by Martha Carr
Charlie cut him off, speaking for the group. “They’re ready to go. I gave them a list of must haves and told them all to be here prepared to have their minds blown. Don’t worry, they won’t slow you down. All of them are pretty active, play tennis, walk the golf course. Jeff here is a runner.”
So a shit show then. “Sounds good but not necessary. I can retrieve the ore and bring it right back here. No muss, no fuss.”
“I like my way better. Besides, you’ll need help carrying the ore back and the more we retrieve on the trip, the faster we can get our endeavor closer to reality.”
“What exactly would that particular reality look like?” Need a little more intel I can deliver to my handlers. The small balls of light whizzing around Louie’s ankle hummed against his skin as a reminder.
“Where dreams come true…” Charlie smiled, his even white teeth all showing as he waved his hand in the air. It was his usual signal that he was done talking. The men around him knew it and bunched up together as if they were expected to transport somewhere. “Beam them up.” He tossed Louie the bag of coins as Louie easily caught it, feeling the heft of the gold in his hands. Not a bad payday.
Louie resisted rolling his eyes as he pocketed the pouch full of coins. “We’ll be moving through some rough terrain. The ore is along the base of the mountains near a deep ravine and then up to a place called Dead Man’s Crawl tucked into the mountain.”
“Great story,” said Charlie, his smile straining. “I’m sure you keep them hanging on every word around the campfire making s’mores. Times to get going so you can get back.”
Louie shrugged his shoulders and without another word created a ball of light letting the energy build between his hands as he quietly sang into it. He wanted to get them as close to the edge of the Concha as possible without falling over a cliff. Two days to get this done… Fuck me. Drag a bunch of men who look like a long walk would wear them out through Dead Man’s Crawl. Louie jangled the bag of gold coins on his hip to make himself feel better. The portal opened wide over the center of the Concha as the wind blew back Louie’s hair. He looked over the side at the vast drop below, tossing an Oriceran penny from his pocket and counted till he heard a faint splash below. “That’s pretty fucking far. It’d be awhile before you’d splat. Have to hope you pass out.” He pulled his head back inside just as one of the men threw up into a nearby trash can.
Charlie Monaghan looked at him, his lips pressed into a thin pale line, his eyebrows knitted together.
“Nobody got hurt. I was only about a yard off. Hang on.” Louie closed the portal as sparks noisily spilled over the shiny table, sizzling in spots. Louie started another ball of light, singing into it again, adjusting the coordinates just enough. He opened the portal and smelled the nearby poisonous vines, smiling. “I love the smell of dung vines in the evening! Look the two moons are rising over the mountains. Good time to get going. Come on men. Portal won’t stay open forever, but the world in between will… and I mean forever.”
Louie stepped through the portal, holding the opening as the men scurried through, tripping over themselves and standing up, wide-eyed in an inadvertent imitation of baby birds. Louie looked at them, laden down with supplies in their backpacks. Better I scare ‘em straight now. “You might want to look more confident or a flying harpy might mistake you for dinner and swoop down and grab one of you.” Louie chuckled as he turned and walked down the path toward Dead Man’s Crawl and what lay beyond that. “Come on men, better keep up. You wouldn’t want to get lost on Oriceran with no way to go home.”
He glanced back and saw them bunched up in the middle. “Single file would be best. Too many things jump out and this way we even the odds of getting most of you home in one piece.” Too funny. Louie took a deep breath, settling himself down. My fine-tuned sense of humor is going to be the death of them. Stay focused, Louie. That little general will not appreciate it if you lose some of his kind. They’re very touchy that way. “Hope you packed some food in those packs. We’re about to pull an all-nighter and I tend to get a bit peckish.” Louie let out another laugh and a howl at the moon as the hair on the back of his neck tingled. He held out his arm for everyone to stop, holding up a fist in the air and evening out his breathing. Ugh, that’s one ugly familiar odor. Just what I needed. He waved his arm in a motion to get everyone to crouch down and hug the side of the mountain.
“Has to be a few Kilomeas passing less than a mile away. They get an odor on them that acts like an early warning system,” he whispered. “Tense kind of warriors, always acting out. Best to let them pass.”
“Should never have come. My sciatica is acting up already. Told my wife I was going camping.” The man was fumbling with his pack to keep it straight on his back. He went to stand up straight to get a better hold on the backpack, despite Louie waving at him, just as a high-pitched whistle sounded loudly in the distance. The others pulled the man down just as an arrow whizzed where his head had just been.
“Kilomea greeting card. Must be scavengers. They think this is their corner. Stay down and keep moving. This is gonna be a bit of a pickle for about a mile.”
“What happens in a mile?”
“We go inside the mountain. Different set of problems. We’ll deal with that when we get there.” Thank God I have the sword.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Blake Johnson heard the sound of a bird tweet telling him he got a text on his phone. He flipped it over on his lap as he drove, trying to watch traffic while keeping an eye on the street, hunting for a tiny hairy mythical beast no one else believed in. It was really wearing away at his nerves. The picture on his phone caught his eye immediately. The troll was lying back among red and white pansies next to a garden gnome.
“What are the odds?” A flood of relief ran through Blake as he turned the car around, squealing his tires as other cars honked in frustration. He chattered away to himself as he drove, calming his nerves as he convinced himself everything was actually going to work out for him. Just this once.
“He’s at the goddamn garden show! I can get the story done and get the best story of my life. Aliens are real… magic is real… The invasion has started!” He yelled out his car window, startling people on the street as they turned to see if the driver was crazy, rolling their eyes at the sight of a disheveled Blake. His hands shook as he steered the car, careening down Lamar Boulevard, peering over the dashboard.
He was straining at the seatbelt, yelling at the cars in front of him, waving his hands in frustration. An older woman in the SUV in front of him gave him a very slow and polite middle finger while smiling in her rear-view mirror. She lowered her sunglasses a moment to give him a wink before rolling forward an inch. He honked again as she slowly raised her hand again and danced her manicured finger around like it was a puppet.
“Nice! You talk to your kids that way?” He threw up his hands and slapped his thighs for good measure. “It’s too late. No way he’s still there.” He looked over to the side of the road and considered leaving his car and jogging the couple of miles left to get to the Palmer Center where the Garden Show was being held. He looked down at his hard-soled shoes with the inserts. “Thanks Mom. Your poor arches and a complete set of a 1955 Encyclopedia Britannica. Hawaii wasn’t even a fucking state yet. No wonder I’m a journalist covering a garden show!”
The light ahead finally turned green and Blake inched forward till he could edge out a small truck, turning to wave to the other driver who eagerly waved him ahead just to get him out of the way. His phone let out another sharp tweet and he looked down, gasping at the sight of the troll mugging for the camera in a fountain, spitting water out of his mouth with one leg lifted behind him. The text underneath read, See you soon, with a smiley face emoticon.
Blake looked up in time to see the traffic stopped directly in front of him and slammed on the brakes, jarring himself against the shoulder strap and hitting his car horn with a loud, sharp blast. “Fuck! He’s playing chicken with me! Okay…
okay…” Blake drummed his fingers on the wheel, quickly moving in and out of lanes till he could turn on Riverside Drive and gun the engine, headed for the large open parking lot.
He parked the car in the first open spot he saw, not wanting to take the chance on circling and ending up right back there. More precious time lost. He took off running, getting winded after a few car lengths and slowing down to a fast walk, swinging his arms in the hope that would propel him faster. His phone tweeted again and he stopped, winded to take a look. It was a message from his editor. Need the inches double-time.
Blake typed furiously with his thumbs, letting autocorrect take over, texting, On the harp for a big storefront. At Garden Show. Will send stork soon. “Damn, good enough. Says Garden Show.” He slid his phone back in his pocket and started walking again, picking up the pace, swinging his arms as the phone tweeted again. He took it out, the phone bobbing in his hand as he walked, and tried to keep his eye on where he was going.
It was the troll. A giggle escaped him as he looked at the picture for clues. “Please be in the Garden Show still. Yes!”
The troll was in another stone fountain, this time doing the backstroke with one arm while holding the phone out in front of himself with the other. The text read, Come on in, the water’s fine!
He held the phone out in front of him yelling, “Aha!” as he banged into the oversized fender of a large Chevy truck and squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the pain to pass, leaning on the truck.
“Don’t be touchin’ my truck.” A deep baritone voice coming from an oversized cowboy in boots and a hat holding a large potted purple orchid.
“What?” Blake looked up into the sun at the shadow of the cowboy hat and the muscular arms and quickly peeled himself off the hood. “Sorry…” he mumbled, as he ran by the man, making sure he didn’t brush against him. He finally got to the door and fumbled in his pocket for his press pass, flinging the lavalier around his neck and waving it at the ticket taker inside the cavernous room.
“Bad day?” asked the gray-haired man, looking up and down at Blake’s sweaty appearance, his bangs sticking to his forehead.
“I’ve had better. Can you tell me where the fountains are?”
“Gonna do an article on fountains? Well, that depends…” The man sat down on the wooden stool behind him, rubbing his scruffy beard as he thought about where to send Blake. Tucked in the back pocket of his baggy khaki pants was an old wand made from willow that to the casual observer looked like a worn stick. “There’s the commercial fountains. That’s a show! Or the ones that have lights and take up a little piece of land. Might make a good article.”
Blake pulled out his phone and held up the picture of the troll. “Like this!”
“Oh, the do it yourself displays. I kind of recognize the fountain but never seen that particular floating rodent before. That’s kind of new. I suppose it takes all kinds, huh? Follow the banners overhead to aisle 800. Those fountains are over in the far western corner to your left along the yellow brick road. Not an actual brick road, mind you…”
Blake was already striding into the show, hearing the bits of a story the old man was determined to tell even though Blake was already gone. The old man gave a chuckle and a thumbs up to Toni standing nearby. “Always glad to get pulled into a mission every now and then. Can make an old Wizard feel young again.” He let out a snort and got up from his post, strolling into the show to his next assigned post. “Feel a little like Dean Martin,” he said as he pulled out a small black comb and brushed back his thinning gray hair into perfect straight lines.
Blake was long gone from the entrance, hurrying toward the fountains as he glanced up at the tall banners hanging overhead. The excitement of finally getting a good story distracted him from the Witches and Wizards keeping careful track of him as he hurried toward the fountains.
He punched the camera icon on his phone, ready to video the troll. This truth is gonna set me free. Everyone will finally treat me with the respect I deserve. No more stupid assignments to cover school meetings and garden shows… The litany of complaints ran through his head as they did most days but this time with a feeling that he might just be about to get his.
“Okay, he’s here.” Toni said into her phone. She smiled at Blake as he passed her. Her wrist jangled with silver bracelets catching his attention but he barely gave her a glance as he hurried inside.
“Yes, Jack he saw me but he doesn’t actually know who I am.” Toni’s large, fluffy afro bobbed with her head as she talked to the Jackalope owner. “We’re good. Man your station. Operation Troll is a go. I know, I named it. I like saying it. Over and out.” Toni moved to her next station over by the succulents and waited for word from Mara. “This is what family does for each other,” she said to no one in particular, smiling as she gave a wave to Eric across two aisles. He moved into place behind the outdoor sheds carrying a brown paper bag and made a point of looking at the sturdy patio furniture, testing out the rocker. “Not bad…”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Yumfuck was enjoying a theme of sorts and was thinking about posing with the gargoyle fountain next while he waited for the reporter. He was in the last display of the Do It Yourself section that featured four scenarios of outdoor living that homeowners could attempt to do themselves. A middle-aged woman with streaks of purple in her hair stopped to watch the troll do a cannon ball off the edge of a fountain with a small spray of water. “A swimming rat. I love Austin. Even the rodents are digging the place. Rock on tiny dude.” The woman held up two fingers giving Yumfuck the peace sign.
“Rock on motherfuckers!” chirped the troll, holding up his paw and matching the symbol with two small claws.
The woman let out a laugh as she walked away. “I have never felt so optimistic about this goddamned planet.”
The troll waved and spit a thin stream of water doing the doggie paddle back to the edge. He pulled himself out and shook all over, spraying the water. “Time to go,” he chirped.
He knew time was running short before Blake Johnson would come barreling into the displays.
The plan was already in motion.
The troll scrambled to the next section, one aisle over to the stylish outdoor bars, while still holding on to his phone. He scrambled up the side of a grass tiki hut and waited, perched on the top above the crowd where he had a panoramic view of most of the show. He waved to Jim, another regular from the Jackalope who picked up the end of a fishing line and gently tugged on the line to make sure it was still secure.
“All set!”
The troll let out a cackle and waved at a tired child in his mother’s arms, his head on her shoulder. The child perked up and pointed a small finger at the troll, his mouth forming a perfect o in surprise. The troll waved and gave a wink, holding his finger to his lips. The child waved excitedly, jiggling against his mother.
“What is it? Why are you so excited? Did your dad give you his soda?” The mother did her best to hold on to her son, looking around to see what had caught his attention. The child covered his mouth with both hands, taking side glances at the troll, his eyes wide. “Mickey is real,” he finally said, covering his mouth with his hands in excitement.
“That was just a dream, sweetie. Go back to sleep.” The mother patted her son’s soft head, relieved it was nothing more.
The troll gave a last wave and an okay sign as Blake came running up to the nearby exhibitions, skidding to a stop and turning in a tight circle, looking down at the ground and in all the fountains. Yumfuck watched his frustration grow as he took another selfie, sending Blake a tweet. He watched as Blake looked at his phone and spun around, spotting the troll and holding up his phone, barely able to take a breath. He looked as if he had forgotten how to breathe and was in danger of passing out.
The troll stood up on the top to give Blake a better view as he clicked away, waving at him to come closer.
Just as everyone was starting to look in the same direction Jim gave a sharp tug on the li
ne catching Blake around the ankles and sending him flying into a nearby kiddie pool. He slid across the top, landing in the middle with a splash, his phone still in the air. Two teenage girls giggled and took a selfie with Blake as the background. Jim quickly rolled up the transparent line on his hand and slid it all into his pocket, walking away as the crowd around Blake built to two rows.
Yumfuck slid down the side of the grass hut and landed neatly on the ground as Blake quickly pulled himself out of the pool, ignoring the two guards who were coming over to see who was playing in the displays. The troll was already off and running in a zigzag pattern as a dripping Blake followed in pursuit, weaving in and out of different backyards, hopping across flagstones as if he were playing a heated game of hopscotch.
The troll tucked and rolled near a display of tall grasses and lost Blake long enough to crawl among a collection of lawn ornaments. He ran between a flock of pink flamingos and slid cleanly into place among several smiling monsters made of grey steel, their mouths wide open and thin grey arms outstretched. As Blake ran by the troll opened his mouth in a grimace holding still and waited till Blake was almost out of earshot before calling out, “See ya sucker! Aloha!”
“Huh?” Blake turned so fast his wet shoes flew out from under him and he did a high-stepping dance for a few feet till he could right himself. By now, the crowd had grown even bigger to watch the man playing in the exhibits.
A tall man with a round middle wearing a colorful blue Round Rock Express baseball sweatshirt nudged his wife, digging his elbow into her side. “That’s the most entertaining thing I’ve seen since we got here.” His wife rolled her eyes and stepped just far enough away so he’d stop his poking. “Garden shows are not supposed to be interactive. Obviously the man has lost his marbles.”