by Zari Reede
“Ummm, it’s a word we use when things don’t go as planned, but it also means poop. You know, when you expel waste?” I scanned a dead fern and its pot for a key.
She screwed up my prettier face and looked at my faulty form with loathing. “You beings are weak and distasteful.”
“So, there is no such thing as poop on Ortharos, or is it not talked about?” I arched my eyebrows, laughing as she rolled her eyes. Rapunzel acted like a bad teen that hadn’t had enough spankings.
“Grow up,” I said, frustrated with dragging her around and being stuck on the balcony.
“I am twenty full turns of the sun on Ortharos and will soon sit on the throne of Rhineguard.” She sniffed in disdain. “You must be at least double that I suppose, but not your fault. Age will find most of us,” she added the thinly veiled dig.
“I’m about ten Earth years older than you. I figure and that’s not old,” I sputtered, defending myself, but in truth, at that age, I thought thirty was ancient too.
“What is your purpose?” ’Punzel asked.
“I don’t have time to give you a full resume, ’Punzel. I work for an agency called ISMAT...” I trailed off, examining the balcony for a way down.
She threw her hands in the air in frustration. Weak sparks like extinguishing Fourth of July sparklers flew from her fingertips. “What are you doing now?”
“I’m trying to get us off this balcony, and into that apartment.” My fatigue-laden words fell on deaf ears, as I watched ’Punzel inspect her hands with wonder. “Got any ideas?” I asked, as she brushed past me on the narrow balcony, pointing a manicured finger, at the sliding glass door. A spark flew out and the lock began to melt, but fizzled out.
“That might work.” I smiled with encouragement and nodded for her to try. She frowned back at me and tried again. The short burst of energy zapped the lock. I slid the glass open, but ’Punzel remained on the balcony. Something was amiss. “Get in here,” I fussed, then concerned, asked, “What’s wrong?”
She looked at me like a child who just lost their favorite toy. “My power, it’s fading!” she whined. “What will I do without it?”
I tried not to dance around with glee at my great fortune. Right now, I needed to call Max and get him to meet us here. I looked in the kitchen for the green wall phone I remembered hanging there. I dialed the number to his office as ’Punzel explored the apartment, sidling off to the back bedrooms. As the phone rang on the other end of the line, she returned with a photograph in her hand.
“Put that back,” I hissed.
“Is this you?” She turned the lime green frame around, to reveal a pic of Max and me at the last company picnic. Uh-oh. What was Max doing with that framed in his bedroom?
Maybe that’s why I felt weird being here with him alone. Did Max have a crush on me? I thought we’re good friends who worked well together. I talked about Jim and Sam all the time! What was he thinking?
“ISMAT, Mona speaking,” Max’s secretary answered.
“Mona, let me speak to Max, but don’t tell anyone else it’s me!” I cautioned, my hushed voice laced with urgency. Mona’s voice changed.
“Ummm, he’s not in right now. W--Would you like to leave a m--message?” she stammered.
“Is the chief in front of you?” My voice squeaked.
“Yes, as I said, Agent Arbor can’t be located at this time.” She stressed the word located.
“Okay, Mona, thanks.” I hung the phone back on the wall above the trash can. This wasn’t good. I frowned at the picture in the green frame, then tossed it in the trash. Rapunzel tsk-tsked. Later, I needed to discretely discuss Max’s photo choices for his bedroom.
“What’s next?” ’Punzel yawned, her boredom pronounced as she twirled an already twirling strand of hair. “I’m hungry!”
“Okay, okay.” I gave in and sifted through the small pantry beside the fridge.
There wasn’t much going on in the way of food at the bachelor pad of Max Arbor. The only things that had not expired or sporting green mold were milk and Captain Crunch--cereal it was. I’d let ’Punzel figure out the raw, roof-of-the-mouth effect, all on her own. It was great while the crunch lasted. I made a mixing-bowl-sized serving of the sugar-coated, corn-based treat and shoved a spoon in it. I proffered it to the hungry, fire goddess and smiled as she dug in. She looked like a starving homeless woman as milk dripped down her chin. Give her a couple months on Earth with all of its sugar-coated snacks and McDonald’s drive-thrus and see if she fit in a size two. Ha!
While ’Punzel sat at the small dinette table, I turned on Max’s color TV. Wiggling the rabbit ears around, I turned the station to channel three, needing to see if the incident at the Lucky Dog stand or anything else relevant made the news. ’Punzel stared in shock as she watched the picture come to life when the lines stopped rolling.
The reporter for the local news--a slender brunette with flawless skin, wearing a smart polyester suit reminiscent of Mary Tyler Moore--covered the breaking story which she referred to as A Very Unlucky Dog. The camera swung to the scene behind her where several handcuffed men were put into police cars. Reportedly a riot was incited by one hotdog vender when he refused to serve a customer the drink that was purchased for a lovely woman. A brawl ensued. The reporter interviewed the two elderly ladies I remembered seeing on the bench.
“Her hair danced, and her shirt popped open. The men were bewitched, I tell you,” the one with the knitting needles insisted.
“It’s voodoo! These young folks today don’t know what they are messing with!” the other exclaimed.
“There you have it, Gus! This sounds like a case of a woman too beautiful for her own good. Who is this Helena of the Garden District who caused such chaos on St. Charles, and where is she now? This reporter wonders the same thing all you viewers do. What did she look like?”
I gulped at the reporter’s last words as the camera rolled to a nearby artist, busily drawing on his sketch pad.
“Well, Marco? Show us what you saw here at the Lucky Dog stand today.”
My jaw dropped, as the camera zoomed in on a glamorous, busty comic-book version of me. Holy sheep shit, Batman!
Chapter 30
The Witch
Something slammed into me as I stepped through the door, bowling me over. Face down on the floor, I rolled to my back and sat up. Max knelt at my feet.
“I do not recall inviting you, sir.” I arranged the skirt of my dress and rose to my knees.
He leapt up and offered me his hand, which I ignored. This man has taken too many liberties. By the time I had my feet underneath me, without overexposure and stood, my ears burned. I heard mumblings, grunts, and gasps of disapproval behind me. I turned to face the council.
“Princess Phrysia, what is the meaning of this?” the current dynast of the council asked.
The role of dynast rotated regularly to advocate fairness for all representatives. Disruption of the order occurred if a certain representative had more experience and knowledge of an arising issue. I struggled between wanting to lead and wanting to act. Sir Reginaldo of Corinnth was my least favorite councilman and, as luck would have it, the current dynast. Dwarves were native to Corinnth. The decision to ally with them and include one as member on the council was much debated. I vigorously counseled against it. The dwarves enslaved those not from Corinnth, considering them inferior. Sir Reginaldo never forgot nor forgave.
“Members of the council, I received disturbing news regarding the disappearances we have experienced.”
Dynast Reginaldo straightened his gray military jacket and perched like a vulture on the chair piled high with pillows at the head of the table. As he fussily neatened the parchments in front of him, he said, “The council’s immediate duty is to recapture or destroy the necromancer. You were informed as a courtesy. Your help and input are neither necessary nor encouraged. The sisters Carvinalee have caused enough damage. Princess Rapunzel escaped through your carelessness, and you have exacerbated that error by not inf
orming the council immediately. Perhaps we could have prevented the necromancer’s release.”
I held my head high as I strode down the red runner toward the table. The key to dealing with this pompous ass was to meet his accusations without a trace of self-doubt. He equated doubt as a declaration of guilt.
Max eyed the spacious room and the expressions of the council members. “Tough audience, Princess,” he said under his breath.
I took a deep breath and willed myself to be calm. “Having only recently learned of my sister’s departure, I had not the time to inform the council.”
The dynast folded his arms and glared. “You assured us, as your sister’s only warden, that you would prevent any escape.”
“Winnalea was more than capable. As a brownie, she possessed the ability to travel directly in and out of the tower to care for my sister and was impervious to Rapunzel’s charms. Per my instructions, she maintained her distance, physically and mentally. It is through no fault of hers that Rapunzel is free. Winnalea vanished in the latest Blinks.” Before the dynast could respond, I continued. “I agree that the necromancer’s emergence warrants monitoring, but I have pertinent information regarding the Blinks.”
Max moved closer until we stood shoulder to shoulder, I supposed it was his way of showing solidarity. I had hoped he would maintain a low profile, but instead, he spoke. “Our last chief believed that the ORBs--that is, our Ortharos visitors--were becoming more sentient, less hostile. Unfortunately, his findings were deemed inconclusive and dismissed. I am sure my partner, Detective Nichols, is doing her best to convince ISMAT that ex-chief Harry Meltzer was correct, but it may take time. The current chief is known for his stubbornness and is one of the most outspoken opponents against Mr. Meltzer.”
The dynast interrupted, outraged. “Who is this man and why does he dare address the council?”
I wheeled on Max. “Be quiet and let me deal with this, please!”
“Don’t think so, sister. The Blinks concern ISMAT and Earth too and, as the only representative of my world, I have a right to contribute.” Max turned back to the dynast. “My name is Detective Max Arbor. I work for ISMAT, the organization that responds when Blinks occur on Earth.”
“You are to blame for the annihilation of our people!” the dynast shouted. Looks ranging from confusion to angry horror appeared on council members’ faces and several reached for weapons.
“Whoa! Beings from Ortharos attack us immediately and indiscriminately on Earth and none communicate. Tales of visitors able to speak and appearing humanoid exist but are considered fiction.”
Lady Clarina, a friend and advocate said, “It is true that, while most beings return dead, the few that return alive have been demented and die soon after.”
I further explained to Max and the council, “The Blinks are more frequent in Rhineguard, and beings are vanishing at an alarming rate. The dramatic progression over the last double moon is such that the chance of an individual being Blinked is exceptionally high. By our most conservative calculations, a being has a twenty-five percent chance of being Blinked--one in four. A mere ten turns ago, the chance was closer to one in five hundred. Our people should be told, and we need to investigate ways of preventing these Blinks.”
“What numbers did you use to reach this?” the dynast asked.
“My data, the Cyclops’s, and what Detective Arbor could remember of his city.”
Sir Reginaldo grinned nastily. “Had it occurred to you that this trend is not planet-wide? Perhaps Blinks are increasing, but merely for your precious island.”
I wanted to curl my fingers into fists, but didn’t. The dreadful man had a personal vendetta against me and didn’t care who got hurt in the crossfire, as long as he stymied me. “There is something else you should know. Princess Rapunzel has Blinked.”
“They are welcome to keep her and I, for one, would be grateful if she returned dead. She is already insane.”
“That is my sister you speak of, Sir Reginaldo.”
The detective kneaded the tense muscles in my shoulders. I should shrug him off, but it felt so nice and, with my hair covering his hand, only I knew. “Seems to me, Sir Reginaldo, that getting the princess back should be a priority. After all, she did release this necromancer. Perhaps she can help put the Djinn back into the bottle,” Max interjected.
I gritted my teeth. “Please, Dynast Reginaldo, form a committee of our brightest to study the phenomena and find a way to stop it or at least slow the progression.”
“This is a matter for those of Datters Isle, not Ortharos as a whole. You could make a formal request for assistance from each of the representatives, but I am not putting the council’s resources in your hands to use to rectify a personal difficulty.”
The other members remained silent and did not meet my eye as I made a point to stare at each of them. “So be it, I return to the palace. Any help would be appreciated. Send a message and I will have rooms readied.” I started down the aisle but paused to turn back and give the traditional leave taking, irony hardening in my tone. “Council of Ortharos, I wish you each good day, good turn, good double moon.”
Chapter 31
Jim
Well, so much for playing it cool. Super-Max went all Clark Kent and flew into the unknown with Frizz-woman. Sammy and I were the only known ORBs in Castle One Eye. Lucky for us, the Klingon-looking queen was more protector than adversary. If things went south with the necromancer on the loose, it would be great to have another adult human as backup.
The perplexed queen frowned at the sudden disappearance of our keynote speaker and human advocate, but we didn’t have time to address the vanishing. As soon as Frizzy and Max went yonder, a vanguard of Cyclops marched into the throne room and made a path for an exceptionally monstrous warrior, who addressed the queen. They spoke in the guttural Cyclops dialect. A lot of grunting, gesturing and a few curious looks pointed toward outside. Fodjes stood and dashed for the throne room door, barking orders that sent soldiers out and a guard escorting me to my quarters. Must be important news, but I would be left in the dark until the queen filled me in later. I tried asking my metal-plated escort, but he grunted and gave me a firm shove into my quarters, waving for the appointed nanny and child to come with him. Sammy looked crestfallen as her newfound friend scurried out. She held the forgotten doll in her limp hand and looked at me with questioning eyes.
“I don’t know...maybe it’s her bedtime?” I offered lamely, shrugging my shoulders.
“She says she misses her daddy. Maybe he came home?” She bounded toward me and hugged my legs. “I understand. I don’t ever want you to go away, Dad.” Her little voice sounded so grown up for her six years. Since when did I become simply Dad? I rubbed her small back as she stifled a yawn, picked her up, and sat before the fire. Wish I knew what was going on. I wanted to reassure Sam. I worried, but I wouldn’t show it. When Sam fell asleep, I would look for a safe spot for us to hole away in case things got rough.
Sleepy as Sammy was, she fidgeted and couldn’t drop off.
“Daddy, sing to me.”
“Awww honey. Mommy’s the lullaby lady.”
“Please.”
The famous pouty face always worked on me, so I hummed as I searched my memory for some song, any song I knew by heart. My contact with kids was limited prior to Sammy’s birth. Granny wasn’t what you would call a social butterfly, so I spent a lot of time alone or in the presence of adults. I was an only child, of an only child, of an only child, so I had nothing in the way of extended family. My stern Granny didn’t cotton to silly things like singing to little ones. As a reaction to my strict upbringing, I had the role of the family clown, but making silly faces and tickling wasn’t going to send Samantha to the land of Nod.
“Here goes nothing,” I said and took a deep breath to sing a well-known ditty from the Carpenters.
I was jamming, when a brisk knock rapped at the door. Two Cyclops entered and gestured toward the hall.
“An
ybody ever tell you dudes that you look a lot like the gorillas on Planet of the Apes, only with one eye?”
Cyclops on the right ignored me. Leftie grunted.
“Guess not.” Hoisting Sammy on my hip, I followed them to the room where we played cards. The queen was there with another large Cyclops. Dressed in much finer armor than the usual guard, he was obviously high rank. A dark-lensed monocle was strapped over his eye.
“Jim, meet my consort, King Kwong.”
“Of course he is.” I struggled mightily, but lost it when Sammy roused enough to lift her head off my shoulder and sleepily say, “King Kong?”
The laughter was contagious. Sammy started giggling, and it took us several long minutes for the bad case of the goofies to go.
The queen patiently waited. “Are you quite finished?”
“Yeah, sorry.” I wiped my and Sammy’s eyes with the tail of my shirt.
“Cyclops are not easily killed. Of his Blink, my husband says he awoke in a strange place. A woman threatened him with some weapon. When he reached for it, she somehow slung a pebble at him which struck his eye. He awoke to find himself back at camp and has been there waiting for his eye to regenerate enough to return here.”
“That woman would be my wife. Sorry, big fella. She was expecting little ol’ me.”
I hoped the Cyclops Royal family wasn’t going to check and see how good my regenerative powers were. I grounded myself with the thought that the queen liked us. Maybe we would return home before anyone avenged a death. Theirs must have been an arranged marriage. Fodjes wasn’t grief-stricken at his apparent demise, nor did she welcome her consort back with open arms. With Kwong being the biggest, and most monstrous of the Cyclops court, his son would be strong, if nothing else. Having Queen Fjodes’s genes would hopefully give the kid a good portion of intelligence to temper his strength.
“The necromancer is loose and a great danger to anyone he meets. You must follow the king,” Fodjes said pointedly, leaving off Kwong’s name. “And he will lead you both to safety.”