Mogworld
Page 25
“We’ll give them back when we’re finished,” said Meryl, already brandishing her favorite scalpel. “You can keep them in a little box or something.”
Slippery John’s eyes narrowed. “Slippery John is thinking that maybe Slippery John will take his wife away and let you find some other vegetable to mutilate.”
“Slippery John should consider how many kinds of torment can be explored in a single afternoon,” said Civious, without emotion.
“Slippery John has decided to be amenable,” said Slippery John, without skipping a beat. “As long as you give them a bit of a polish afterwards and spray them with something that smells nice.” He took a rather hasty step back.
“Wait!” I said. “You want to do this right now?”
“Is there somewhere you need to be?” asked Civious.
“But what about Barry? He could be here any day now! We have to prepare!”
His unmasked eye met mine, and I felt the bottom drop out of several of my internal organs. “I was the Lord of the Malevolands. The very essence of dark magic is a plaything in my grasp. If there truly is an individual in this world who can match my power, then no amount of preparation can save us.”
“Well okay then,” I squeaked.
—
I lay on the slab. Everything had been black since Meryl had levered out my octopus eyes with a pencil. I’d been listening to fumbling, grotesque surgical noises, and Mrs. Civious scolding her husband for close to half an hour.
“Nearly ready,” said Meryl, close to my ear. “Sorry, Drylda’s eyeballs are being a bit stubborn. You’d almost think they weren’t designed to pop out.”
“Ha ha,” I muttered.
I heard a musical twanging sound, the crash of a metal implement being dropped on a tray, and Civious hissing a dreadful curse.
“And one of them just rolled under a desk. Sorry. You’ve got to expect some teething troubles when you’re on the cutting edge of scientific discovery.”
“There you are,” came Mrs. Civious’s voice. “Just brush the fluff off and we’re ready to go.”
I felt pincers worrying at my optic nerves, prompting a few sparks and whooshes before my vision, then a pair of warm, wet, blobs sank into my eye sockets.
“What do you see?” asked Meryl.
“The inside of my head.”
“Oh, sorry.” She carefully rotated the eyeballs. “How about now?”
My vision focussed quickly. The patchy, broken ceiling of the cathedral returned to view, along with the flaking paintings of beautiful, naked angels left by a long-dead artisan who didn’t get out enough. Something had changed, now, though. My vision was absolutely perfect. The colors seemed to glow with increased vibrancy. Even Baron Civious seemed to have a bit more rosiness in his cheeks—
I looked at the Baron again. Then I sat bolt upright.
“What is it?” he asked, expertly disguising his startled jump as an incidental little tic. “What do you see?”
“Words!”
“Words?”
I waved at a point about one foot above his scalp. “There are words over your head!” I looked around. “Over everyone’s heads!”
They were in bright orange serifed lettering, as if stamped by some great cosmic movable type. And it seemed that wherever I positioned my head the words rotated to face me, creating the disquieting impression of being scrutinized by language.
Slippery John’s words simply read “Slippery John.” The Baron’s was also his name, but underneath was the word
I relayed all of this to my colleagues. “Fascinating,” said Civious, as the others began carefully pawing the air above them. “The entities that control the Syndrome victims appear to be employing some kind of sophisticated intelligence-gathering magitechnology. What else is there?”
“There’s this thing floating in the corner of my vision,” I said, reaching out a hand and trying in vain to touch it. “It’s like a red bar with words around it. And . . .”
I stopped. I’d just looked at Drylda. There was something wrong with the label above her head. It was meaningless gibberish, a string of flickering punctuation marks that constantly changed. Then it began to expand, growing beyond the
confines of the space above her head, bleeding into the room.
I jumped back to escape the deluge of hyphens and question marks but they moved with me. They weren’t in the room, I realized. They were overlaid onto my eyes, and there was no escape. Soon I couldn’t see anything but oceans of meaningless orange punctuation. I felt myself trip on something and collapse to the ground, then a string of gibbering exclamation marks tunneled their way into my brain and the world fell away into void . . .
doublebill: you there
sunderwonder is currently Away. He may not reply to your messages.
doublebill: dude talk to me plaese this is really importent
sunderwonder is currently Away. He may not reply to your messages.
doublebill: I dont know how he did it but dickface has hakced the net security so I cant send emails
sunderwonder is currently Away. He may not reply to your messages.
doublebill: and now hes taekn away my mogworld admin tools
sunderwonder is currently Away. He may not reply to your messages.
doublebill: hes messin around with the build and I cant do anythnig to stop him and I think im about to start crying
sunderwonder is currently Away. He may not reply to your messages.
doublebill: yeah here I go
####!Lord_Dreadgrave’s_Undead_Minion signed in at 4:14PM
####!Lord_Dreadgrave’s_Undead_Minion: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
####!Lord_Dreadgrave’s_Undead_Minion: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
doublebill: is that you don
####!Lord_Dreadgrave’s_Undead_Minion: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
####!Lord_Dreadgrave’s_Undead_Minion: what?
doublebill: doublebill: is that you don
####!Lord_Dreadgrave’s_Undead_Minion: what?
doublebill: why do you keep saying what
####!Lord_Dreadgrave’s_Undead_Minion: you can hear me?
doublebill: er
doublebill: yes
doublebill: who is this
####!Lord_Dreadgrave’s_Undead_Minion: i don’t know what’s happening!
####!Lord_Dreadgrave’s_Undead_Minion: my name’s jim!
####!Lord_Dreadgrave’s_Undead_Minion: they put drylda’s eyes in my head and now i’m here!
doublebill: it says your coming from inside our main server
doublebill: are you a player
####!Lord_Dreadgrave’s_Undead_Minion: no, I’m a mage!
####!Lord_Dreadgrave’s_Undead_Minion: i’m an undead mage!
####!Lord_Dreadgrave’s_Undead_Minion: i don’t see any servers here or any kind of waiting staff!
####!Lord_Dreadgrave’s_Undead_Minion: it’s just a big black space!
doublebill: wait
doublebill: did you say drylda
doublebill: are you the guy who had the account probz
####!Lord_Dreadgrave’s_Undead_Minion: i don’t have an account!
####!Lord_Dreadgrave’s_Undead_Minion: there weren’t any banks near my farm! i kept all my money in a tin under my mattress!
####!Lord_Dreadgrave’s_Undead_Minion: why are you asking these stupid questions?!
doublebill: what do you mean who are you
####!Lord_Dreadgrave’s_Undead_Minion: oh god.
####!Lord_Dreadgrave’s_Undead_Minion: i’ve figured it out.
####!Lord_Dreadgrave’s_Undead_Minion: you’re one of them, aren’t you.
doublebill: what
####!Lord_Dreadgrave’s_Undead_Minion: you’re a deleter!
doublebill: doublebill: what
##
##!Lord_Dreadgrave’s_Undead_Minion: you’re one of those things that take over the adventurers!
doublebill: whoa
doublebill: are u an npc
####!Lord_Dreadgrave’s_Undead_Minion: why can’t you talk properly?!
doublebill: oh man
doublebill: are you seeing this don i so called this
sunderwonder is currently Away. He may not reply to your messages.
####!Lord_Dreadgrave’s_Undead_Minion: the hell was that
Reality came back in a disorienting burst. I was on the slab, once again viewing the world through octopus vision. Slippery John was carefully inserting Drylda’s eyeballs back into her sockets.
Civious was at his desk again, scribbling on another scroll while his wife observed from behind. “A curious reaction was observed in the subject—”
“In Jim.”
“—In James, the subject. After reporting the name labels and what he described as a red bar in front of his vision, the subject, JAMES, reacted with terror to some as yet unknown stimulus and became unresponsive for some time, although it is undetermined at this point whether this was induced by the vision or his having fainted through abject cowardice . . .”
“Are you all right?” said Meryl, mopping eyeball slime from my face with a bit of cloth. “You got into a bit of a tizzy there. We had to change the eyes back in case they were doing something horrible to your brain—”
“No, no, you have to put them back,” I said, grabbing her wrists. “We were communicating! I was talking to one of the Deleters!”
“You’re quite certain?” said Civious, quickly standing.
“It was speaking our language but it used words in ways that didn’t make sense . . .”
“This is a major step,” said Civious, standing over Drylda and caressing her face again. “First contact has been made with the controlling entities. Perhaps now that we have established communications we can find a way to make them listen to reason.”
We gathered around the slab, all six of us, and gazed down upon Drylda’s prone form, each pondering the implications.
Wait. Six? Me, Meryl, Slippery John, and the Civiouses made five . . .
“Oh, don’t let me interrupt the scientific breakthrough, my little eager beavers,” said Mr. Wonderful. “Finish the biology lesson, and then we’ll move on to the dissecting.”
ELEVEN
“Baron Carnax Winchester Civious,” said Mr. Wonderful, perching upon the autopsy slab, madly twisting a butterfly knife while staring fixedly at the baron. “It really does pain me to the bone to see you like this.”
Bowg was doing what he did best by blocking the exit.
Civious, Mrs. Civious and Slippery John had been restrained by three members of Mr. Wonderful’s private army of gnolls, whose comrades were diligently ransacking the place for anything that looked important or amusingly colorful.
“I’m given to understand the Guild offered you a primo package,” continued Mr. Wonderful. He was practically vibrating with nervous excitement, as if he was being interviewed for his dream job by a ferocious tiger. “All you had to do was be a nice little evil overlord, stay in your assigned nation, oppress the peasants, and let yourself get killed now and then, and everything could have been delightful. Now look at you. Hiding in a cave with nothing to your name and a big gnoll drooling snot in your ear.”
Civious shook out the excess. “The Magic Resistance is more than just me, Wonderful.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, we know,” said Mr. Wonderful, nodding keenly. “You sent an invisible messenger spell while you thought we weren’t looking and signalled for your spies to go into hiding. You should have given them more detailed instructions; we picked most of them up at a bus-stop.”
“Didn’t we talk about this exact thing?” muttered Mrs. Civious to her husband, just quiet enough for everyone to hear.
Slippery John made a big show of twitching his face madly, then gazed rapturously into space. “It’s a miracle! The Baron’s evil mind-control spell has been lifted, just in time for Slippery John to escape prosecution!”
Mr. Wonderful’s expression didn’t change as he drew another knife and flung it in Slippery John’s direction, without looking. It thudded neatly into a wall just under Slippery John’s ear.
“And incidentally,” continued Mr. Wonderful with barely a pause. “I love the hiding place. An abandoned cathedral underground. All it needs is a—oh, no, wait, it does have a pipe organ. Nope, wouldn’t expect to find a dark lord here. What, you run out of snowy mountain fortresses with your face carved into them?”
“Smirk all you like,” said the Baron, flaring his nostrils. Mr. Wonderful was happy to oblige.
“No, no, I kid, I kid, I have to admit, it was a pretty effective hidey-hole. Probably wouldn’t have found you.” I made the mistake of making eye contact with the lunatic. “If it weren’t for my little wooden horse over here.” He came over and fondly put his hand around my shoulder.
“Jim?” said Meryl.
“You!” went the Baron. I had never heard anyone inject so much hatred into a single syllable.
“Didn’t even need that much persuading, the love,” said Mr. Wonderful, pinching my cheek. “Led us right to you, give or take a few dodgy short cuts. I’d say he’s got a bright future ahead of him, but I gather that’s not what he has in mind for himself.”
He was squeezing so tightly that it was becoming difficult to talk. “This wasn’t the deal,” I croaked, trying not to look at the others. “You said I could get the information I needed first.”
He detached himself from me, losing interest fast. “Don’t really remember bashing out the exact conditions, Jimbo, but what exactly did you want to know?”
“The Nexus. The Deleter source. I need to know where it is.”
He elaborately waved a hand at Civious and took a step aside. “Well, he’s right there. Feel free to interrogate.”
Stupidly I met Civious’s gaze, and it took all of my concentration to not immediately burst into flames. “Er . . .”
“I name you betrayer,” he said flatly, voice quivering with suppressed rage. “You will be divided into your component parts, and every single one will know a new agony for a hundred lifetimes.”
“We’re very disappointed in you, young man,” said Mrs. Civious. The Baron’s words had been painful, but hers were like tent pegs being hammered into my knees.
“Tch, bad luck,” said Mr. Wonderful. “Thanks for playing, have a nice un-life or whatever you call it.”
“This isn’t fair,” I insisted.
“You were imprisoned in the work rehabilitation center on a charge of quest fraud,” said Bowg. “You were offered your freedom and a pardon in return for cooperation with our enterprise. You and your colleague may now go free and our dealings are concluded.”
“Oh, is that right,” said Meryl. It was a tone of voice I’d never heard from her before. A sarcastic, jaded tone, edged with genuine anger. It was like watching a toothless puppy trying to fasten its gums around an intruder’s leg.
“Your suffering will be eternal,” said Civious, who hadn’t ceased to glare at me for a moment. “In a millennia’s time scrolls will still be written on the horrors you suffer.”
“Now, I would think even you would have stopped using scrolls by then, dear.”
“And you,” continued Civious, rotating his entire body towards Mr. Wonderful as if being turned by a giant crank. “You can gloat while you can. My power cannot be contained by your petty methods.”
Mr. Wonderful’s smile faded. For a moment he almost looked regretful, then his expression slowly twisted into rage. He stepped towards Civious until they were nose to nose, then spoke slowly and bitterly, spitting each word into the vampire’s face. “Who the hell’s gloating, hm? You think I’m enjoying this?”
Meryl, Slippery John, and I all nodded.
“Well, I’m not,” he retorted weakly, before jabbing a finger recklessly into Civious’s chest. “
You were my idol. I had a poster of you in my bedroom. I used to dream of meeting you and you adopting me and throwing me big birthday parties and pushing my real dad off a bridge, and . . .” He was staggering around now, sweating profusely. His gangly limbs shifted like a couple of deck chairs trying to pull themselves free of each other. “I don’t like any of this. This Infusion rubbish. But there’s no way to reverse it, is there? It’s not a disease, it’s . . . it’s evolution. You might as well try to retract your own arms and legs by thinking really hard.”
“Of course it can be reversed,” said Meryl nervously. “It’s just that no-one’s found a way.”
“Fifteen years!” squawked Mr. Wonderful. “Fifteen years of this plague! Fifteen years without proper killing! There comes a time when you have to give up!” He seemed to unravel more and more the longer he had to stand in front of Civious. His hands were at his ears and his face was horribly twisted with fear. Dark patches of sweat were spreading all over his suit. “Why can’t . . . I just . . .”
“Mr. Wonderful,” said Bowg, simply. For the first time, his voice displayed an ounce of inflection; a very slight emphasis on the first syllable of “Wonderful”: a warning. Mr. Wonderful reacted with a terrified start, then he screwed his eyes shut and all emotion drained from him like water from an upturned bucket. He stood motionless for a moment before his eyes flicked open and his grin returned.
“Yes, well, can’t stand around here nattering like a little mothers’ meeting,” he said, twirling his knife again. “The good Baron over here has an appointment with an interrogation room at the castle and my favorite box of nipple clips. If you’re . . .”
“HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAI,” cried Slippery John, hurling himself forward, limbs flailing and swinging in a magnificent display of martial arts training. His little mustachioed face ran straight into Mr. Wonderful’s twirling knife and the result was not dissimilar to a bag of jam being thrown in front of a lawnmower.
“Anyway, as I was saying,” said Mr. Wonderful, shaking what I think was a tongue off his wrist. “If you’re very good, Jimbo, I’ll let you sit in on the interview.”