The Kidnapped Prince (Tales from the Land of Ononokin Book 5)

by John P. Logsdon

  “Not even slightly.”

  “Gespo means you have to be a team player,” Kleeshay attempted, thinking that maybe it was time to move Henrik into another division.

  “See? That’s what I’m talking about.” Henrik was pointing at Kleeshay. “What team? You mean our side of the mob or do we have an actual team now? Like softball or something? Honestly, I’m starting to lose my hair over this.”

  “That which does not kill you only serves to make you stronger,” Kleeshay said, hoping it would bring his henchman some measure of comfort.

  “Yeah, okay,” said Henrik with a shrug.

  “See?” Gespo said. “It ain’t that hard.”

  Henrik rolled his eyes. “You’re just saying that ‘cause you’re the teacher’s pet. I could talk until I’m blue in the face and I’d still end up takin’ a back seat to the way you guys yap.”

  “Now you’re getting it,” said Kleeshay, feeling a sense of pride at hearing Henrik’s rant. He also rather liked that “blue in the face” descriptor. He made a mental note to stick that little cliché in his back pocket.

  Henrik, though, just blinked a few times and said, “I am?”

  A MEETING?

  The troop were all lounging in Kwap’s place of business, except for Gungren, who was busily pacing around with a look of measured anxiety.

  Whizzfiddle had visited a number of mob offices in his time. This one wasn’t much different than the rest. It was dark and musty. In fact, it rather reminded him of a scene from the movie The Orcfather, Part II.

  “Can I get you a drink or some food?” asked Kwap, and then added, “Or anything at all?”

  “I could stand some stew, if you have any,” answered Whizzfiddle. His stomach was on the mend since he'd cast the spell on himself after the piggyback ride.

  “I was talking to the princess,” Kwap replied.

  “Oh.”

  Obviously seeing that he would have to play host to the rest of them as well, Kwap motioned at the Ogre who was joyfully watching everyone.

  “Pilk, get the rest of them some burgers.”

  “Okidoki!”

  “Burgers?” said Gungren.

  “Meat on a sandwich,” explained Whizzfiddle, knowing that his apprentice was mostly used to stews and salads, “with lettuce, tomato, pickles, and various sauces.”

  “That sound good.”

  “The life of one counters the logic to be ingested by another,” Eloquen admonished.

  “What?” said Kwap.

  “Him a veterinarian,” answered Pilk. “It okay, mister… erm, missus? Anyway, I are one, too.”

  “Wait,” Kwap said, pulling his eyes off Princess Jill. “You’re a veterinarian, Pilk? I’ve known you a long time, and I frankly find that rather hard to believe.”

  “I think him mean that they am vegetarians,” Gungren replied. “They don’t eat meat.”

  “Oh, right,” Kwap said. “That makes more sense. Okay, then get him some vegetables and get the rest of them burgers.”

  “Okidoki!”

  Kwap turned back to the princess and leaned against the wall. It was clear that he found her interesting. Obviously he didn’t know her the way everyone else did. Then again, an Orc kingpin probably could subdue an Upperworld princess, given time, but it’d be a hell of a fight.

  “Now, where were we?” Kwap said smoothly. “Ah, yes, could I have some wine and a gourmet steak brought for you, princess?”

  Jill flipped her hand at him dismissively. “No, I think I shall have one of these burgers you mentioned.” Whizzfiddle then noticed that the princess had glanced over at Kelsa. “I’ve recently learned that it’s not always polite for those of us in positions of power to take advantage of our situations.”

  “Is it ever polite?” Whizzfiddle couldn’t contain himself.

  “Some do enjoy serving others,” Jill countered.

  “It would please me greatly to cater your meal with the highest of delicacies,” Kwap said, clearly ignoring everyone else in the room.

  Jill raised an eyebrow at Whizzfiddle. “See?”

  Just then, the Dark Elf named Blaze burst into the room, gasping.

  “Sorry… to… bug… ya…, boss,” he said, as he put his hands on his knees and sucked air into his lungs, “but Kleeshay has just called… a meeting with all the bosses.”

  Kwap spun away from Jill and said, “What?”

  CONTINUING THE INTERVIEW

  The interview with Heliok was going pretty smoothly. There’d be post-production edits, of course, but Misty wasn’t fool enough to make the Fate look bad. She’d skirted the edge because it was in her nature as a reporter—and a Dark Elf—to do so, but she was also smart enough to realize that a Fate could squash her out of existence with a simple flick of the wrist.

  “Do you have gods, Heliok?”

  He shifted uneasily at that question. “There are those among us who believe there is some being out there who created us, but most of our populace finds that fantastic and silly.” He then turned smug and said, “I mean, who in their right mind would believe in gods?”

  She tilted her head at this. “A bit of irony in that question considering what we’re in the process of discussing, no?”

  “Oh, well...” He cleared his throat. “I suppose, but this is different. We clearly did create your gods who, in turn, created you. There is no evidence, contact, or even stories to suggest that anyone masterminded our existence. In other words, we know for a fact that we created The Twelve and that they created Ononokin and its people.”

  “I understand,” Misty said, feeling that he was getting riled up. “Let’s get back to The Twelve, then, shall we?” She looked at her notes. “While you say that you want us to keep our attention focused on them for prayers and the like, are there times when you bypass our gods and go straight to us?”

  “Indeed, we do,” Heliok answered seriously. “We have this little system that we call Fate Quests. It allows us to create challenging adventures for people on your world to follow. Should they succeed, they’ll get something nifty; should they fail, they’ll get nothing.”

  “And why do you do this?”

  “We enjoy betting on the outcomes.”

  “Sorry?”

  He motioned around the set. “It can get rather dull up here, you know. Sure, we have TV shows just like you do, but but you can only stare at the tops of heads for so long, and between seasons there’s not much to do but watch repeats.”

  “But don’t you already know what the outcomes will be?”

  “As I explained earlier,” Heliok replied, “we could, but we choose not to. Actually, if anyone is caught looking ahead, they risk getting kicked out of all future bets. Besides, there’s not much fun in seeing what’s going to happen ahead of time.” He chuckled in a not-so-funny way. “Trust me, I know. When I choose to, anyway.”

  “Interesting,” Misty said as she tapped her pen on her notepad. “That entire line of questioning brings us to a point where we at The Learning Something Channel have a surprise for our viewers.” She turned to the camera and forced herself to sound excited. “We are going to be televising for you the first-ever Fate Quest captured on film.”

  “This is thrilling,” said Heliok with a clap of his hands.

  “It will be a three-part show, where this fellow”—she motioned to the back wall where she knew Corg would superimpose an image of Gungren during post-production—“is taking on three distinct quests in an attempt to get himself a full makeover. And that makeover will be handled by the Fates, which means it’s going to be extraordinary. Isn’t that right, Heliok?”

  “Absolutely,” he replied, his excitement seemingly genuine. “We’re going to take that incredibly unfortunate-looking gentleman and fix a part of his looks after each completed leg of his journey. We’ll start with his teeth, move on to his body, and then finally cap it all off with a new face and hairdo. I daresay that by the time we’re done, this runt is going to be exceedingly pleasing to the
eye.”

  Misty smiled again. “You heard it here, folks. Keep your eyes and ears on TLSC as the quests will be airing soon.”

  “Annnnnd, cut,” hollered Corg.

  “That was solid, Heliok,” Misty said as she stood and reached out her hand to shake his. “You really showed up in that interview.”

  “You mean we’re done?” he replied, taking her hand with a look of confusion. “I feel like I was just getting into it.”

  “That’s how it always feels. The first few minutes are nerve-racking, then it gets easier, and the next thing you know it’s over.”

  “Oh,” the Fate said. “Well, when does this air?”

  “The current plan is to get the first quest done and in the can.”

  “The what?”

  “Ready for post,” she explained.

  “Ah, right. ‘In the can’ means something completely different up here, apparently.”

  She ignored that. After working for too many years in a predominantly male business, Misty had learned to choose the words she heard.

  “Once the first quest is ready for production, we’ll air your interview and then a week later put it on again. This will build buzz. I’ll also be talking with trades and Undernet sites about getting some articles and ads drawn up. Finally, the full show will hit the waves and we’ll learn if we succeeded or not.”

  “I don’t understand the delay.”

  “The first reason is that we have to make sure this Gungren fellow actually makes it.”

  “Oh, he’ll make it,” Heliok stated firmly.

  Misty looked at him seriously. “I thought you weren’t allowed to look into the future?”

  “I don’t have to in this case,” Heliok answered. “We need to get our numbers up. The runt will succeed.”

  “Are you saying that this quest is rigged?”

  “No, no, no!” Heliok put his hands on her shoulders. “We’re going to let it play out as it is. Remember that there is a rule that we’re not supposed to intervene.” He let go of her and looked about innocently. “But, now and then a tweak here and there may be warranted for the greater good.”

  “Rigging a game such as this can have disastrous effects if people find out,” Misty warned.

  “And if we don’t rig it and your little Gungren fails,” Heliok said with deep soberness, “we’ll be believed in even less than before.”

  “That’s a risk, certainly.”

  “If we drop under a certain percentage, your world will be destroyed.”

  “Oh,” said Misty, gulping. “So you’re rigging the game, eh?”

  “Only if necessary. We’d rather not.”

  “Hey, whatever keeps my planet intact is okay by me.”

  THE MOC

  With their bellies full, discussions were underway about how they were going to manage freeing Jack from Kleeshay’s clutches.

  “Most mob bosses would just go in with guns blazing,” said Kwap from behind his desk, “which I was planning to do at the warehouse, but there are a lot of guys in that meeting who are pals of mine.”

  “Why not just contact the local authorities?” suggested Kelsa.

  “I’m not a rat,” he answered as if slapped. “Besides, we’ve got all the local authorities in our hip pockets. Money goes a long way, you know.”

  “That’s uncivilized,” Jill said, turning her nose upward.

  Kwap nodded. “Part of the reason I want to get out of the business, Princess.”

  “Only part of the reason?”

  “There are many reasons, actually.” He gave her a strong look, even though she had turned to face the window. “You, for one…” He coughed and jolted in his chair. “Um, I mean euphemism. Erm…”

  “Euphemism?” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “What are you talking about?”

  “Uh…”

  “I got an idea to get that prince guy back,” announced Gungren.

  “Good,” exclaimed Kwap with relief. “What is it?”

  “We say that we is from the government. We is a farsighted committee…”

  “A what?”

  “I think he means an Oversight Committee,” noted Whizzfiddle.

  Gungren put his hands on his hips. “That what I said.”

  “Right. Go on, Gungren.”

  “We walk in and show our badges and stuff," said Gungren thoughtfully. "Then we tell them guys that we want to make sure things am running right.”

  “Ah, I see,” said Kwap with a slow nod. “You mean like the Mob Oversight Committee.”

  “There’s a Mob Oversight Committee?” Whizzfiddle asked.

  “Of course there is,” replied Kwap. “Can’t just have the mob running around doing anything they want.”

  “I thought that was rather the point of organized crime,” said Whizzfiddle, stroking his beard.

  “We call them the MOC,” Kwap said to Gungren. “It’s easier.”

  “That perfect for what we need,” the tiny Giant replied with a gleam in his eye.

  Kwap gazed back at Jill for a moment. Anyone could tell that he was interested in her. Everyone except for Jill, anyway. Royalty was so used to being put upon a pedestal that they rarely caught on to genuine interest.

  “Been a long time since I’ve heard from those guys,” Kwap continued. “We keep a steady payment going in to avoid being scrutinized.”

  “This is good,” Gungren said thoughtfully. “If there am this MOC, then there am also rules, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Perfect. What stuff can we get these boss guys on?”

  “Sorry?” said Kwap. “What do you mean?”

  “We need rules that we can say that we am checking, right?” Gungren asked. “If we not have regulation things to verify, then what good will being the MOC do us?”

  “I got it,” Kwap replied. “There’s not a lot, really. Mostly they just want to have their palms greased. But one of the items they're concerned with is our level of education. They seem to always want us to improve, for some reason.”

  Jill laughed at this. “Seriously?”

  “It’s kind of how I landed as kingpin,” Kwap said with a shrug.

  “Oh, do tell.”

  “Well,” Kwap started, “it was right after I got out of college with Jack. I came back home to get a normal job and ended up walking into the wrong building. I’d inadvertently stepped into the middle of a mob-boss showdown.”

  “That sounds dreadful,” noted Whizzfiddle. “Been in similar situations. Never fun.”

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t know that it was bad when I walked in. Just figured they were a bunch of suits in a hostile takeover or something. We’d read up on those in my last semester, after all.” He stood up and cracked his knuckles. “Anyway, I went to pull out my resume and I guess they all thought I was going for a gun. Being that they were already prepared to fight, it didn’t take much to ignite the violence. An instant later, a firefight ensued.”

  “Oh my,” said Jill as if she found this incredibly exciting.

  “I dove to the ground and covered my head, thinking for sure I was a goner.”

  “The clock’s spin signals wonder for kernels of popping,” Eloquen said with a face of wonder.

  “What’s that?” asked Kwap.

  “Him say that this would be a great time to have popcorn,” translated Gungren.

  “Oh. Okay.” Kwap grimaced. “Anyway, it didn’t take long for the bullets to quit flying. I slowly uncovered my head and glanced around. There were bodies all over the floor, and none of them were breathing. I was the only guy alive in the joint.”

  “My goodness,” said Jill, touching his arm. “That’s awful.”

  Kwap visibly melted.

  “Yeah, so, I was in complete shock when I stood up. In one hand I was holding my resume and my Associate’s Degree, in the other I was holding a pistol.” He looked as though he were reliving all the emotions of that day all over again. “How that gun got there, I have no idea. I guess I’d pick
ed it up while I was in my mental stupor.”

  He glanced up from his hand, blinking.

  “Next thing I know, a bunch of henchmen came running in, loaded to the teeth.” He swallowed. “I guess they assumed I had single-handedly off’d all the bosses. I dropped the gun as they questioned me and asked about my papers. I showed them everything and they immediately made me the kingpin.”

  Whizzfiddle understood. It was how the world worked with people who lived under the constant threat of their own demise. The strongest, most cunning, and often most ruthless always bubbled up to the top.

  “You appeared to be the last man standing in the firefight,” Whizzfiddle said.

  “Exactly.”

  “And so they saw you as the powerful leader, willing to kill, if necessary.”

  “That was part of it,” agreed Kwap, “but the real kicker was because I had an Associate’s Degree. Most mob folks only have a high school diploma, so they looked up to me.”

  “Oh, right,” said Whizzfiddle.

  “Funnily enough,” Kwap said, “right after I became kingpin, the MOC contacted me and notified me that there was a requirement for all mob bosses to at least have a high school diploma or equivalent.”

  “Ah,” said Gungren. “That mean we can go in and make them show us proof of their educations?”

  “Yeah, yeah…” Kwap’s eyes darted around. “Uh, that’s exactly what I was thinking.”

  “But you said that all these bosses have their high school diplomas, right?” Whizzfiddle asked.

  “Damn,” said Kwap.

  “Don’t matter anyway,” Gungren said. “Just need to confuse them.”

  Whizzfiddle admired the way the little Giant approached problems. He’d done it cleverly, but without necessarily being clever. Oh, it seemed ingenious enough to someone like Whizzfiddle, and probably most other wizards, but with Gungren it was more about logic, deduction, and seeing past all the hoopla.

  “Actually,” said Kwap, “it’s an interesting plan.”

  Gungren, not one for mincing words, just said, “Yep.”

  “Okay, Gungren, how do you propose we do this?”