by Griffith, KF
“That’s right,” said Baerwald, “One of the only ways you can gather that much flogiston is by using one of the generators that power an ogreball stadium. The generator used for a game draws so much energy that it nearly shuts down everything else in the city. That’s why the lights were so dim and then suddenly got brighter just when we got back to the Goat; once the game is over, the power gets rerouted away from the stadium generator and back to the rest of the city.”
“If the generator’s still workin’ by that time,” added Brunda.
“Ogreball generators are notorious for being unreliable,” said Baerwald. “Something about putting that much flogiston power in one place makes them pretty unstable.”
“Unstable,” said Elganbok, “You can say that again.” The crowd laughed.
“Many an ogre has lost life or limb because of the flogiston generator breaking down during a game, especially towards the end” said Baerwald. The other ogres nodded their agreement. “It’s dangerous stuff.”
“Can’t they fix it,” I asked.
“No,” said Baerwald, “we don’t really understand how it works. We’ve figured out how to use it, but we don’t really understand why it works . . . or why it doesn’t work sometimes.”
“So, you’re saying it’s kind of like magic,” I said.
“Yup,” said Elganbok, “unpredictable magic.”
“And you’re telling me that this flogiston stuff can make it so that you can make a wish that might come true?”
“Not might,” said Baerwald, “will.”
“I thought you said that it was unpredictable and that it sometimes doesn’t work.”
“That’s only during the games,” said Elganbok. “I think it’s because they use so much of it to run all the traps and goals and cameras on the playing field and the scoring harnesses and shields for all the players all at the same time. It kind of overloads the system; there’s a lot of magic going on. Once a match is over they only need enough energy to power the lights and the prizes, so it seems to work alright then. Flogiston seems pretty stable for everything else, though. It basically powers everything we do: the cities, the trains, the blimps . . . everything. But all that stuff is spread out. And that stuff’s not magic. Magic seems to need a ton of flogiston to make it work.”
“I have to admit, this place is sounding cooler and cooler the more I hear about it.” I said. “So how do I get them to give me one of these Winner’s Wish things?”
“You have to win an ogreball match that offers one as a prize. That’s the only way,” said Brunda.
“I’ve never played before – I’m not even sure how to play – but I’m willing to learn if that’s my only way home.”
“But you can’t play, not in an adult league game” said Brunda. “You’re a kid, and kids aren’t allowed to play in adult league games. There are plenty of junior league games you can play in, but the Winner’s Wishes are only given out for high profile adult games, and they’re usually in an enchanted trophy of some kind.”
One of the ogres in the crowd stepped forward. “What if we get a team together and compete? And what if we win a Winner’s Wish? Couldn’t we just wish for the kid to go back home?” Everyone stared at him. “I mean, he does seem like a good kid.” They continued to stare. “Even if he says he’s not an ogre.”
Brunda patted him on the back. “Give this ogre a drink on the house!”
The crowd cheered as one of the servers brought over a big mug of something that was green and foamy and smelled like burnt rubber. For some reason, as disgusting as that sounds, it made me really thirsty. I guess I was ogre enough to have a taste for the stuff that ogres liked.
As soon as he got his mug he held it up to show the crowd. They cheered again and started slapping him on the back. Every time he raised the mug to his lips to take a drink, the furious patting would make his mug jostle all over the place. He kept trying to get his lips to the mug, but with everybody patting him on the back, he spilled most of his brew onto the floor.
As he lifted the mug to his mouth for one last attempt at getting a drink, he froze as one of the other ogres said, “Who’s gonna be on your team, Knucklewort? You gotta have players good enough to win in order to win. Who do you know that’s good enough?”
Knucklewort raised his index finger signaling to them that he’d answer the question once he drank what was left of his brew.
As he touched his lips to the rim of his mug, a smallish ogre standing next to him smacked him hard on the back. “Yeah, what about that, you flubber,” he said. “Didn’t think of that, did ya?”
The impact of the smack caused the last of Knucklewort’s brew to slosh up the side of his mug and out into the air. He made a pitiful attempt to stretch his tongue out and lick at the blob of green liquid as it flew past his face. He missed it. He stood there staring at the splash mark it left on the stone floor, looking like he’d just lost his best friend.
“He’s got a good point,” said one of the other ogres to Knucklewort.
“Oh, come on,” said Elganbok. “We’ve all played. Some of us were even pretty good during our day.”
“He’s right,” added Baerwald. “It’d be a sad day in Slimewater if we couldn’t cobble together a team from the Flaming Goat’s customers. I mean, look at us. We’re the best thieves, scoundrels, and rogues this city has ever seen. Am I right?” He pumped his fist in the air.
There were a few enthusiastic whoops, but most of the crowd remained silent.
“It’s gonna hafta wait,” said a tall ogre with a scar running down the left side of his face. He was wiping his hands on his apron as he stood in the doorway into the main hall. He thumbed over his shoulder. “Got some visitors. B. O. R. I. A. L. agents.”
Chapter 7: B. O. R. I. A. L.
The color drained from every face in the room except for Brunda’s. She planted her fists on her hips and said, “What in the world could those clenched up, nosy, crabby, always-lookin’-for-trouble busybodies want in my . . . .” She stopped short as three old ogres in long dark cloaks appeared in the doorway. They were each leaning on long, gnarled staffs, and they were all wearing pale white wigs that hung down to their shoulders. I thought they looked comical, but I could tell they made everybody but Brunda nervous.
Most of the ogres in the room shrank back away from the three newcomers like they were poisonous, but Baerwald stepped in front of me, blocking me from their line of sight.
Brunda marched right over to them and stood squarely in front of them. “What brings three B. O. R. I. A. L. agents like yourselves to my fine establishment? Are you needin’ a drink?” The crowd chuckled nervously and shuffled their feet.
Have you ever watched someone blowing up a balloon? You know that feeling you get as they keep putting more and more air into the balloon and you just know it’s going to pop any second? Well, that was the feeling that filled the room.
Brunda stared at the agents. The agents stared at Brunda.
I leaned over to Elganbok and whispered to him, “What’s Borial? And why is everyone so scared of these guys? They don’t look so tough. They look kind of old and feeble, actually.”
“B. O. R. I. A. L. B – O – R – I – A – L,” he whispered back. “It stands for the Bureau of Regulations, Impediments, and Legalities. They make the rules, all the rules – and there are a lot of rules. They enforce the rules, too. They’re the ones that the guards at the stadium work for. They’re the Law.”
I nodded.
“They never just show up someplace for no reason. When they do show up, it’s usually bad news,” he continued. “Brunda needs to watch her step with them.”
One of the agents – the one wearing glasses – had stepped forward from the other two, he tapped his staff lightly on the stone floor. “Can we assume that you are the proprietor of this establishment?” He was looking directly at Brunda. His voice sounded as wrinkled as his skin.
“You certainly can,” she said. “And can I assume
that you’re here to tell me that I just inherited a vast fortune from a long lost uncle that I’ve never heard of?” The crowd chuckled again, not quite as nervous as before.
The agent smiled a little and then reached into his cloak and pulled out a parchment scroll. He unrolled it slowly and held it up so that he could read from it. He cleared his throat and looked over the tops of his glasses at Brunda. And then he read the scroll.
Whereas, on or about this last day of the month of Octovembuary, the collected pieces of real property commonly and repeatedly known as the Slimewater Flats (hereinafter “the Flats”) are hereby declared, acknowledged, and/or recognized to be condemned in full henceforth and until said state of condemnation be revoked, revised, and/or terminated by the properly adjudicated and certified authorities (hereinafter “the Bureau of Regulations, Impediments, and Legalities” or “B.O.R.I.A.L.”).
All structures and/or architectural features therein, including but not limited to, buildings, walkways, streets, bridges, docks, and any and all secret passageways shall be dismantled and/or deconstructed in a timely and complete manner according to all pertinent regulations and stipulations contained within the current version of the Book of Codes, Mandates, Restrictions, and Necessities (hereinafter “the Book of Codes”).
Any and all ogres and their associated dependents, including but not limited to, children, pets, livestock, and/or domestic thralls must vacate the aforementioned geographical area and its vicinities completely and irrevocably, never to return, within the duly allotted chronological period set forth within this and all related documents. (See page 23-B, Table 6.2 of the Schedule Supplement for complete timetables.)
When he finished he held the scroll open for a moment longer as he looked around the room, bringing his gaze to rest on Brunda. “Any questions?”
Brunda was very pale. From where I stood I could see that most of the ogres looked worried, some even had their hands to their mouths. But others looked angry – really angry; they looked like they were ready for a fight. One of them spoke up. “Are you sayin’ that you’re gonna close the Goat?”
The two ogres that were standing behind the agent with glasses shifted nervously. The reader looked unfazed. “Yes,” he said. “It will be closed. And then it must be torn down so that a new factory can be built on this spot.”
I have to give the guy credit. He didn’t sound like he wanted to be saying any of the stuff he’d said. I got the feeling he was just doing his job, even though it was difficult for him. He was standing his ground. The two ogres behind him looked like they were ready to run, though.
A big, mean looking ogre stepped out of the crowd cracking his knuckles. “Maybe we’ll just tear that little piece of paper of yours up. And then maybe we’ll show you . . . .”
Brunda held her hand up. “Calm down, Skullpinch,” she said. “These agents are just the messengers. They’re only doin’ what they’re paid to do.” She turned to the ogre with glasses. “It’s that Grindspike character that’s behind all this. Ain’t that right?”
The ogres in the room grumbled when she said the name Grindspike.
Brunda nodded like she was agreeing with herself. “He’s been buyin’ up everything from here to the other side of Ogretonia and buildin’ his blasted factories.”
The ogres grumbled louder. They grew restless.
“I’m afraid we’re not at liberty to discuss the details of any proclamation, Madame. To find out who originally filed the Request for an Injunction – Form XR-37 – you would first have to fill out a Form 11-F in triplicate and have it signed by the Supervisor of Inquiries at our regional headquarters and then . . . .”
“Enough!” Brunda said. “How long do we have before you tear us down?”
The reader rolled up the scroll, tucked it back under his cloak, reached under the other side of his cloak, pulled out a different scroll, stretched it open, adjusted his glasses, scanned the page, and said, “You are, of course, entitled to request an arbiter to challenge the injunction. If you feel the need.”
“How long before you tear us down?” Brunda demanded.
“You have exactly two weeks.”
Chaos followed. The ogres went on a rampage. All of them except for Baerwald, Elganbok, and Brunda, that is. Baerwald shoved me under a table and ran over with Brunda and Elganbok to protect the B. O. R. I. A. L. agents. Brunda pushed the agents out the door and back into the main room while the giant and the dwarf blocked the doorway so that none of the rampaging ogres could get past them. It didn’t take long for the table I was under to get pulled away and smashed over someone’s head. I ran for Baerwald and Elganbok, jumping over fallen ogres and dodging furniture and mugs as they flew through the air in every direction.
Baerwald grabbed me and steered me to an alcove beside the doorway. He looked out into the main room. “We’ll wait here where it’s safe. Once Brunda gets rid of those B. O. R. I. A. L. agents she’ll be back to settle these guys down.”
Most of the furniture had been smashed to kindling by this time, so the fighting ogres had settled on punching and throttling and kicking each other. The sounds had changed from wood splintering and pottery shattering to the sound of punching, choking, and kicking.
Brunda returned quickly carrying a smoking mug. As she walked past us into the back room she handed the mug to Elganbok. “You know what to do,” she said.
The dwarf’s eyes lit up. “Dragon’s Breath! I love Dragon’s Breath.” He lifted the mug towards Baerwald and me as a toast, smiled, and then gulped it down. Smoke rolled out of the mug as he drank down its contents. When he’d finished, he threw the mug over his shoulder and wiped his mouth with his hand. His eyes were watering and a weird rumbling sound came from deep inside him. “Better get me up,” he said to Baerwald.
The giant picked him up, held him high, and aimed him towards the center of the room. “Tilt me down just a little,” said the dwarf.
“You’re starting to heat up,” said Baerwald.
“Won’t be long now,” said the dwarf. “Here it comes.”
He belched really loud – it was the loudest belch I’ve ever heard. And flame billowed out of his mouth in a giant snapping, flicking wave. It rolled out over all of the fighting ogres, scorching any of them still unlucky enough to be standing. By the time the flame fluttered up into smoke, the room was dead silent. All eyes were on Elganbok held high above Baerwald’s head.
The dwarf giggled. The giggle turned into a chuckle, and the chuckle turned into a roar of laughter. Between gasps for breath, he managed to get out, “You should see yourselves. You look like roasted grubweiners.” Baerwald lowered him to the floor. He burped smoke and sparks, still laughing.
Brunda climbed up on a table that a couple of servers had dragged in from the main room.
She wiped her hands on her apron and stood quietly for a moment. “You all heard the news,” she said. There were grumbles all around. “Now, now. We can’t change what is.” More grumbling, louder this time. She signaled for them to quiet down. “But we can try to change what might be.” The sound changed from grumbling to something more hopeful.
Somebody called out, “That’s my girl! We knew you’d have a plan.”
“Give Slaptickle a mug of blrrrgbrew on the house,” Brunda said, gesturing at him.
“You’re my hero, Brunda!” another voice yodeled from the back.
“Nice try, Stomplip. But you gotta get there first – no drink for you,” Brunda said. The crowd laughed. “Sounds like you’ve already had enough anyway.”
“What did you have in mind, Brunda?” someone asked.
Brunda put her hands behind her back and shifted her feet. “Remember what you all said earlier? About puttin’ a team together so that you could win a Winner’s Wish so the kid could get back home? Well, if I sponsor the team, it would entitle me to whatever prize money you won, right? So, even if you guys don’t come in in first place, I could use whatever prize money you did win to pay for an arbiter to fig
ht the eviction.”
“Or we could just steal the Slimewater Cup and use the Winner’s Wish,” said Elganbok.
Everybody turned to look at him. “We could what?” said Baerwald.
“Hear me out,” said the dwarf. “You know how they always keep the trophies for every tournament on display in the Victory Hall of the Ogreball Association headquarters along with all of the historical trophies and other stuff? They display the loot for the upcomin’ games like that in every city, right? I mean, wherever we’re from, we all spent hours as kids standin’ there in our local Victory Hall lookin’ at those beautiful trophies and dreamin’ about scorin’ the winnin’ goal for our team, right? Come on, you guys know you’ve all done that!”
The ogres all nodded their heads at each other and smiled like they were remembering something pleasant.
“You know some rich ogre with too much money would be willin’ to pay a huge ransom in order to own one of those trophies, especially somethin’ like a real Slimewater Cup. So, why don’t we break into Slimewater’s Ogreball Association headquarters and steal us a trophy? We could sell it in order to fund Brunda’s arbiter, and we could even let the kid use the Winner’s Wish from the Slimewater Cup trophy before we sell it to some poor sucker.”
“Oooooooh, devious,” said one of the other ogres.
“I hafta say I like your plan,” said Brunda. She was rubbing her chin.
“Your reputation as a rascally rogue is well deserved,” said Baerwald, smiling.
The dwarf bowed. “We are, after all, thieves.”
“And ogres,” added Baerwald. “I can’t believe we haven’t thought about doing this before.”
“So, you’re going to steal a trophy, let me use it to make a wish to get back home, and then sell it to someone?” I said.
“That’s the plan,” said Elganbok.