by Robert Bevan
“The fuck would you know about it, Cockophile Dundee?”
“I’m just tryin’ to give you some constructive criticism. Everybody’s got gifts. I’m sure you got some good qualities in you. But maybe outer beauty just ain’t your strong suit.”
“Them’s some hurtful words, Randy.”
Randy looked down. “I’m sorry. I was just upset is all.”
“Fuck it,” said Denise. “It’s all water under the bridge once we get out of this goddamn desert. You got an empty bottle or somethin’ I can piss in, just in case we need to drink it later?”
Randy frowned. “No, my waterskin is full.”
“So is mine. You mind turnin’ ‘round so’s I can take a squirt?”
“All right. But be quick about it. We don’t want to waste no more time than we got to.” Randy squinted and peered in every direction that didn’t include watching Denise take a piss. There was nothing to see. No cacti. No dunes. No tumbleweed. Just hot, sun-bleached sand. Even if he knew which direction to travel, he didn’t know if they’d make it.
“Goddammit,” said Denise. “I just got piss on my skirt. I ain’t got nothin’ to aim with. I s’pose it’ll dry quick enough. Ain’t like we gonna see no one out – SON OF A MOTHER–”
Randy turned around. Denise was on her back, her battleskirt wrapped around her ankles, piss spraying out from between her legs. But the strangest thing he saw was a vine growing out of the sand. Healthy, green, and thick, it supported a bunch of pink juicy-looking grapes.
“Where’d that come from?”
“Fuck if I know,” said Denise, scooting back from smaller plants rapidly sprouting out of the sand in a pattern that seemed to be following her. “I was just mindin’ my own business, takin’ a piss in the desert, when all of a sudden, I feel this vine ticklin’ my cooch.” She scooted back on her bare ass. “And now it’s followin’ me!”
Sure enough, the sprouting greenery was growing thick in a straight line headed directly toward Denise’s nether regions. Stems sprouted leaves and flowers, which in turn swelled up into berries of various colors. Finally, they gave up the chase, and Denise was able to rest and pull her skirt up.
“Goddammit, I got sand all up in my vag.”
Randy plucked a grape from the first vine. “You reckon it’s safe to eat?”
Denise shrugged. “Only one way to find out. Go for it.”
Randy went for it. The grape’s sour juice burst out between his back teeth.
“What’s it taste like?” asked Denise, reaching up under her skirt to further sort out her sand issues.
“Tastes like a grape.” Randy cringed a bit at an unpleasant aftertaste. “And maybe a little bit like pee.”
Denise stopped fiddling under her skirt. “That’s it!”
“What’s it?”
“This shit all started growing when I started pissing. And then it stopped when I stopped.” She grabbed Randy’s left arm with both hands. Her left hand was conspicuously moist and sandy. “It’s just like you said. Everybody’s got a gift. Maybe my gift is magical piss. Like Rapunzel’s hair in that Tangled movie. Except, you know, with piss.”
“That ain’t exactly the sort of gift I was thinkin’ about,” said Randy. “But who knows?”
“Aw shit,” said Denise. “Look at that.”
The grapevine blackened and fell under the weight of the bunch, which shriveled into a cluster of raisins before withering into dry grapeskin scabs in the sand. The other plants soon followed, withering, shriveling, and falling over as if invisible vampires were sucking the life out of them.
“Well how about that.” A means of testing Denise’s magical piss theory occurred to Randy. He spit on the ground and watched the spot closely. The sand soaked in his spit almost instantly. A set of leaves sprouted out from the spot, and a stem began to shoot up between them, but the whole plant withered and died before it could really get going.
“I guess magical piss ain’t my special gift after all.”
“It’s all right, Denise. You’ll see. The good parts of some people are just buried a little deeper than in others. We’ll just keep digging, and I bet we find... Wait, hang on a second... When did you ever see Tangled?”
Denise glared at him. “It was on... I was... Shut the fuck up, Randy! Need I remind you that we’re still lost in the fuckin’ desert?”
“That’s a good point. Any idea which way the city’s most like to be in?”
“Now how the fuck would I know that, Randy? I only been here just as long as you have.”
Randy thought for a moment. “I suppose that since neither of us know which way to go, our best bet is to travel with the sun. We’ll get more daylight that way.”
“I suppose your mama must have dropped you on the head when you was a baby.”
Randy frowned. “I don’t see –”
“Do you recall Cardinia having a big fuckin’ ocean directly to the east?”
“Okay, now that you mention it, I –”
“The sun travels from east to west. And while there’s no guarantee we’re on the same continent, it makes more sense to assume we are than to just up and add a potentially unnecessary ocean voyage to our itinerary.”
“All right, Denise,” said Randy. “You made your point. So you think we should travel east?”
“Yeah, Randy. I think we should travel east.”
Randy nodded and took a step away from the setting sun.
“At least, that’s what I’d think if I had a head full of dog shit.”
Randy stopped. “Did you have some more insight to share?”
“Think for a minute. What causes a desert to exist?”
“Um... sand?”
“Jesus Christ, Randy.” Denise took a deep breath. “Think about the deserts back home. The ones in Mexico, Africa, Saudi Arabia. What do all of them have in common?”
“Um... sand?”
“Goddammit, Randy! It’s like tryin’ to teach a rock to swim.”
“Well I’m sorry! I ain’t studied deserts as extensively as you, I guess.”
“Studyin’ don’t enter into it. It’s just common sense. A desert is the result of climate patterns which are more likely to follow certain latitudes than they are longitudes.”
Randy kept his mouth shut.
“Climates change more predictably as you go north and south,” Denise continued. “That’s why it’s hot at the equator, and colder as you go farther north or south.”
Randy gave a small nod to show he was following along so far.
“Goin’ east and west, you never know how long the same pattern might go on. So if you’re stuck in the middle of a desert you don’t know shit about, you’re better off traveling north or south.”
“Thank you for explaining that,” said Randy. “I didn’t know you was such a survival expert.”
“You makin’ fun of me?”
“Uh uh. Like that stuff about drinkin’ your own pee.”
“That ain’t nothin’. I seen Bear Grylls do that on Discovery. Motherfucker really chugged it down.”
“How ‘bout that stuff you said about lattertudes and such?”
“Everybody knows that, Randy.”
Randy shook his head. “I don’t think so. You got real knowledge. Maybe that’s your special gift.”
“You reckon?” Denise twirled the end of her beard between her fingers. “Come to think of it, it does seem odd that I’d know that so readily. Maybe it is my special gift.”
“So which way do we go?” asked Randy. “North or south?”
“Don’t matter. You pick one.”
“South?”
“Excellent. We’ll head north.”
“Then why’d you even ask me?”
“‘Cause I may not know which way to go, but I do know that your instincts are shit.”
Chapter 15
The crowd at the Whore’s Head had thinned out significantly. Each time Dave returned from Arby’s duty, he found that a few more peop
le had abandoned the place as Frank added more names to his growing list of “The New Horsemen”.
Dave couldn’t blame anyone for wanting to leave. The atmosphere had become decidedly less chill in the past few days, and Frank’s paranoid speculations about deserters allying themselves with Mordred to launch a second attack on the Whore’s Head probably had the opposite effect of the one he’d been going for.
Some just went out on patrols and never came back. Others left more dramatically.
“Gus!” Tony the Elf called out from behind the bar. “Relieve Scar on door duty.” When Frank was out on patrol, Tony the Elf took to calling the shots. He tended to be a little less diplomatic when doing so.
Gus grabbed his crotch. “Relieve this.” That earned him a few weak laughs from people who hadn’t had much to laugh about lately.
“Is there something in the rulebook that says half-orcs need to reference their genitals every time they open their mouths? Seriously, you’’re no better than Cooper.”
“I don’t claim to be,” said Gus. “That dude was cool.”
“Cool? So murderers are cool now? Need I remind you that he threw me in a sewer and left me to die?”
“You don’t look dead to me.”
“You know what? Fine. If opening and closing a door is too complicated for you, I’ll just find –”
“No, man. It’s cool. I think I’ve got the hang of it.” Gus walked over to the door and pulled it open. He made a gesture like Vanna White showcasing newly turned letters, then gave Tony the Elf the finger. “Peace out, motherfucker.” He stepped outside and closed the door behind him.
Tony the Elf shook his head and sighed. “Add him to the list.”
Rhonda scoffed. “Gus? Come on. He’s just blowing off steam. He’ll come back.”
“I have no doubt,” said Tony the Elf. “He’ll come back with the rest of them to kill all of us.”
“You need some sleep, Tony the Elf, or whatever it is you elves do instead of sleep. You’re talking nonsense.”
“Nonsense? You just heard it for yourself from his very own mouth. He sided with Cooper for trying to murder me.”
“That’s one way to interpret it.”
“This isn’t up for debate,” said Tony the Elf. “Frank left me in charge, and I said put Gus on the list.”
“And that’s the problem,” said Rhonda. “That you and Frank seem to believe that either of you are in charge of any of us.”
“I don’t have time for this. Do whatever you want. I’ll put his name on the list later.”
Rhonda crumpled the paper into a wad and threw it at Tony the Elf. “You can put my name on there, too. I’m out of here.” She started rolling up a scroll she’d been working on.
“If you walk out that door, don’t even think about coming back!”
“I won’t!”
Chaz leaned over and whispered to Dave. “This shit is getting out of control.”
Dave nodded. “You need a refill?”
“Oh yeah.”
As Rhonda finished packing her bag, Dave walked up to the bar with his empty stonepiss bottle and Chaz’s empty beer mug.
Rhonda had almost made it to the door when it was kicked in from outside. The first person to enter was unidentifiable, as he had a bag over his head.
Gilbert, the sorcerer whose owl familiar had been tailing Katherine, followed Bag Head inside with his owl tucked under his arm. The poor bird was swollen to the size of a basketball.
Finally, Frank waddled in. Like Gilbert’s owl, his face and hands were swelled up like a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade balloon.
“Jesus Christ,” Dave said under his breath.
“Frank!” cried Rhonda. “What happened to you?”
Frank’s squinty eyes looked sideways, then up at Rhonda. “Kaffwin. Wist.”
“Get him up here,” said Tony the Elf.
With such a sudden and bizarre emergency unfolding, Rhonda seemed to forget the little squabble she’d just had with Tony the Elf and did exactly as he said. She picked up Frank and placed him gently on top of the bar.
“Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, aaaah.” Frank sighed with relief when his ass touched down on the bar.
“Who did this to you?” asked Tony the Elf.
Frank looked to Gilbert.
“Tim’s sister attacked us,” said Gilbert, a hint of courtroom drama in his voice. “We tracked her down to an abandoned building in Shallow Grave, consorting with this man, one of Mordred’s avatars.” He shook Bag Head by the shoulder. “When we confronted her, she flew into a rage and threw a bag of poisonous slime at Frank before fleeing the scene. She got away, but we managed to capture a Mordred.”
Dave didn’t buy it. Something didn’t add up. They had a prisoner who they claimed was Mordred, and there was no question that someone had fucked up Frank pretty bad. But Gilbert talked too fast, like he was trying to spit out all the details of a story he’d rehearsed before he forgot them.
Still, Dave wasn’t about to stick his neck out and accuse anyone of lying based on that. He’d just refill his beer and see how things played out.
“You!” said Frank, aiming one of his fat hands at Dave. He looked like he was trying to point, but was unable to move his fingers. “Baw’s cwosed!”
Dave could tolerate a lot, but this was going too far. “Come on, Frank. You can’t close the bar. That’s the only thing keeping people here anymore.”
“Awe you fweatening me?” challenged Frank.
“Am I what?”
“Take it easy, Frank,” said Rhonda. “He’s just telling you the truth. We’re losing a lot of people as it is.”
“The twaitows wiow wetun, and we must keef our wits and weddy ow defwense!”
“Slow down. I’m having trouble understanding you. We must Keefer Wits and wetty our Depends?”
Dave was doing his best not to laugh, but cracks were forming in the dam. He thought he was doing a good enough job of hiding it, but Frank noticed.
“You fwink this is funny? Wook at my face! Wook at my swowen wifs!”
More laughter snorted out from Dave’s nose, and his eyes started to tear up. The worst thing Frank could have done, under the circumstances, was to call even more attention to his giant lips. Others in the inn were starting to laugh as well.
“It’s not his fault, Frank,” said Rhonda. “If you could see or hear yourself right now, you –”
“Fwis is no waffing mattaw! We aw aw in sewiwous twubbaw!”
Dave covered his mouth and tried to fake a cough, but he knew it wasn’t even close to convincing.
Frank was furious. “Tony the Ewf! Wonda! Wock Dabe uf in the cewa!”
Tony the Elf looked at Rhonda, then back at Frank. “I’m sorry. Could you say that one more time?”
“You want us to whack Dave off in the sewer?” asked Rhonda. “That can’t be right.”
The background laughter had grown louder. People weren’t even trying to hide it anymore. Dave felt a little bad for Frank, even though Frank was looking back like he wanted to murder him there and then.
“Incontinentia Buttocks!” shouted someone from the other side of the room.
The room erupted in laughter, as if everyone was simultaneously wondering when someone was finally going to say what they were all thinking.
“We need to go now,” said Chaz, not even laughing a little.
At first, Dave thought maybe Chaz didn’t get the reference. Then he thought about the bigger context and realized that not only did Chaz understand the reference, but that it had been more than an insensitive joke. Whoever said that meant it as a warning. Frank might actually murder Dave if he didn’t take this opportunity to run.
Dave and Chaz backed away from Frank and started creeping toward the door.
“Whewa do you fwink youwa going?” said Frank. “Wonda, put ‘em to sweep!”
Rhonda turned her back to Dave and Chaz and faced Frank. “Just let them go.”
“She’s with them now,�
�� said Tony the Elf. “Right before you got here, she was planning to desert.”
As puffy as Frank’s face was, there wasn’t a whole lot of physical difference between his expression of rage and his expression of despair, but Dave could see it in his eyes.
“Wonda? Is that twoo?”
“I’m not going anywhere, Frank. I’m going to stay here and take care of you. But you’re becoming unhinged. You haven’t slept in two days.”
“They betwayed us! They took owa onwee webewage! How can I sweep?”
“I’ll help you.” Rhonda raised a hand, palm out, toward Frank. “Sleep.”
Frank fell on his side, his giant red face smacking against the bar top.
Dave and Chaz continued inching toward the exit. Tony the Elf glared at them like he was deciding whether it would be best to jump over the bar or run around it.
“We can’t turn this place into a prison,” said Rhonda. “That’s only going to keep people’s minds focused on how they can escape, and we’ve got more important things to focus on.”
“Like what?” said Tony the Elf.
“We’ve got a Mordred.”
Tony the Elf looked at the man with the bag over his head. He was sitting calmly and patiently, his bagged head held high. Gilbert hovered over him like an overprotective mother.
Dave and Chaz made it to the door. Dave felt for the handle.
“We might have more leverage than we think,” said Rhonda. “If we use our imaginations, who knows what kind of information we can get out of him? We can coerce the truth out of him with magic. We can find out where the other Mordreds are. We may even be able to find out where Tim and the dice are.”
Tony the Elf kept his eyes on Dave. “If Mordred knew where Tim and the dice are, we’d all be dead already.”
What Rhonda was saying was starting to make some sense.
Dave stopped feeling for the door handle.“Tim’s not dumb enough to walk right up to Mordred and hand over the dice. Neither of them have any reason to trust the other. If Tim really means to screw us all over to get himself and his sister back home, he and Mordred are going to have to set up some sort of arrangement. They’ll have to relay messages through neutral third parties, agree on drop off locations, whatever. If we can get this Mordred talking, we might be able to intercept Tim.”