by Robert Bevan
Without taking his wide unblinking eyes off Denise, the halfling pointed down the street.
“Thank you.” Randy walked hurriedly in the direction he'd indicated.
“Oh sure,” grumbled Denise as she waddled behind him. “Let's all go where Randy wants to go. It don't make no never mind that not all of us can subsist on a diet of semen.”
Walking ahead with Randy, Jay pointed to a storefront sign across the street. “There it is.”
“Which one?” asked Denise.
Jay glanced back at her. “The one that says Happy Cock.”
“Ain't all of us can read, Mr. Reading Rain-bro.”
Randy shot her a warning glare.
“What?” said Denise. “Don't act like you ain't heard him mock my disability.”
“I'm sure Jay wasn't aware that you're illiterate.”
Denise gasped. “So now it's okay for you to throw slurs around?”
“You're illiterate?” asked Jay.
“You see that, Randy? That's what it's come to now. We all gotta walk on eggshells when we talk about colored or queers, but it's open season on the white man.”
Jay looked back at her again. “You're a man?”
“Would you shut the fuck up and tell me where we're going?”
“Right there.” Jay pointed at the sign across the street. “The place with the chicken on the sign.”
Denise nodded. “I get it, because cock. That's clever, like naming a massage parlor Happy Endings. The cops can't do nothin' if you're discreet enough, but everybody knows what really goes on once you go beyond the lobby.”
“Denise,” said Randy. “This is –”
“Two dozen Chinese whores pumpin' splooge out of suburban cocks like goddamn factory workers.”
“I don't –”
“They profile that shit too, swear to God. You go in there with a full head of hair, blue eyes, and straight teeth, and you can bet your ass they'll scoop your baby batter into a jar and sell it to sperm banks.”
“Can you just –”
“That's why I always threaten to turn them into the INS if they don't swallow. Ain't no sense takin' the risk that some drunk skank you drag home from a bar, or some big-tittied bitch who's one DUI away from getting her license revoked is gonna turn out to be one of your own fuckin' kids.”
“Please stop –”
“We live in a sick world, Randy. People like to talk shit about the cops, but we keep you common folks blissfully ignorant of the depravity going on just beneath the surface.”
“You're a cop?” asked Jay.
“What's with you and all the fuckin' questions? I might ask you the same thing.”
“This is a chicken restaurant,” Randy patiently explained to Denise. “It ain't no cover for nothin' nefarious.”
Denise folded her arms and peered at the sign she couldn't read. “I guess we'll just have to see about that.” She took the lead, waddling across the street and through the front door.
Chapter 25
Julian finished the last of his drinks, now having acquired a taste for them – or maybe they'd just numbed his tongue – and slipped out of the Mortar & Pestle after giving Chaz enough of a lead so as not to tip off Lodor that he and Chaz were personally acquainted.
“Master!” squawked Ravenus.
“Wha?” said Julian as he staggered out the door unprepared for the two-pronged assault of sunlight in his eyes and Ravenus in his ears. He tripped over a fat sleeping wizard and landed face-down in a puddle of something that smelled like those drinks had tasted.
“Watch where you're walking,” grumbled the wizard. “There are people trying to sleep here.”
Julian rolled onto his back and shielded his eyes from the midday sun. “Yes, Ravenus?”
Ravenus was perched atop the bar's sign. He flew down to meet Julian on the ground. “Are you alright, sir?”
Julian sat up. “I'm fine. Just had a bit too much to drink before noon. How are you?”
“Splendid, sir!” Ravenus was giddier than Julian could stand while he was actively trying not to throw up. “I have some excellent news!”
“You boinked a bird?”
“Boinked, sir?”
“Copulated with, had sex with, rogered, gave her the ol' cloacal kiss.”
“Oh no, sir,” said Ravenus. “If I'm honest, I've found the birds on this island to be a bit snobbish.”
Julian used the wall for support as he struggled back to his feet. “So what's your big news?”
“I believe I spotted one of those dice you were looking for.”
“WHAT?” Julian tried to shake his head back into sobriety, but only succeeded in making himself dizzier. “Where?”
“A fat human man was showing it off to his friends.”
“What did he look like?” Julian squinted down at the wizard he'd just tripped over. “Was it him?”
“I'm not fat,” slurred the wizard. “It's these horizontal stripes on my robes. They're – ” He turned and vomited into the puddle Julian had just fallen in, leading Julian to believe he'd been correct about what it consisted of. “– unflattering.”
“No, sir,” said Ravenus. “He wasn't quite so fat as this gentleman.”
The wizard took a wild but ineffective swipe at Ravenus. “Damn you to the Abyss!” He sobbed as tendrils of brown saliva hung from his mouth. “I need not take this from a bird! You aren't so slim yourself!” He pointed at Ravenus and began an incantation which Julian recognized as the beginning of a Magic Missile spell.
“NO!” cried Julian as he attempted to dive on top of Ravenus. He missed, landing hard on his elbows against the cobblestoned street.
Instead of a blast of magical energy from the wizard's hand, Julian heard a blast of wet fart from the wizard's ass.
The wizard lay back down on the ground and resumed sobbing.
Julian got to his feet and stumbled to the other side of the street, beckoning Ravenus to follow him.
“When was this?” he asked as soon as he had stabilized himself by hugging a lamp post.
“Not too long ago,” said Ravenus. “Shortly after the music stopped. He was in that bar with you.”
Julian scanned the street, but the few people he could see weren't fat enough for that to be the most obvious first word to describe them. “Why didn't you come and tell me this as soon as you saw him?”
“I tried,” said Ravenus. “The door was closed.”
“Shit.” Julian sensed a feeling of remorse from Ravenus. “I'm sorry. I'm not angry at you. That was an oversight on my part.”
“Check it out!” said Chaz, as he stepped out of an alley where he'd presumably been taking a piss. He held up a hefty coin pouch. “I just made – OH!” He tripped over the wizard and splashed down in the booze and vomit puddle. His colorfully decorated lute case served its purpose well, holding together through a fall that would have certainly obliterated the instrument inside it if unprotected, but his coin pouch failed to hold in all its contents.
About a dozen gold coins spilled out and rolled into the street. Julian picked them up and put them back in the pouch. Judging by the weight of the bag, he estimated there to be at least a hundred gold pieces in all. Not a bad payout for a couple hours' work, though Julian suspected it was a pittance compared to what Lodor kept for himself. But then, such is the nature of show business.
“Are you okay?” Julian asked as Chaz picked himself up out of the foul puddle.
Chaz grinned. “Nothing a little gold can't fix. What do you say we treat ourselves to some new threads and the nicest room on the strip. Oh, to sleep in a fucking bed would be so amazing.”
“We've got some good news. Ravenus spotted one of the dice.”
“Right on,” said Chaz. He shot Ravenus a finger gun and spoke in a jarringly phony British accent. “Jolly good show, old chap.”
Ravenus bobbed his head. “Thank you.”
“Don't get too excited just yet,” said Julian. “All we've got to go on i
s Ravenus's description – a fat wizard.”
Chaz turned back to the man lying in the street who they'd both just tripped over. “Is it that guy?”
“You too?” cried the wizard, tears streaming down his cheeks as he scowled at Chaz. “I heard you sing in there, and I thought you were different from everybody else. I thought there was something special about you. Mayhap you would understand that I eat to fill the emptiness inside me.”
“I'm sorry, dude. I –”
“You are no different. Truly you have turned off your heartlight.”
“That's harsh, man,” said Chaz. “Will you be at the show tonight?”
The fat wizard sighed. “Yes.”
Chaz gave him double finger guns. “Right on.”
Julian grabbed him by the sleeve and started dragging him down the street in the direction Ravenus said the wizard with the die had gone. “What are you talking about? We don't have time to do a show. We've got to get that die back.”
“Relax, man.” Chaz pulled his sleeve free of Julian's grasp. “We've got a few hours to look around. Maybe we'll get lucky. But you also have to consider that maybe we won't. Even if we find the die, how are we going to get it away from a powerful wizard? Even if we manage to do that, and get it back to the Mordred Kat ran off with, what if it doesn't work the way we think it will? And that's even going out on a limb and assuming that they didn't somehow fuck up keeping that Mordred on ice. What's lucky is that this cat-and-mouse game we're playing hasn't gotten any of us killed already.”
With all the singing he'd been doing, Chaz hadn't managed to get quite as drunk as Julian. Julian's mind was fuzzy, but it sounded like Chaz was leading up to some kind of point.
“What are you saying?”
Chaz sighed. “I'm saying that maybe it's worth considering what happens if we never make it back to reality. Maybe even consider whether or not that's what we really want. We could carve out a pretty good life for ourselves here if we wanted to.”
Julian balled his fists, resisting the temptation to punch Chaz in the face. In their current states of inebriation, Chaz could probably take him.
“One good show, and now you think you're fucking Elvis.”
Chaz laughed. “Seriously? I thought you were a music guy. That was Neil Diamond.”
“Don't you talk to me about Neil Diamond. I saw him twice.”
“Isn't he good live?”
Julian sighed, then nodded. “Yeah, he really is.” Then he remembered he was supposed to be having an argument. “I was being hyperbolic about the Elvis thing! My point is that you're willing to throw the rest of us under the bus for a bag of cash and some validation from a roomful of drunks.”
“No, I'm being practical. If we end up having to spend the rest of our lives here, it makes sense to have some sort of contingency plan in place. This singing career could be the start of something big.”
“Big for you,” said Julian. “What about the rest of them who actually want to go back to their lives? Some of those people have families to take care of.”
“I told you I'll help you look for the die. But I don't think that taking a couple of hours off the hunt to perform a show is going to make that big a difference with regard to the dice hunt. But on the other hand, if we do wind up getting stuck here for good, those couple of hours a night I spend building up a fan base could pay off bigtime in the long run.”
Though he hated to admit it, Julian could see some sense in what Chaz was saying.
“And I'm not throwing you under the bus,” Chaz continued in a suspiciously Diplomatic way. “I can't handle all the ins and outs of being a rock star on my own. I'm going to need a manager.”
Julian laughed. “You want me to be your manager?”
“Why not?” said Chaz. “You'd be perfect. You know the music biz, you've got a bunch of ranks in the Diplomacy skill, you're a –” Chaz stopped suddenly, his expression like he'd just been caught picking his nose but was hoping they could both pretend he was scratching it and move on with their lives.
“I'm a what?” asked Julian.
“A great guy.” Chaz smiled and gave him a thumbs up.
“You were going to say 'A Jew', weren't you?”
“What? No! I wouldn't... Are you Jewish? How about that? You learn something new every day, huh?”
Julian continued walking, keeping his eyes open for any portly men walking the streets. “I'll see how it goes. If I feel like you're holding up your end trying to help me find the die, and that your musical career isn't going to be too much of a distraction from our primary goal, I'll agree to be your manager.”
“I can live with that,” said Chaz. “But we really should get ourselves some decent clothes that aren't soaked in puke water. Something that makes us look the part, you know?”
Julian sighed. “See? I feel like you're already getting distracted with this whole show-business thing.”
“That's not what I'm talking about. I mean, it half is. But what if we do find this fat wizard? We're supposed to go and accost him like a couple of hobos?”
Julian looked down at his serape, the once vibrant colors now barely distinguishable through the layers of accumulated filth, and gave himself a sniff. He was pretty ripe. That certainly wasn't going to do his Diplomacy skill any favors.
“Okay, but let's make it quick. I don't want to be running around to every shop on the strip.”
“We can cut out the guesswork entirely,” said Chaz. “We're going to get a room anyway, right? We might as well take care of that right now, and ask the concierge where we can get ourselves cleaned up and properly outfitted.”
“That sounds reasonable.” Julian appreciated that Chaz was, at least ostensibly, trying to reduce the amount of time and effort they spent on distractions. He followed Chaz toward the luxurious golden double doors of a hotel called the Ivory Palace, then recognized it as the place he'd nearly gotten arrested last time he visited the Crescent Shadow.
“Whoa,” he said, stopping in his tracks. “We don't want to stay at this place. In fact, it's probably best that none of the staff here sees me.
Chaz frowned up at the white marble columns and gold trim. “But it looks so nice.”
“That's just a facade,” Julian lied. “The rooms are crawling with cockroaches.” He scanned the strip, looking for a worthy alternative. The best he could come up with at first glance was Hippogriff Hall, a nice enough looking place, but a definitive step down from the Ivory Palace. “That place looks nice.”
“LIVE NUDE GNOMES?”
“It would help if you looked in the direction I was pointing.”
Chaz turned his head, then sighed. “I guess that will do.”
It was early afternoon, and there were more people out on the street now. Nearly everyone was dressed in colorful robes, their heads adorned with all manner of flamboyant hats and scarves. Strangely enough, there wasn't a plate or chain link of armor to be seen, nor anyone in a uniform that would identify them as a keeper of the peace. Julian remembered the cages they'd been suspended below the island in and concluded that the wizards of the Crescent Shadow preferred to govern their own.
He instructed Ravenus to stay on the rooftops and keep his eyes open for either a die or the man he'd seen before, then he and Chaz walked across the street.
The Hippogriff Hall lobby was sparsely furnished and decorated, with only a few polished wooden chairs and potted plants. It looked like maybe they'd recently opened and were in the process of making the place look presentable, except there was no evidence of anyone making any effort to do that.
“Good day, gentlemen,” said a well-dressed halfling from behind the front desk, obviously standing on a box or a stepladder or something. The wide lapels of his tailored royal blue suit, his orange bow tie, and his thin curly mustache reminded Julian of a butterfly. His demeanor, however, was less fluttery. “Are you new here? The servant entrance is in the rear of the building.”
Chaz took a threatening step towa
rd the desk. “Who the hell are you calling a –”
Julian grabbed him by the shoulder. “I'm very sorry,” he said to the halfling. “There appears to be a misunderstanding. We're not part of the staff. We're customers. At least, we'd like to be.”
The halfling frowned as he eyed them up and down. “Rooms here are ten gold pieces a night. You may find yourselves more comfortable in one of the more modest establishments farther back from the strip.” He smiled slyly to himself. “Or perhaps at the Ivory Palace across the street.”
“Fuck this guy,” Chaz whispered to Julian. “He's pulling a Pretty Woman on us. I say we go somewhere else, get decked out in the most pimpin' threads we can find, and come back here and strut through the lobby to show him what a big mistake he made.”
“First of all,” Julian whispered back, “I don't think he makes a commission on the rooms he rents out, so I doubt he'll give a shit. Secondly, we don't have time for all that. He's only proving your point about why we need to get a change of clothes, which is the only reason I agreed to do this in the first place.” He took the money pouch out of Chaz's hand and approached the front desk. “Please excuse our humble appearances, for we have traveled far to get here, and have endured many setbacks on our journey. I can assure you that no one is more put off by our shabby appearances than we are. I wonder if you might be so kind as to point us in the direction where we might freshen up and find attire more befitting our status.” He set the pouch down heavily on the desk, proud of himself for such an outstanding Diplomacy check.
“My humblest apologies, sirs!” said the halfling as he quietly slipped the pouch under the desk. “Please look no further than this very establishment. We have an in-house seamstress and stylists who will attend to your every need. My name is Beezorp. You may ask me for anything you like.”
“Okay, but how much exactly does all this –”
Beezorp thrust a golden key into Julian's hand. “The Master Suite is on the third floor. A hot bath will be waiting for you, and I shall have a bottle of sparkling white wine sent up to help put you in the proper spirit for a complete style overhaul!”