappear into the building. Then he sighed and reached into his sack and pet the stuffed bunny that he’d purchased at Orcmart.
Another guard came out. He was larger than the others, and he looked strong for a Human. Kone could obviously still snap him in two, if the need arose, but hopefully that wouldn’t be necessary. Right behind him followed a smaller man who was wearing a red robe that matched his pointy red beard. He looked a little bit like a Human-sized Gnome.
“Name is Bledstone,” said the guard, putting out his hand.
Kone carefully shook the hand and said, “Kone.”
“This is Master Wizard Redler.”
“Hoopdee dah!” said the wizard as if presenting himself to an audience of thousands.
Kone looked at Bledstone, who merely shrugged. “Never quite know, to be honest.”
“Him said just saying hello,” Kone stated.
“You can understand him?”
“I guess.”
“Interesting. Well, he’s here to cast a spell on you so that the commoners won’t know you’re an Ogre.”
“What are dat?”
“An Ogre? Shouldn’t you already know—”
“No, not that. What a spell?”
“Oh, right! I forgot that you guys in the Underworld don’t really keep up on things like this. Like I said before, Mr. Redler there is a wizard.”
Kone had heard him the first time, but he wasn’t sure what a wizard was. The word had sounded familiar, but Kone was having trouble placing its origin. He thought back to the stories that he’d heard about the Upperworld while growing up. They had those guys that dressed up in all silver who carried long sticks. Always trying to poke each other off their horses. No, those were Knights. There were those guys that wore crowns on their heads that ruled with an iron fist. He snapped his fingers. Kings! That’s what those guys were called. Then a thought popped into his brain. Weren’t wizards the ones that carried around little sticks around with them? Yeah, that’s right. They wore robes, just like the Redler guy was wearing, too. Some of them had on hats with a big point on them. But what was it that they actually did for a living? And then it hit him. Kone looked up, his mouth dropping open. He felt a sudden sense of panic. “Magic?”
“Don’t worry,” Bledstone said, patting Kone on the shoulder. “It’s nothing. I see him do it all the time. Never once has anyone been bothered by it.”
“But magic is da fings of evil!”
“Loodle da pop?”
They both looked questioningly at the wizard.
Then, Bledstone took a breath and looked at Kone. “You don’t have to let him do it, if you don’t want, but that just means we’ll be sitting here the entire night instead of hitting a party.”
Kone liked parties. “There gonna be music there?”
“Oh yeah,” said Bledstone with glee. “Loud music, too.”
“I like music.” Kone picked his nose again. “Okay,” he said after some thought, “how do dis magic stuff work?”
“I can’t answer that,” said Bledstone. “I’m not a wizard. But I do know that all the wealthy people on the island, and all the guards, and a select few others, wear special rings that show through the magic spells.” Bledstone showed his ring. It was thin and silver with a tiny blue stone in the middle. “Everyone that has one of these on will see you as you really are. All the others will see you as, well, whatever Mr. Redler makes them see.”
Kone gulped. “It gonna hurt?”
“Peddle, peddle, peddle,” said Master Wizard Redler with a shake of his head.
“Okay.” Kone gulped, but there was something about the wizard that made him feel comfortable. “I s’pose you can do dat magic stuff, den.”
The wizard smiled and nodded. He started waving his arms about while chanting something that sounded even more like gibberish than his normal speech. Little flecks of light began to form at his fingers until finally he thrust his hands toward Kone, releasing a torrent of light while the Ogre screeched in fear.
Then, it was over.
Kone hadn’t felt a thing. He looked himself over and didn’t notice anything different either. Maybe it didn’t work?
“I don’t see nuffin’,” he said to Bl
edstone.
“That’s because of two things,” replied Bledstone. “First, you’re the one that the spell was cast upon, so you won’t see it. Second, you’re an Underworlder.”
“Why do dat matter?”
“Well, imagine a bunch of Underworlders came up, right? The wizard casts spells on them all, yeah? Now, we either have to make rings for all of them or we have to set it up so that they, being Underworlders themselves and, thus, are used to seeing other Underworlders, aren’t fooled by the spell.”
“Ah,” said Kone with a furrow of his brow. “Dat makes sense. But what do I look like?”
Master Wizard Redler grabbed Kone’s wrist and pulled him over to a section of the building that had metal walls. It wasn’t a perfect mirror, but Redler cast another spell that lit things up nicely enough that Kone could see his reflection.
“I look like I always look,” said Kone.
“Oooh, der!” the wizard cast another spell on the wall and Kone saw himself as a tall, lanky Human with long black hair.
“Dat’s me?”
“That’s what people see when they see you,” said Bledstone. “Assuming they don’t have a ring.”
Kone regarded his new look and found he kind of liked it. Being an Ogre wasn’t always what it was cracked up to be, after all. To look somewhat normal, like the visage that the wizard had turned him into, would be nice sometimes.
After a few moments, the wizard looked at his wrist, bowed and said, “Keedly umpah.” Then he walked away.
“Right,” said Bledstone to Kone. “Well, you ready to party?”
With one last look at the facade of his reflection, Kone smiled and said, “Yep.”
The guard looked relieved. “Excellent. Follow me!”
SECURITY CHECKPOINT
You sure this is going to work?” asked Bob as he looked himself over in the mirror. Perkder had dressed him up in a flashy suit that he wouldn’t have been caught, well, dead in were he not a Zombie. Being that he was a Zombie, and, again, dead, sort of, he thought that the suit was actually an improvement over his normal look. Bob did kind of like the top hat, too. It was a deep purple with a thick black band at its base. But, still…“I look like a pimp.”
Comedic Fantasy Bundle #1: 4 Hilarious Adventures (Tales from the land of Ononokin) Page 45