by Z.N. Singer
About ten minutes later, Gertrude came back out of her shop carrying a small stack of print paper and a satisfied expression. “I thought so,” she declared. “He bought the place two weeks ago after all, and he's been doing these mad scientist things the whole time. Google maps was bound to have listed him already.”
“Er...you google mapped directions to the Lord of Thyme?”
“Yes, of course, what does anyone do when they need directions? Look, see, right here: Mad Botanist, 381st Soul Boulevard. Let's see, it's right over the Damn Tollbridge allright – only they've renamed it Bankruptcy bridge just like those directions of yours say...huh? That can't be right. Google never messes that sort of thing up. It's elementary.”
“Er, is there a problem?”
“Yeah, any idea what this thingy is? Where the toll amount should be.”
“Ahh...I think...I think that's the Greek omega.”
“...doesn't that stand for infinity?”
“Er, yes, I believe it does. Infinity symbol, used in physics equations and—”
“How can you have an infinite toll booth toll?”
“Bankruptcy Bridge...” Harry said tonelessly.
Every mad megalomaniac has his pet peeve. Most of them have typical, petty ones like minions not carrying out tasks perfectly, or being rude, or not killing the hero for them when they had the chance. The Lord of Thyme, however, was a more introspective, soul-searching kind of man. The kind of man who asks questions of himself, questions his own actions endlessly and is tormented by the conclusions. He is a man who rages at himself, despises his own actions, though propelled, nay compelled, to go on.
Namely, he cannot believe he really chose to do this with thyme plants.
“Anything else, I swear!” He raged, pacing up and down in his evil headquarters. There was not a minion to be found – even plants, which eat dirt for heavens sake, know better than to be in the same room as a mad megalomaniac when not prompted by sharp or metallic objects. “Tomatoes, peppers, gods blest petunias. Anything that didn't into such a bad, blamed, bloody pun. I'm a laughingstock, a joke, a comic gag, a mockery! A creation for the twisted amusement of some sadistic cadre of smug immortals. I suppose they think this kind of torment is funny!”
Speaking of torment...
There was a terrifying knock on his door. That is, the minion found it terrifying. If this madman killed him, his death wouldn't even be cool gruesome. It would just be weird gruesome, or, worse, comic gruesome. Insult to injury.
“What is it?”
“Ah-h-h-h- Sir, I-I-I-I-I-”
“Oh just spit it out, what is it this time?”
“Er – which thyme, sir? I can't tell them apart.”
“Not that thyme, and neither can I! I just call them all plant! And they do what they're told! Plant kill, plant run, plant get the bloody hell out of my sight, how well do you obey orders eh? Spit it out!”
“Er, we believe a hero has arisen...”
“Oh, okay.”
“Er...is that all sir?”
“Well what do you expect me to do? Rant and rage and talk about what a fool he must be to challenge me? I use plants. I suppose he's going to come after me with a hedge trimmer.”
“Er, it's a giant Weed Whacker, sir, actually. Of Dest-in-ee.”
“Oh good. At least I'm not the only joke.”
“Sir?”
“Just keep track of him for now minion. There's always the occasional hero in this job. You just watch the bridge, make sure the toll booth is still working. That should stop him.”
“Er – her, sir.”
“Huh?”
“The hero is a her, sir.”
“That's a heroine, you moron! Do you want to get us sued!?”
“N-n-n-n-no sir, sorry sir!”
“Good. Don't make me do a 'mad evil boss act' on you. You remember the way to the security room, right?”
“Yes sir, going sir!”
Dr. Loonatic sighed as the annoying guy left. Truthfully, he wouldn't have done a 'mad evil boss act' on him. Not because he was merciful – he was a megalomaniac for heavens sake – but because the evil minion temp agency he'd gotten him from would have given him more trouble for it than it was worth. They had rules about stuff like that.
“Er...” Harry said as Gertrude finally came back. It was a stock phrase of his.
“Yeah, we're ready to go. I got the bridge covered. Google maps says it's not too far to walk. Convenient huh? Dad's gonna want that car, we're bound to get loads of business out of all that mess those plants made.”
“Er, yes, of course. Very fortunate,” said Harry, who hated walking anywhere. He preferred to spend his day sitting down somewhere with a nice, relaxing pile of forms to verify. They didn't bully you. Why were all the women he met today so – vigilant? “Uh, what about after that?”
“We improvise. Not much choice, is there? Luckily I can always use the back of this thing if I need to beat up some people. Man, I love doing this, it's like a dream come true. I can't believe I'm actually going to get immortalized for getting violent with one of these.”
“Er...well. I don't really know about...” Harry began, not at all certain whether significant immortalization of any kind was in the offing.
“What?” Gertrude asked belligerently.
“...Nothing,” Harry said meekly. “Er...when are you changing?”
“...huh? Why would I change?”
“Well, I mean, er....” Harry floundered. He was in rather unfamiliar territory here. “What I mean to say is, ah, most heroines, I mean, I think...have less clothes?”
Gertrude looked down at her thick baggy work pants and shirt, complete with short brown heavy boots. “What's wrong with these? They take dirt and all kinds of beatings, and that's exactly what we're heading for right?”
“Well, yes, I mean, those do seem practical, but all the covers...pictures...you know. I think the standard is some kind of metal bikini?”
“Ridiculous. Where am I supposed to get one of those? Besides, what's the point of a metal bikini? It's not going to protect you from anything. Everything else is wide open.”
“Er, yes, I always have wondered how they managed, but the fact remains they're all wearing them...”
“Publicity stunts,” Gertrude said dismissively. “They just drew them up that way afterwards. I'll bet you anything they really fought the battles kitted up like a tank. I would, if I was facing that kind of stuff. No way I'd do it in a bikini. That's got 'please tear me up' written all over it. Shut up and lets get walking. I wanna be back in time to watch myself kick plant rear on the eight o'clock news.”
“Er, right. Okay. Lets go.”
“That's this way.”
“...right. Of course.”
“Security? What's the status on that heroine?” Dr. Loonatic buzzed over the intercom. Not because he cared, but because he had little better to do. It was like checking email.
“The heroine is approaching the bridge sir,” said whatever minion was manning the cameras. They all looked alike to him, and besides, he'd only gotten them yesterday. He'd ordered them two weeks earlier of course. The things he was going to say to the Better Business Bureau about that temp agency when he was through with all this...
“Very good. Be sure to record her reactions when she hits it. I could do with the entertainment. Are you sure we can't get cable out here?”
“Er, that wasn't me sir. But, uh, maybe satellite?”
“Hmmph. Whoever invented all this was better at diabolical than me. I'll look into it. Back to it, er...”
“Humphrey sir.”
“Right. Evil minion Humphrey. More camera watching.”
“Yes sir,” sighed Humphrey. He always got the weird villains. He suspected it had something to do with his name.
“Well there's the bridge.”
“Yup. Whatcha stoppin' for?”
“Well, about the paying...”
“Hey, I said I got it covered.”
<
br /> “Well, if you say so...”
“That's more like it. Here we go. Hey guardman, comin' through, evil megalomaniacs to slay.”
“Yeah, tell me another one. Even if you could pay this toll, which I doubt, there's no way you're a heroine, see? I read the comics. I know what heroines look like. You've got way too many clothes. At least show some midsection if you wanna pull that off.”
“Yeah yeah, believe what you like,” Gertrude muttered, suspecting that this was not the last time she'd hear this.
“Hey hey whoa, you haven't even asked what the toll is.”
“Don't need to,” Gertrude grinned, and reached into her pocket.
“You don't mean,” the guardsman blanched.
“You didn't bring a...” Harry gasped.
“Oh yes I did,” Gertrude crowed.
“Security? How'd it go? What? What? What do you mean, you forgot to take out the E-Z Pass lane????”
“Er...Miss Gertrude?”
“Yeah, what?”
“Well, I just wanted to say...well...that is...I, I apologize for my opinion, I thought, well – I really never imagined you'd bankrupt yourself to see the Lord of Thyme overthrown, and I have to say that I really – ”
“Huh?” Gertrude interrupted. “Who's bankrupted me? I sure didn't.”
“But...that E-Z Pass...”
“Oh that. That wasn't mine. That was Franks. Frank's Flirty Flowers? He's our rival in town. I took it off his windshield. He never bothers with the garage. Lucky for me.”
“....You bankrupted your business rival?”
“Anything to overthrow the Lord of Thyme,” Gertrude reminded him smugly.
Harry felt very strongly that despite the words being almost exactly the same, the meaning of the argument had changed drastically. But he was a man of very little backbone, and to say he folded would have been – to be brutally frank – to suggest he'd started standing up.
“Er...of course. Right. Very good.”
“Well, so long as that's settled. Come on, eight o'clock is coming up fast.”
Were heroes supposed to think like that? Harry had so many doubts about this adventure. But he knew, down deep in his soul where all difficult but necessary truths reside, that if he skipped out on this, Gertrude and the Seer would kill him. And that could not be allowed.
He persevered.
The Lord of Thyme was not amused. “The plan was perfect,” he raged. “All they had to do was make a tollbooth no one could afford to pass. And they go and put in a bloody credit option! I knew I should have sprung for the administrator minions! 'Drones are prone to comic errors' huh? I'll give them comic errors! I'll comically throw them to the thymes! I don't care if they blacklist me! I'll hire minions elsewhere! Competent ones! BRING ME MY THYMES! I WILL TEACH THESE FOOLS THE LESSON OF A LIFETIME!”
“Oh, very good sir! Thyme and time!”
“Shut up!”
You just can't flatter megalomaniacs these days.
“Er, Gertrude?”
“Yes?”
“There seem to be a large number of thyme plants heading our way. The mutated ones, I mean.”
“Sweet.”
“.....uwha?”
If you had asked Harry before whether he could be nauseated to the point of throwing up by the evisceration of plants, he would have said no. That was because he'd never seen Gertrude do it.
“Man, you are such a wimp.”
“...blurarrk.” Said Harry.
The guards at the entrance to the lair of the Lord of Thyme were perfectly suited to their roles. They were, after all, the products of a highly professional training and leasing agency. They were big, imposing, and had a brutish appearance that suggested that they were just waiting to pound the snot out of whoever tried to get in without an 'evil minion' ID card. Underneath that appearance, they were cowardly suck-ups with three brain cells apiece.
The Lord of Thyme, when browsing the more economical package deals, had clearly failed to read the fine print.
Really, lack of attention to detail has done in finer villains – take that Witch who left a bucket of water lying around. Everything had been going her way right up until then. But just one tiny error, that no doubt seemed insignificant and harmless at the time – oops, there's a bucket of water lying around, but I don't want to fetch a minion to get rid of it now, I'll do it later – made an end of a potentially brilliant career and handed the victory to a Kansas farm girl. It doesn't get more ignoble than that.
Anyway, getting back to the guards.
One of the advantages of being stupid is that being bored means less to you, because lack of brain activity is a given. For this reason, stupid but intimidating door guards will guard all day and not complain. Their expressions will not change, and nearly everyone will be scared away. Many a evil overlord has managed to last all through their early days with a cut-rate door guard set with no trouble. It's that rare exception you've got to watch for. If they try to win it with brains, you're doomed.
Gertrude was not the brightest bulb around. But she was a hell of a lot brighter than they were. And she had serious brass. Door guards have trouble processing brass.
“Right you lot, stop standing around like a bunch of statues and get out of the way of the door will you? I've got an appointment.”
Five seconds later, the guard on the left said, “Huh?”
A second later, the guard on the right said, “Huh?”
He was the dumb one.
“I said, I've got an appointment. You in the habit of making people late?”
“Uh...anyone without an appointment may not enter on pain of being brutally beaten and used as a—”
“That's why I said I have an appointment, stupid. Move over will you? I want a word with that boss of yours. I mean, testing my skills is one thing, but that was an awful lot of trash to throw at me before we've even had an interview.”
“Uh...what?”
“An interview. You stupid or something? Your boss is new right? He needs good hands right? I'm here for a job. Unlike you lot, I'm a professional freelancer, and I'm worth ten of you. So budge over, and I'll be nice when I get my uniform. He does have a uniform right?”
“The Lord of Thyme utilizes Bargain Bad Guys custom design service logo, uniform, and complimentary brochure,” both guards promptly declaimed in unison. “Come to us for ALL your evil overlord start-up business needs.” They were very proud of this speech. It had taken them three weeks longer than everyone else in their class to learn it right. That was how they'd gotten to be door guards.
Bargain Bad Guys takes pride in the fact that their doormen are so exemplary that not a single one has ever figured out they were handed the short end of the stick.
“Right. Well, so long as he's got one. Look, just let me get inside will you? I'm late.”
“Uh right,” said the guard on the left. He was the leader, because he was smarter.
“That's the spirit pal. I'll put in a good word for you. See you in the next briefing.” Gertrude sauntered past. Harry attempted to follow. The two guards closed in front of him with a sound remarkably like a door closing.
“Anyone without an appointment may not enter on pain of being brutally beaten and used as a—”
“Hey! What do you think you're doing?”
“Anyone without—”
“Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first two times, but he's with me you idiots, what did you think he was trailing me around for? He look like a pro minion to you?”
“............” Said the guy on the right.
“Uhhhh.” Said the guy on the left.
“So? Let him in.”
“Uhhh...what's his appointment?”
“He's my lawyer of course. Never sign a contract without a good lawyer, especially a contract with an evil megalomaniac. You wouldn't believe the kinds of little footnotes these guys will pull trying to get permission to kill you if they don't like you or get in a bad mood or whatever. You remember that
for when you go pro – you gotta watch your own back once you leave the agency. You got it?”
“Yeah!” Both guards chorused in unison. They were thrilled. No one else had ever suggested they'd be able to go pro one day before.
“Well, best of luck and all, so let Harry in will you? I went to a lot of trouble to come prepared.”
“Yes ma'am!”
“I think it's thyme for a change of guard,” the Lord of Thyme said.
“Uh, Gertrude? Do you know where we're going?”
“Yeah, I just don't know if it's the right direction.”
“...doesn't that mean you're lost?”
“Nah, I've been here before, I just don't know where he's put everything. Could be we're heading his way, could be not. We might even be walking right into the thyme den.”
“I assume that will be time to run?”
“Nah, they'll be mostly thyme to attack...oh. No, are you kidding? That's time to go friggin' berserk! You think I'm gonna get another chance like this working in a flower shop?”
“....right,” Harry said in a very small voice, slowing down to put more distance between himself and the Heroine as she turned a corner.
“What the....yaaaaaaaahoooooooooo!”
Harry sat down against the wall, closed his eyes, covered his ears, and counted slowly to one hundred. Then he cautiously his hands away from his ears. No noise. It was over. In the comic creep of a city boy born and bred, he inched his way to the corner and peered around it.
In the midst of a sea of strewn bits of dismembered monster herb, Gertrude was posing experimentally with various adornments fashioned from the remains. “Oh, there you are. Hey, what do you think? Gertrude of the Jungle! Terror of thyme everywhere.”
“Err...I don't think there are any jungles on this continent...”
“Ah, you're hopeless. Remind me to come back and collect these later. Trophies, you know.”
“Um, right.”
“Okay, onward. Come on thymes! Good thymes, good thymes, come to mamawithagreat bigweedwhackerofdeath.”
“Of Dest-in-ee.”
“Right. And their destiny is death. Same difference. Come on, I'm right here...hellooo?”
Harry decided to keep ten yards of space between him and Gertrude at all times. That is, all times until after the quest was over.