A Lee Martinez

by Divine Misfortune (v5)

  “Aren’t we at least going to call Divine Affairs?” asked Janet.

  “So they can blow up Gorgoz and any unfortunate mortals who happen to be standing beside him?”

  Janet and Bonnie stepped between Teri and the garage.

  “You’re not thinking this through,” said Bonnie.

  “No, I’m not. I’m being foolish and impetuous and headstrong. Because that’s the only way to deal with gods. You don’t negotiate. You just charge right in and tell them you’re not going to put up with their crap anymore.”

  “And then you end up turned into a spider,” observed Bonnie.

  “Not always. Sometimes you earn their respect.”

  Janet and Bonnie tried to remember any historical precedent. There were a few here and there, but for the most part, mortals who challenged the gods ended up squashed beneath their feet.

  “I have to do this,” said Teri. “And if I’m not going to let gods stop me, what makes you think I’ll let you?”

  There was an edge in her voice that let Janet and Bonnie know that Teri was deadly serious. Janet was a few inches taller than Teri, and Bonnie outweighed her by perhaps ten pounds. But both women knew that standing in her way was probably the worst place for mortal or god to be right now. Teri was charged with righteous indignation. It was indeed the kind of determination that could even get the heavens to stand up and take notice. Whether those same heavens parted the seas or razed a civilization in response was always up in the air, though.

  “I’m going with you,” said Janet.

  “Me, too,” said Bonnie.

  “Fine. I don’t have time to argue.”

  Teri jumped in her car, but locked the doors before the others could get in.

  Janet pounded on the window. “Teri, don’t you dare do this.”

  Teri slammed on the accelerator, not even bothering to open the garage door. The indestructible car smashed its way through. Teri barreled down the street without looking back.

  “Do you remember the address?” asked Bonnie.

  “No, damn it,” replied Janet.

  “She’s going to get herself killed,” said Bonnie.

  “If she’s lucky.”

  26

  There was a time, centuries ago, when Lucky had loved blowing off the day to watch the latest round of good, clean carnage Valhalla had to offer. But that was before Odin put in the stadium seating and the concession stands and started selling tickets to the show. Back before the warriors were all divided into teams and the play-off system was instituted. Back when warriors battled for the love of slaughter and the promise of a resurrection and feast at the end of the day.

  Things had changed. Things always did. But not every change was for the better. Lucky couldn’t blame Odin for selling out. He had to pay the bills somehow. It wasn’t enough to get by on tribute anymore. Any god with a real operation had to have some cold hard cash in the bank, too.

  But Lucky did miss the days when the fields of Valhalla were a little more exclusive, before any mortal with a few hundred bucks to spare could buy a season ticket, paint his body red, and scream at the top of his lungs like a moron while blocking Lucky’s view.

  It was battle-ax giveaway day, and Lucky considered planting the weapon right in the mortal’s back. But this was frowned upon, and it was bound to get him kicked out.

  He glanced around the shrieking mortal, but the battle raging below was a distant chaos of tiny combatants. Balder had promised to hook Lucky up. The short notice wasn’t supposed to be a problem. Apparently that meant the cheap seats in the nosebleed section, seated among a throng of mortals. Lucky hadn’t expected a skybox, but something behind fort hill wouldn’t have been too much to ask. He couldn’t even hear the cheerleaders as they banged their shields and swords together to work up the crowd.

  A Valkyrie vending refreshments walked up the aisle. Lucky tried to catch her attention, but her back always seemed to be turned. He struggled to get comfortable in the cheap plastic seats, but if there was a trick to it, he hadn’t figured it out.

  The guy next to Lucky said something. Rather than admit that he hadn’t caught it, Lucky nodded, forced a polite smile, and hoped the man would take the hint.

  “I’m Bob,” he shouted above the din. “Bob Saget. Not the actor and comedian, though I have been told I look like him.”

  “Uh-hmm,” said Lucky, intently watching the Valkyrie to avoid missing his chance.

  “It’s why I grew the beard,” said Bob. “The wife isn’t crazy about it, but I told her that it was her own fault for marrying a man named Bob Saget who resembles Bob Saget.”

  The Valkyrie turned. Lucky raised his hand.

  “Guess what she said?” asked Bob.

  Lucky glanced over his shoulder. “What?”

  “Guess what she said? My wife.”

  “I don’t know.” Lucky looked back, but the Valkyrie had wandered in another direction.

  “She said that was why she married me. Because I looked like Bob Saget. Someone actually married me because of my resemblance to Bob Saget? Can you imagine that?”

  “Can’t say that I can.” Lucky slid back into his seat with a sigh.

  “You gotta like the Barbarians this season,” said Bob. “They’ll never make the Battle Royale, of course. Not until they get a few guns in the lineup. Swords and axes will only get you so far these days.”

  Catapults launched several flaming projectiles that sailed across the field and exploded. A dragon roared its hideous death rattle as soldiers riddled it with semiautomatic machine gun fire. The Legionnaires pushed closer to the Barbarians’ fortress, but it was still anyone’s battle. The crowd cheered.

  And Lucky couldn’t care less.

  This was supposed to help get his mind off of his problems. But fate was conspiring against him. Fate, cheap seats, Valkyries that were deliberately ignoring him (he was pretty sure). And Bob. He couldn’t forget about Bob.

  “I’ve heard rumors they’re considering letting the Joes field a Sherman tank next year.”

  Lucky jumped out of his seat without excusing himself. Bob was probably still talking. Lucky didn’t look back to check. He approached the Valkyrie.

  “One mead lite, please.”

  She glared at him with stern judgment, but that was a standard expression among Valkyries. Especially Valkyries in miniskirts, stuck selling hot dogs and turkey legs.

  “Sorry, sir. We’re all out.”

  “One regular mead then.”

  “All out of that, too.”

  “Fine. I’ll take that.” He pointed to the last mug on her tray. “Whatever it is.”

  “Oh, I’m afraid I just sold it.”

  “Sold it? To who?”

  “This gentleman.” She handed the mug to a customer sitting within arm’s reach.

  He said, “Excuse me, but I didn’t ask for—”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “But—”

  “On the house. Enjoy with our compliments, sir.” She turned and walked away.

  He shrugged, then took a drink.

  Lucky ran after the Valkyrie.

  “What was that about, lady? Do you know who I am? I’m close friends with ol’ One-Eye himself. I could have you fired—”

  “You don’t remember me, do you?” she asked.

  He swore under his breath. “Sure I do.”

  She covered her name tag. “What’s my name?”

  “Brunhilde.”

  The Valkyrie snarled. “Lucky guess.”

  She was right, and he felt guilty getting caught.

  “Does the Hundred Years’ War mean anything to you?” asked Brunhilde.

  “Can you be more specific?”

  “Rainy night. Hayloft.”

  “Can’t say it rings a bell,” he said.

  “You said you’d keep in touch.”

  “Yeah, well, I meant to, but…”

  He stopped.

  “You know what? I’m not doing this. I really don’t care
about whatever wrong you think I’ve done to you. It was one night. I was just being polite. And that’s that. So get over it, baby.”

  Ass.

  She walked away. Lucky visited the concession stand and tried to forget the encounter. If some leggy blonde couldn’t let it go, it wasn’t his problem. But he couldn’t stop thinking of her withering scowl. Even after he bought his mead and turkey leg and returned to his seat, he couldn’t enjoy them. And it wasn’t because of Bob or the uncomfortable plastic seat or the dirty looks all the vendors were giving him now. Maybe driven by Valkyrie solidarity. Maybe because he’d shared a barn with several of them. He couldn’t remember. They all looked alike, so it really wasn’t his fault.

  But they really weren’t the problem. It was the combination of disgust and disappointment that got to him. And though they were blond and muscular and looked nothing like Janet, he kept seeing her face.

  And Janet’s face led to Teri’s face led to Phil’s face led to Gorgoz and Syph and Quick and the whole tangled mess.

  He’d gotten involved. Standard protocol was to keep your distance when it came to mortals. It’d been so easy a thousand years ago. Gods above, mortals below. It’d been so simple. When the hell did it all get so complicated?

  Lucky handed off his snacks to Bob and found Brunhilde.

  “I just wanted to apologize. I don’t know if it counts for anything, but that’s all I wanted to say, Brunhilde.”

  “My name is Sonja.”

  “Oh, well, could you do me a favor and pass the message along? I’d do it myself, but I’ve got some mortals to save.”

  27

  Quick pushed the button on the gate intercom. It took a few minutes and a few more button presses to finally get an answer.

  “Yes?”

  “We’re here to see Gorgoz.”

  The security cameras above the gate swiveled in their direction.

  “There’s no Gorgoz here,” replied the voice.

  “Tell him it’s Syph,” said Quick.

  The goddess performed a halfhearted wave for the cameras.

  “There’s no Gorgoz here,” said the voice again.

  “I told you this was a waste of time,” said Syph.

  “He’s here,” said Quick. He turned back to the cameras. “We’re trying to be polite about this, but if you don’t invite us in now, we’ll call Divine Affairs and let them handle this. And I don’t think any of us wants that, now do we?”

  The gate buzzed and swung open.”

  Thank you.”

  Gorgoz rolled the dice, then moved his race car to the B&O Railroad.

  “Oh, drat,” he said. “How much do I owe you, Phil?”

  Phil collected his fee, and eyed the pile of colorful cash sitting before Gorgoz. It was a meager sum compared to Phil’s own. He was winning, and Gorgoz had promised to devour some unspecified extremity should the god win.

  So far, Phil had scored a slim victory in Sorry! to avoid having his knees broken and followed that up with a miraculous win in Candy Land that kept him from losing a thumb.

  “I gotta say you’re one lucky son of a bitch,” remarked Gorgoz with a grin, though his tone was not amused. “Are you sure you renounced your old god? You wouldn’t be trying to pull a fast one, would you?”

  “No,” said Phil. “Never.”

  Gorgoz’s grin dropped.

  “I would never do anything like that,” said Phil through a tightening throat. Whether that was Gorgoz’s doing or just Phil’s own nerves, he couldn’t tell.

  “I’m just messing with you, buddy.” Gorgoz picked up the dice, but stopped short of dropping them into Phil’s hand.

  “Now, I don’t suppose you want to reconsider my offer? Just say the word, and I’ll go consume your lovely wife and get you completely off the hook with our little wager.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “You’re a good man, Phil. Boring, but good.”

  Phil wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this up. Or when Gorgoz would grow bored and discard this pretense. But he wasn’t tempted to take the offer. It had less to do with being a good person, and everything to do with his complete distrust of Gorgoz, who had already admitted to lying all the time. Any deals weren’t worth much, but Phil figured anything to keep the mad god occupied was all he could do. He didn’t have a better plan than that. He was a pawn of the gods, but he wasn’t a hero of legend. He was just a mortal in way over his head, and his only chance of getting out of this was a miracle.

  But, given that his old god wasn’t that reliable in the miracle department and his new god was why he needed a miracle at all, Phil just hoped to end up dying as quickly and painlessly as possible while ensuring Teri stayed alive.

  “Are you going to roll those dice anytime soon?” asked Gorgoz. “Or do I have to break out the sand timer again?”

  Worthington entered the room. He offered Gorgoz a whole roasted turkey.

  “Excuse the interruption, Master, but you have visitors. I think they’re here about… him.”

  “Then by all means, Roger, let’s show them in.” Gorgoz rose, grabbed the turkey, and exited with Worthington. “We’ll be right back, Phil.” He smiled and winked. “Don’t cheat now.”

  Gorgoz greeted Quick and Syph at the front door. He had swapped out his crusty bathrobe for a clean smoking jacket. The sweatpants ruined the look. And the whole roasted turkey in his right hand didn’t add anything.

  He took a bite of the bird. It hadn’t been deboned, and that was made obvious by the crunch of bones and his open-mouthed manner of chewing. Bits of flesh fell out of his jaws.

  “Welcome to my temple.” He wiped his hand on his jacket, leaving a stain of grease. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had visitors. Isn’t that right, Roger?”

  He glanced around.

  “I seem to have misplaced my First Disciple. Oh, well, I’m sure he’ll turn up. In the meantime, let me show you around.”

  When Quick and Syph crossed the threshold, a wave of nausea hit them. This was the temple of Gorgoz. It’d been a while since either had encountered such pure, malevolent will.

  Quick was reminded of his younger days, when human civilization consisted of tiny tribes hiding in caves offering blood sacrifices and scraps of food to appease the unknowable powers. Quick had been a part of that. It was the way it was done back then. Looking back on it now, it just felt so immature and crude, a childish phase he’d grown out of.

  Not every god had done the same. There were those who still yearned for the good old days, for the absolute fear and devotion of terrified mortals. He wasn’t surprised to find Gorgoz was one of those types.

  Gorgoz led them down halls, pointing out rooms. More accurately, he pointed to closed doors and the rooms that might be behind them. “I think that’s the den. And I think this one is the bowling alley. I’m pretty sure we have a bowling alley anyway.”

  He took another bite of turkey. “Syph, you look lovely by the way. What a pleasant surprise to see you again.” Gorgoz pointed to another closed door. “Phil’s in there. All in one piece. For now. If you’ll excuse me, I have to go find my First Disciple. He’s around here somewhere.”

  Quick and Syph found Phil pacing the room. Quick performed a fast introduction.

  “Where’s Lucky?” asked Phil.

  “He’s not here,” said Quick.

  “But he’s supposed to rescue me.”

  Syph laughed.

  “He’s not coming, is he?” said Phil.

  “No, he’s not,” admitted Quick.

  “That son of a—” Acceptance quelled his rage. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. He’s been lying to us from the beginning, covering his own ass.”

  “You renounced him,” said Syph.

  “Only because he left me no other choice.”

  Syph laughed again.

  “You find this amusing?” he asked.

  “Not particularly,” she replied.

  “Yes, yes,” interrupted Quick. �
��We all have our issues. But right now, we don’t have long to come up with a game plan. So why don’t we put aside our emotional baggage and try to figure a way to get you out of this situation.

  “As I see it, you’re just one insignificant mortal. Gorgoz only cares about you because of this vendetta he has going with Lucky. So, in a way, having Lucky abandon you is just about the only chance you have.”

  “Wasn’t that considerate of him?” Phil sighed. “Do you really think you can talk him into letting me go?”

  “Stranger things have happened,” replied Quick.

  “But I wouldn’t count on it,” added Syph.

  The door swung open, and Gorgoz and Worthington entered.

  “Roger, this is Quetzalcoatl and Syph. Just a couple of used-up gods that don’t know when to call it quits. This is Roger, my First Disciple. Say hello, Roger.”

  “Hello.”

  Gorgoz thrust his uneaten half-turkey into Worthington’s arms. “Hold that for a moment.”

  “Yes, Lord.” Worthington stifled his annoyance at the stains of grease forming on his five-hundred-dollar shirt.

  Gorgoz wiped his hand on his sweatpants. He threw an arm around Phil’s neck, squeezing a bit too tightly. Phil choked as Gorgoz gave him a noogie with sharp knuckles, drawing a little blood. “Phil and I have been having a wonderful time.”

  Just when Phil was starting to turn blue, Gorgoz released him.

  Gorgoz said, “Well, well, well. I have to wonder what is so special about our friend Phil here? When Lucky gave him up so easily I was beginning to think I’d overestimated this scrap of mortal flesh. Even thought about just letting him go. Never actually tried being merciful before. Thought it might be worth a chuckle.”

  A low laugh rolled out of his throat.

  “But now you two show up, and I’m thinking perhaps I have something more valuable than I first realized. What’s your investment in this, Quick? Seeking redemption? Do you think that intervening in the life of one worthless mortal can wash away the stain of a fallen empire?”

  Quick’s plumage wilted.

  “And what about you, Syph? Why are you here?”